This Place Will Become Your Tomb

The Apparition

The night had long settled over Amity Park, the streets silent, save for the occasional rustling of leaves or the distant hum of a passing car. In the Fenton household, the only light came from the soft glow of a desk lamp in Jazz's room, casting long shadows against the walls.

Jazz sat at her desk, her posture rigid, her gaze fixed on the open notebook in front of her, though her thoughts were far from the words scribbled on the page. Her pencil hovered above the paper, but she hadn't written anything in what felt like hours. The familiar silence of her room, usually a source of comfort, felt oppressive tonight.

She sighed softly, closing the notebook and placing the pencil down with deliberate care. There was no point in pretending she could focus. Her mind was elsewhere, swirling with thoughts she had tried to suppress for days—thoughts of Danny, of his breakdown, of everything that had led them to this point.

Jazz ran a hand through her hair, her fingers trembling ever so slightly as she pulled it away from her face. She had always been good at keeping things together—at being the strong, reliable one. The one who never faltered, who never showed weakness. But lately... lately, even her strength was beginning to fray at the edges.

It was getting harder to pretend that everything was fine.

She glanced at the closed door of her room, her eyes lingering on it for a moment longer than necessary. Danny's room was just down the hall, the space between them feeling like a chasm she couldn't cross. She hadn't spoken to him much since that night—since his breakdown. He had retreated into himself, barely leaving his room, and Jazz hadn't pushed him. She knew he needed time. But the silence between them was suffocating.

He's falling apart, and I can't stop it.

The thought settled heavily in her chest, a familiar weight she had been carrying for so long. Jazz had always known that Danny was different—that his ghost powers came with responsibilities and dangers that none of them could fully understand. But she had done everything in her power to protect him, to shield him from the worst of it.

And now, watching him spiral, watching him break under the weight of everything he had been carrying for years—Jazz couldn't help but wonder if she had failed him.

Maybe I should have done more. Maybe I should have been there for him sooner.

The guilt gnawed at her, sharp and relentless, and Jazz clenched her fists in her lap, her nails digging into her palms. She had always tried to do what was best for Danny, even when it meant making difficult choices—choices he didn't even know she had made.

Jazz stood up from her desk, her movements slow and deliberate, as if the weight of her thoughts was pulling her down. She crossed the room, her footsteps soft against the carpet, and opened the drawer of her bedside table. Inside, nestled among old papers and forgotten trinkets, was a small folder. It was unremarkable—just a plain manila folder, the kind you could find in any office. But the contents inside were anything but ordinary.

With trembling hands, