I don't own Danny Phantom or anything else referenced in this fanfic, etc. They are the sole property of their respective owners, yadda yadda, you know the drill.

Author's Note
For those of you who read the original version of this fanfic, welcome back! :D To those of you who have never seen this before in their lives, just plain welcome! This is a revamped version of The Origin of the Ghost Writer. When I originally wrote the thing, I thought I was doing well for what my skill level was then. But that was what, ten, eleven months ago? My writing style's different from back then. And I really enjoyed writing this fic the first time through. So I've decided to redo it... I want to see which parts of my writing are different, what's stayed the same, and continuing ticks that need to be thrown out.

This new version has a few different things and a few tweaks in it. So there's gonna be some new stuff for those who've already read the original. Most, if not all sentence structure has either been changed or added to, or even completely replaced in some cases. This time around, it's also a lot longer, so I'm going to split it into chapters to make it easier to read over a period of time.

Warning: When I rated this 'T', I rated it that for a reason. It contains some alcohol references and character deaths. If this irks you, then I suggest you don't read.

The Origin of the Ghostwriter

The Party Before



She used to be my younger sister. She was just turning twenty-one - five years younger than I was. Well, that was then, anyway. This is where our story starts.

Both of our features were actually quite similar, in regards to hair and eye colour; I think it runs in the family. Her black hair was very long, and stretched right down to her waist. It wasn't dead-straight though, it also had some frizz in places that according to her, 'just didn't want to come out'. I had a few bangs myself, but only because I purposely put them there – under normal circumstances, it just went flat, and that looked too neat to me. Both of our eyes were a dark shade of green – something that we seemed to share a certain level of pride about, as there weren't many people around who possessed dark green eyes. The only difference was that I needed glasses over mine; not doing so often resulted in my walking into random walls, or on one particular occasion, a tree trunk.

However, as this story still needs to start with Marietta, (although more commonly known as Mary) I think I should say a little more about her. She was my only sibling, which was strange for the seventies as families often had more than three kids. It was probably better that way; it meant there was less people to fight and bicker with. Apart from the occasional row, though, we were usually fine.

Now, the thing you must now about Mary was her love of parties and discos. So of course, her twenty-first had to be the kind of disco-party that she adored. Our Mum and Dad happily catered for it on account of it being her special day. The initial setting up of the party was one of the harder parts, but well-worth it. At the end of a long day, the lounge room had been turned into a miniature disco, complete with all of the best music from the seventies, junk food and some alcoholic beverages.

I had been in charge of decorating the newly-christened 'Disco Room'. However, the roof of our house on the ground floor was rather high, so I needed a ladder just to get the ribbons on the chandelier. Before I'd even finished, there were guests already arriving – I should have been done, but I'd had to go out shopping for a gift for Mary earlier, (a set of water-colour paints) and let me tell you; she was one hard person to buy for. It took me ages.

In total, there were eight people that came; her six tightly-knit group of friends, and our twin cousins, both boys. Really, it should have been nine, but my half-brother Randy had disappeared without a trace three years ago.

As the party really began to get started, it didn't take long for the drinks to get passed around. Even the underage twins received one each. I drank mine slowly through the night, careful to drink plenty of water. I'd been hungover before, and it was one of those things that I really did not feel like experiencing again. On the contrary however, one of Mary's friends, Helen, did rather fancy the odd glass of champagne, and managed to slip in three more-than-decent sized glasses of it before my parents noticed the swagger in her step. Mary was taken home at just nine o'clock for the alcohol to wear off, with a very bad headache and a tendency to need a bucket.

As nine slipped to ten, the legendary cutting of the cake time came around. Mary didn't hesitate, diving at the chance. Of course, like everyone else, the small amount of alcohol she'd ingested had gone to her head, and without even thinking she cut to the very bottom.

Mary's friends were a rather childish bunch, even when completely sober. So when they saw this, they were going to make her kiss the closest boy, regardless about what she herself and the unfortunate participant were going to think of it. I was that unfortunate participant standing a little too close to her.

"Mary, you cut to the bottom!" Anne gasped, a broad and playful grin widening across her face. "You know what that means; kiss time!"

We looked at each other, staring for more than just a few seconds. Mary pouted slightly, and turned back to her friend with her teeth clenched. "This is sick! Writer's my brother, for heaven's sake!" As a small side note, 'Writer' was my nickname. Everyone, including my parents, called me by that name. Most likely because there was barely ever a moment where I wasn't either buried in a book or buried in a notebook writing.

"Yeah, I must side with her and say that this... this is just plain wrong. No."

The guests were rather dissatisfied with our reaction – these people were comparable to bloodthirsty vampires; they weren't going to stop until they got what they wanted. They began to chant "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" repeatedly, looking excitedly from me to my sister. With great reluctance and an absolutely revolted look on her face, she quickly came up and gave me a completely meaningless brush on the cheek.

"There, is that enough for you sick people?!" she yelled angrily, giving them all the 'evil eyes' and pointing her finger threateningly at them. Many looked quite disappointed that it was just on the cheek and that they hadn't really gotten their money's worth for it, but it was a kiss, nonetheless. "Good, 'cause there's no way it's happening again, got it?!"

The party continued to rave on for many more hours into the night; midnight itself came and went without anyone really noticing. The only thing that even placed midnight into conscious awareness was my parents taking away the alcohol, so they didn't have to call anyone else's parents to take home a completely hammered kid. This resulted in a fair amount of disgruntled yells. These yells were extinguished, however, as soon as my parents miraculously managed to find an all-night pizzeria that even delivered.

