This is based off of my two-shot called "Final Exam" - which is really, really good, has lots of reviews, and it totally worth reading (shameless plug :-D ). You don't have to have read it for this to make sense (this is a kind of prequel to that), but I'd strongly recommend it.

Blanket disclaimer for the story. I don't own Danny Phantom or any of the other characters. The Pits are my own creation however, and I'd be pleased if you didn't use them without my permission. I do love reading spin-offs though, so if you want to write one, just message me - I haven't said "no" yet.

Do keep in mind that this story is rated T for a very good reason. It is not for the faint of heart or people who suffer from nightmares. It's... well... read the intro. You'll see. I put my warning there. This story is not going to be humorous. It's going to be twisted, evil, tortured, and quite descriptive. That's the way my mind works.


A Danny Phantom FanFiction by Cordria

The Cover

Deep in the darkest recesses of the Pits, in a place known to the prisoners only as the Dungeon, a battered and dirty notebook lies hidden in the corner underneath the hard cot in cell 143. Its torn pages are wrinkled and tattered, its once-red cover bent and partly missing. A pencil stub lies forgotten on the dusty cover.

Scrawled beneath the remnant of the pencil is a note, barely legible in the flickering lights. A ghost rat that was passing by couldn't care less about the scribbled handwriting, but the rat's flicker of movement under the bed caught the attention of the cell's latest prisoner.

Dear Reader –

I warn you here and now – the story I have to tell is not one for the faint of heart. There will be tales of blood and gore, realistic and heart-breaking. At times, my own tears and blood may smudge the pencil marks on this paper. And I do need to apologize for the awful handwriting. The only light I have to write by are the ghost lights that flicker around the cell. If you've ever written by ghost light, you know that it is very hard to write (or read, I expect) in their odd light.

My story, for it is mine to tell, is not fun. The events will haunt me for the rest of my days, hiding behind my eyes to jump out in my dreams, and I will tell them how I remember them. Emotions will run thick and oppressive in this story. I guess, as my sister would say, I'm not writing this story for you – I'm writing this story for me. Consider carefully before you delve into the pages of my tale. Should you wish to read, just turn to the first page in this notebook.

I think I'll start on a Tuesday morning about two weeks ago when everything was still normal. It's not the real beginning of this tale… but it is a place to start… and all stories need to start someplace, right?

Sincerely Yours –


The human shivered in the cold of the cell, clutching her ragged clothes closer to her. The old, red notebook lay momentarily forgotten by her side. She gazed about the empty cell, yanking her foot away from the brave ghost rat sniffing her toes, and cried softly. After a few minutes, she picked up the papers and cradled them to her chest. She closed her eyes, her mind drifting for a few more seconds.

Finally, she turned to the first page…