I don't own Danny Phantom or any related characters. Same thing goes with The Lord of the Rings, The Road to Rondo, Moby Dick and Harry Potter. I only own this plot. You lawyers that I know are watching can back off now. points freakishly huge ecto-gun around
A plot bunny that would absolutely not let me fall asleep, even at 2:32am. Please read and review, and tell me my sacrifice of sleep was not in vain. This story will remain a oneshot unless I get an outstanding amount of feedback. I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I officially have way too much on my plate. Come to think of it, I've wanted to write something on the Ghost Writer for a while now, ever since I saw The Fright Before Christmas. (sadly, that was only a few weeks ago. There are fans in Australia too, Nick!)
The Writing Ghost
Jazz Fenton loved to read, especially things about psychiatary. However, that wasn't on her mind that night in bed. Instead, she was taking a look at The Lord of the Rings. To her great surprise, she was actually enjoying it. With the add previews for the movies, all she saw was a lot of sharp swords. However, the book was a different story. It was a whole lot more than a lot of sharp swords. So, so much more. Truelly, it was intelligent writing.
Floating a few inches off the ground invisibly, the Ghost Writer watched her read, reminding himself of how much he had enjoyed the very same book. He was tall and looked around 25, with black hair, glowing green eyes and a long scarf around his neck. He would have looked almost human and completely docile had it not been for the pointed teeth and very pale blue skin. As Jazz licked her finger and turned the page, the Ghost Writer looked at her bookshelf. Surely, there wasn't any more room for a single other book to be stuffed in. Most, he noticed, where on psychiatary. He wasn't a big fan on fiction, but hey, everyone liked to read different things. He also noticed that there were a couple of books with poems inside. That was more his style. That wasn't even one tenth of the books there, this girl, only being around sixteen, had an amazing number. There was from Moby Dick to the Harry Potter series. Wondering briefly whether or not the girl had read each and every one of those books, he turned back to her as she licked her finger again and turned the page, anxious to continue reading.
He didn't know what had posessed him to do this, but he suddenly became visible. At first, the girl (who was apparently called Jazz, as suggested by the award on the wall) didn't notice. She kept on reading, too absorbed to take her eyes off the book or even notice te world around her. In one respect, she's a lot like me. the Ghost Writer thought vaguely, remembering the time that he was reading The Road to Rondo by Emily Rodda and The Box Ghost had come in. It had taken several minutes and a box full of spanners thrown at his head before he realized the annoyance was even there. And then he was still reluctant to put the book down.
Jazz looked briefly at the clock, from the oppisite side of the Ghost Writer. As she noticed the time was 2am, she gasped and put the book in a crammed draw. She turned over to get into a better sleeping position when she saw the Ghost Writer, floating just beside her book case, silently watching. Jazz immediately screamed, but realized no one could help; Danny was at a school camp, her father slept like a rock and her mother slept with ear plugs in to defray the noise of her father's snoring.
Giving a frightened look, Jazz summoned the bravery to speak, despite being cornered with not a ghost weapon in sight. "Go away..." she whispered. "Don't hurt me, just go away."
Trying to look mildly surprised, the Ghost Writer replied. "Why would I hurt you? You've given me no reason to. Besides..." he paused for a moment. "You remind me much of my teenage self. With your unrestrained love of literature."
"I... what?" Jazz stammered. "Why... why are you here?"
"I write many poems and stories. The Ghost Zone is not the best place for inspiration, but the real world..." he paused again. "Is full of it. If I'm correct, your name is Jazz Fenton?"
"How do you know that...?" Jazz asked suspiciously, only to have the ghost writer point at her award for 'Outstanding CAT Marks'.
"Your certificate." he replied bluntly.
"Well... why are you hanging around me? How long have you been here? And what's your name, who are you, and why should I trust you?"
The Ghost Writer looked at his watch. "I've been here a good fifteen minutes, now. My name is the Ghost Writer, and like I said, you remind me of myself. To be completely honest, I don't know a way a ghost could be trusted by a human. Everyone fears us too much, whether or not we are good or bad. The problem is the malevolent ones are the ones who like coming here to stir up trouble. For us who are not so bad... we don't get a good reputation. And because of that... friends are torn... and we cannot revisit the real world, even if we really want too... I missed my chance a long time ago..."
Jazz could see the utter dissappointment on the ghost's face. And suddenly, she trusted him. Just like that, he had earned her trust with that look of sadness currently on his face. This wasn't a malevolent spirit, just a torchered soul who was asking for help although not out loud. Perhaps even subconsciously. "Come downstairs, I'll get you some cocoa." she said without really thinking. The Ghost Writer's mood suddenly perked up to one of great surprise and happiness.
"Really?" he dared to believe it. Jazz nodded, carefully getting out of the bedsheets so as not to untuck them. Quietly, she tiptoed over to the door and opened it up, causing a loud creeking sound.
"Your family won't hear?"
Jazz shook her head. "Dad sleeps like a rock and Mom sleeps with ear plugs in. And my brother's at a camp, so he's way too far away to notice anything."