The alcohol forgotten, dares where quickly forming throughout the party-goers. Mary ended up being tricked into an extra-spicy slice of Americano pizza. In a matter of moments, her face was rivaling the colour of a beetroot as she dashed to grab and proceeded to skull the nearest can of cola. She gave a loud belch at the end, panting and swallowing in quick succession, eyes streaming. I put my hand over my mouth, trying not to be seen grinning.

It was four in the morning until there were just five of us left – Mary, her friend Julie, (who was staying the night) my parents and I. The party, finally having died down, left a mess of torn streamers, party poppers and junk food everywhere. We all decided that it could be left until the morning, the thought of even thinking of cleaning it up at this hour was quite daunting.

I said goodnight to everyone and plodded to my room. It was cold all the way up on the second story. The ground floor was warm, and so was the first, but the second always seemed like it could give you frostbite. I tried to ignore the temperature, wrapping my long trench coat tighter around myself. I decided that changing into my (much too thin for the temperature) pajamas could wait for a bit.

I got under the covers of my bed after kicking off my shoes, propping myself up against the pillow and picking up my (very fat) notebook and pen, opening it up to the most recent page near the back. Maybe it was the hype from the party downstairs, or maybe it was just me, but I wasn't tired at all. So I continued to write in my notebook; I was currently in the process of writing a story. I was getting fairly excited too, because there was just two chapters left to be written. I had my mind set on one day getting it published and just maybe earning a little money from it. My family often looked at me as a madman for ever even thinking of taking such a pathway – nobody made any money from writing books. Unless you wrote something like the next To Kill a Mockingbird or something... but I was determined. In fact, even if it sold to only one person, (on the presumption that it was published to start with) I'd be happy that at least one person was taking time out of their valuable lives to read my book.

Six more pages had been immortalised in my notepad when the corner of my eye caught just that little glint of sunlight peaking over the hills. Just a glint. My eyes glanced quickly at the clock radio and then back out of the window. And then back to the clock – it was five in the morning – not good, I'd stayed up writing a lot longer than my original intention of fifteen minutes. I must have gotten too caught up in it all.

I jumped out of bed, the notebook being almost thrown as it landed messily on my desk. I flung the wardrobe open and wrestled getting my pajamas out as they got entangled with the draw.

Brilliant... I thought sarcastically, giving them another hard yank, this time with my foot up against the wall to help push. First, I heard this tearing sound. Next thing I know, I was flat on my bed with a torn pajama jacket.

I groaned exasperatedly, mum wasn't going to be happy about this. I could just imagine her saying "I don't care whether I bought them for you in the first place or not, you're the one who ripped them, so you'll be the one paying for them!"

I looked up at the ceiling, contemplating how much money another pair would cost. I didn't notice anything particularly strange about the roof until my nose picked it up instead.

It was smoke.

As soon as I'd smelt it, I noticed it on the ceiling. My neck twisted to look at the door to find a small layer of it seeping in through the top. It actually took a few moments for my brain to link smoke with fire, but when it did, I grabbed my notebook and ran for the door. I didn't like what I saw.

I'd been greeted with a room full of flames and black, smoky air. I began to panic, but still having enough sense to bury my face (except for my eyes) in my jacket and scarf, trying desperately not to breathe in any of the toxic fumes. I ran to the staircase, avoiding numerous spot-fires along the way, only to see the stairs conveniently collapse inwards right in front of me. The roof above creaked and strained, and the floor below became rickety as the floorboards holding it together came loose. Every second that went by... more panic was pumped through me, I became increasingly flustered, more worried that I would never see the ones I held close again...

Coughing, I made my way back to my room, closing the door behind me so as to not let too much more smoke in – but it was too late; it had already become filled with the respiration-impairing substance. I opened my window wide, putting my head out where I could at least breathe a little more easily.

Down safely on the ground, I saw my sister, my parents and Julie all waiting. They were screaming at me to get down, but right now with the stairs caved in, I knew that that was simply out of the question. "I can't, the stairs are gone! Do you have the ladder?!" It was a long-shot, I know. But I was really starting to get quite desperate.

"It's in the house somewhere!" Mary screamed back up. "I'll go get it!"

If I had have been within an arm's length, I would have been strangling my sister for her idiocy. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" I called, but no one seemed to hear me.

My mother screamed, dashing after my sister and back into the house. There was no time to be ripping hair out, but I was, nonetheless, quite ready and willing. My dad didn't follow them, instead looking straight upwards at me. "You're going to have to jump, or they're going to get too far in there and end up stuck!"

I looked downwards – it was a three story drop. The ground suddenly seemed so much further away than it really was, even though I had no fear of heights. How on earth would I survive such a drop onto hard ground?

I didn't like it at all. But I didn't have any other choice, and the smoke was beginning to get to my head even with the open window. The hand I had holding my notebook was slumped over the rails, and my grip on it loosened. I only just realised what had happened when it was halfway to the ground. My dad ran and picked it up from the ground, dangerously close to the burning garage.

My heart burned as the sick explosion caused by the heating up of numerous gas bottles reached my eyes and ears. My dad, as well as the rest of the ground floor, was engulfed in a large amount of ash, dust, smoke, debris and fire.

I knew what was coming next. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, clenched my teeth and tensed my muscles.

Author's Note
Yeah, yeah. Me and my cliffies, huh? Why must I always write them? I don't know. It's becoming like a bad habit or something. This will be continued shortly! I can't say how shortly, but when I make promises I don't tend to keep them. What you can be sure of is that I really want to get this done, so you'll probably see an update soon.

Moonlight: I'm actually really surprised at how different my writing is from when I originally wrote this. It's weird, even. My old writing seems... foreign.
Kris: Thank-god it seems foreign, Moonlight. When I look at your old writing, I want to cringe and throw up.
Yeah, I might actually agree with you there.
Kris: O.O She agreed with me. Damn. I was hoping for an argument.