It's been a long time since I have seen a Danny Phantom episode. I remember a bit about the Christmas special with Ghostwriter. I wrote this in an hour and a half. I wanted to get this posted in time for Christmas. Like always, your reviews are welcomed and very much appreciated.

"'T'was the night before Christmas'. . .aw, who am I kidding? This isn't going to get done in time!"

I let my head fall on the desk. I had promised my friend that I would help write her a story for Christmas to give to her younger cousin. Unfortunately she had been so busy the last few weeks that we didn't get together to write it. Now I'm sitting here the night before she needs it with no clue what to write about. So not cool.

"Hm, writer's block. I know it well. What are you trying to do? Do tell."

I glance up and see a head poking through the wall. I scream and fall out of my chair. A ghost!

The head floats from the wall, its body following it. "There's no need to fear, my dear. Now let's see what you have here. Oh, 'The Night Before Christmas'. A favorite of mine." The ghost looks at the calendar on the wall that has the story's due date marked. "Tsk, tsk! And you are almost out of time."

I sit on the floor staring at the ghost. I try to reason its appearance. I must have hit my head harder than I thought. Yes, that's it! I have a concussion! Explains everything.

The ghost looks at the papers scattered on my desk. The mess isn't just the story I was trying to write for my friend. There are rough drafts of short stories messily stacked to one side.

The ghost turns to me. "Did you write all of these?"

I nod.

"Oh, you do not know how much I am pleased!" The ghost flips around in the air. "Ghostwriter is my name. As it suggests, it is my game. I assume you are the same."

I slowly stand up, using the footboard of my bed to support myself. This cannot be real. I really need to take that psych-eval my guidance counselor suggested. This is way too weird to be a concussion.

"Don't you speak? If not this night looks bleak." Ghostwriter is waiting for me to say something.

"I speak."

Yeah, I know, lame choice of words.

"What is your name? I have told you mine. Come, come, girl, I'm no reader of minds."

"YinYang," I answer. "Most people call me YinYang."

"YinYang? What a quirk! Enough talk, time to work."

"Yeah, that's what I've been trying to do for the last hour and a half," I say.

"And with your deadline so near that is why I am here."

Ghostwriter grabs my hands and pulls me through the exterior wall. We fly high into the air and soar over the city. I look down and scream. I am not a fan of heights.

"Don't drop me!" I yell.

Ghostwriter loosens his grip and I slip an inch, but it tightens again. He laughs.

"That's not funny," I gasp.

"Forgive me, poor joke. Let's find some place warm since you don't have a coat."

Ghostwriter takes me to a toy store. It is closed for the day. He claps his hands and the lights come on. He tugs at my sleeve and hands me a pen and a notepad.

"Watch closely and take notes a-many," he says. "This should give you ideas aplenty."

An eerie green glow falls over the toy store. There is a lot of ripping and crashing as the toys come to life.

It doesn't take me too long to fill several sheets with ideas. I turn to Ghostwriter to find him writing, too.

"What are you writing?" I ask.

"Every year I like to write a Christmas story. This year you're helping to write it for me. Last year I wrote about the phantom Danny, whose heart was icy, cold, and clammy. This year it's about someone kind and caring, a helpful person who is quite daring."

"You're writing about me?" Ghostwriter nods. "Thank you."

There is a flash of green and Ghostwriter tumbles back into a shelf. I turn to see Danny Phantom, his hand raised, palm out at Ghostwriter.

"I don't know what your game is, Ghostwriter," says Danny, "but you are going back to the Ghost Zone where you belong."

Ghostwriter gets up. "Game? There is no game. But once again you are to blame!"

I jump out of the way. Ghostwriter and Danny Phantom are really going at it.

"Are you okay?"

I turn around to see a goth girl and a geeky boy behind me.

"You got to get them to stop," I say. "Ghostwriter's done nothing wrong!"

"Then what is he doing?" asks the girl.

"Helping me write a story." I tell them the events of my night.

"Oh, man," says the boy.

"Danny, stop!" shouts the girl. "Stop! Stop!"

Danny has Ghostwriter pinned on the floor. "Just a minute!"

I run up to him and punch him in the back of the head. "Now listen! Ghostwriter was only trying to help write a story. You didn't have to attack him, you bully."

"Who are you calling — "

I slap Danny across the face. I watch the stunned look on his face, wanting to yell at him, but I keep it K+ and stay quiet.

"Oh, man," he says. "I'm sorry."

I sigh. "It's okay. You didn't know. Let's go, Ghostwriter. I need you to take me home."

Ghostwriter gets up and takes my hand and he takes me home.

"I'm sorry it turned out this way," I say.

"It's okay. I should've known he would come out to play."

"Thanks for everything, Ghostwriter."

"Merry Christmas, YinYang, and a happy new year. May it be fun, if not a bit queer." Ghostwriter leaves without another word.

I sit down at my desk and begin to write.

"'T'was the night before Christmas and all through the toy store, everything was locked, every window and door. . .'"