Danny Phantom Ghostly Wail Novels & Stories

Dante muttered beside me, already pulling out his phone. The blue glow of the screen lit up his face as he dialed rapidly, stepping aside and barking into the phone. "What the fuck is going on? Kill that signal now. Now!" But no matter how many calls he made, the masked man didn't vanish. He only flickered on the screen every now and then. "My name..." the man announced. "Is Ghost." "And I mean no harm…if you just listen." I frowned, confused. But for some reason, I still listened. There was some kind of mystery around this "Ghost" that instantly made me eager to hear what he had to say.

“Sorry to let you down, but nothing to report. No cold spots, no mysterious noises, no shadowy figures. Just Phantom.” “Phantom?” “That’s what I’m calling the cat.” “Well, I wouldn’t get too comfortable in the house just yet. Maybe the entities need some time to get geared up after being dormant for so long.” Tilting his head, Brad scrutinized his young lunch companion, again trying to figure the man out. “You completely believe in all that stuff, don’t you?” “Absolutely. In fact, I have a ghost in my apartment.” “Is that so?” “Yup, a slave girl named Melinda.”

He raised it to his mouth, the liquid alive on his tongue, snapping like sparks as he swallowed. The convulsions came instantly. Danny’s muscles locked, then seized, his back arching as if pulled by invisible hooks. His vision fractured into shards of color. Fire licked down his veins, racing through his chest and clawing its way into his skull. He tried to scream, but only a ragged gasp escaped. Mahisar began to chant, low and resonant, the syllables curling around Danny like chains. The air thickened, humming with power, and the shadows on the walls twisted, bending toward them.

"The person you were trying to reach was unavailable at the moment. Please try again later." Danny exhaled as he stuffed the cell phone back again over the backside of his pockets. He listened to the song calmly as ever as he sighed and leaned over the frame of the window. He smiled at the numbness that he felt and looked over the outside of the mansion. He saw a familiar car and exhaled as he realized that it must have been for Marian. He just closed his eyes and feeling the warmth over the bedroom. The breeze upon the windows slapped through his face.

“If you could, would you go back to The Hive?” “Yes, only to find one person. There has only been one person in this world who gave me a run for my money. It’s not as important to me anymore, but for a long time all I wanted to do is find the person.” Pausing he rubbed a hand against his jaw. “They call him Phantom.” A laugh left his mouth without any humor, “And people call me Ghost. The irony with the names is not lost on me.” I took a long sip of wine. Not sure how to respond. “It does seem quite clever.”

The one connected to my Sexy Red persona. Danny's name flashed on the screen. What could he possibly want? My hands were shaking as I grabbed the voice modulator and answered. "Hello?" I said in my altered voice. "Sexy Red, hi," Danny said, and something in his tone made my stomach drop. "Hi," I responded carefully. "I thought about everything you said," Danny continued, his voice oddly calm. "And there's something important I need to tell you. Can we meet? Just briefly. In the next ten minutes. This is very important."

“I’m Danny, who are you?” The memory of his parents’ death flew back to him. “My family,” he choked, “They’re gone.” “They weren’t wolves,” a female whispered. “Look at his blue eyes!” “But he’s one of us,” a male quickly countered. “You saw him.” “Smell him.” The boy named Danny held up his hand. “We’ve heard of this happening.” To Darrell, he asked again, “Who are you? What’s your name?” He felt the cold earth under his palms as he supported himself, sitting up. “Darrell Grey.”

I NEED to know who he is, and something tells me I won’t discover much if I approach him as Phantom Reaper. I don’t really even know who I actually am, to be honest. I never indulged in friendships or relationships with others. It’s just always been survival. The only person I had any kind of positive relationship was my mother. I don’t know my father but because of my hair color, I’m fairly certain my father was Christian Bartoa. I know he frequented the slave cells whenever he was bored, and the urge arises so it doesn’t surprise me, but I don’t intend to ever claim him nor carry his surname. The thought of actually SPEAKING to Damien makes me feel a weird sense of anxiety. I’m unsure if i

He looked at Alex, but he didn't see the man he loved; he saw a a liar, a phantom that wouldn't let him die in peace. "Don't... touch... me," Danny gasped, his hands flying up to cover his ears. "You’re not real. You’re a hallucination. My brain is broken. It’s all broken." Alex didn't rush him. He sank to his knees on the floor a few feet from the bed, making himself smaller, lower than the boy on the mattress. He stayed silent, letting the waves of Danny’s panic wash over him through the bond. He felt the cold, the hopelessness, and the terrifying desire for the world to simply stop.

Lifting the glass, the air rushing over him, Danny realized his mistake quickly; the scent of his soulmate traveled on the breeze, bringing him to his knees. He gripped the table and accidentally tipped the vase of flowers off the surface. The vase shattered to the floor, lilies spilling to the wood below, but Danny was unconcerned with the mess as he writhed in his jeans. They had to come off before he soaked right through them. Sweat bloomed over his skin, his breath harsh to his ears. His soul was on the brink of something, but Danny couldn't understand; he and his soul were both too far gone to communicate with each other.