Jazz walked down the stairs, the Ghost Writer floating behind her. He felt very odd at being accepted so quickly, (at all, actually) but certainly wasn't complaining. Maybe the girl already knew that not all ghosts where bad. That certainly was a miracle. As they got to the kitchen, she pulled out a seat for him. Thanking her kindly, he sat down and looked around. When he had come from the portal, he hadn't taken much in on the way up at all, obviously, because he hadn't noticed that not only stacked on many of the shelves was not just the odd edible object amung other glowing green food, but many ecto weapons as well. That had made him slightly nervous, knowing that if anyone in this family were to turn on him, he would be blasted into oblivion and unable to truly protect himself without his special keyboard. Jazz noticed him shift in his chair nervously as he looked around.
"Yeah, I try not to think about it either." Jazz said, looking up at the creations of her parents. "My parents, they hunt ghosts, so that explains why there's a portal in our basement. Personally, I think they're insane. Okay, so maybe we do need some ghost hunters in this town, but my parents are accentric. No denying that."
He felt a little more comfortable after Jazz had told him that. She wouldn't turn on him. And it was unlikely that they would come down. So he was relatively safe, as long as lady luck remained on his side. After a minute, Jazz brought back two hot cups of cocoa with her. She set one on his side of the table and took her own to the other side, where she sat down and took a sip. He looked at his own, it had been a long time since he'd eaten or drank anything; Walker disliked food and drink and dissallowed it's presense in the Ghost Zone.
"You know that, really I am grateful for this." the Ghost Writer said suddenly after taking a sip of his own cocoa and almost choking as he realized how hot it was. "Most people, they just scream and run."
She looked thoughtful, as if mulling something over. "I know I wouldn't usually say anything like this to any of you except the Box Ghost, but I feel... relatively safe. If you were malevolent, you wouldn't have waited this long to lash out at me."
"Oh, the Box Ghost." the Ghost Writer replied with distaste. "I can't believe he even qualifies as a ghost. He's less scary than I am and I don't even try!"
"Yeah..." Jazz trailed off in thought. "I remember when I used to think he was called the Crate Creep."
The Ghost Writer cracked a grin, showing pointed teeth, and silently laughed. Jazz flinched slightly from the sight of the teeth. "See, I'm already more scary than he is!"
"Oh, sorry, I'm just not used to things like that." Jazz pointed out. The Ghost Writer shrugged. "Anyway... since you were hanging around my room, there's nothing I can help you with?"
Looking thoughtful, the Ghost Writer answered. "Actually there is. Really, I came here for the inspiration hoping I wouldn't get caught by the ghost hunters of this town. Or Danny Phantom, I don't think he'd take my presence too well."
Jazz interrupted. "Why not Danny Phantom? Why wouldn't he take you so well?"
"Well... the thing is that last Christmas, he was... getting rid of some anger, I guess you could call it. He had come to the Ghost Zone to blow up a few decorations, in a randomn place that just happened to be outside my lair. He accidentally misfired and blew up a long poem I had written, called The Fright Before Christmas. I became angry when he showed no remorse for what he had done after discovering it was about Christmas, so I acted a little irrationally. I wrote him into The Fright Before Christmas 2."
"That doesn't sound so bad. I'd love to be written into someone elses' poem." Jazz commented, however the Ghost Writer shook his head.
"Not in the way you'd think. I have a special keyboard that quite literally makes every word that I type become real. Quite a disaster in the wrong hands, so I've always used it sparingly. However, that half ghost had really gotten on my nerves. Especially being on Christmas Eve. So I wrote him into it, making him act it out, including his friends, his mother, his father... you too."
"So... all that wierdness last Christmas..."
"Yes, it was me." The Ghost Writer admitted. "But I am sorry. And it did finish on a good note, did it not? And I achieved my main goal with it. Danny Fenton learned a lesson."
"He did too..." Jazz said. "I remember him speaking in rhyme a lot, as well."
"So, anyway, he probably won't welcome my presence. I was going to sit up at the opp center above to get a good view of the town. However, on my way I came through your room. You were reading, so I decided to stay for a minute to see what you were so interested in at..." the Ghost Writer paused for a moment, taking a quick look at his watch and a sip from the now thankfully cooler cocoa. "2am. Then I saw your bookshelf. There was so many books there I stopped to look at them all. Your love of reading intrigued me... I had a quick thought that maybe..."
"Yes?" Jazz questioned. "Maybe what?"
"That maybe you'd like to read my works?" he asked, hope in his eyes. "Tell me what you think of them? On how I can improve further?"
Jazz didn't really know how to reply. She didn't know if she was glad or scared, but she certainly did know she was confused. "But what about the other ghosts? Don't they like reading?"
"Not really, no. They don't appreciate a printed word. But if you don't want to..."
"I'll do it!" Jazz said suddenly, shocking herself.
"You will?!" The Ghost Writer said, equally, if not more shocked at her reaction. "You're actually going to agree?!"
"Yes." Jazz said, taking a huge swig of the cocoa, trying to come to her senses that she'd agreed to do something with a ghost other than Danny.
Taking a few mouthfuls of hot cocoa, the Ghost Writer stood up. Just before he phased down into the lab, he said "I'll be right back."
Truth be told, that wasn't the only reason he was interested in Jazz Fenton.
In time, he'd tell her.
Before you ask me, yes, I am being evil. I think I'll let you make your own decision of the Ghost Writer's other interest. And no, before anyone asks, he doesn't like her, it's something else.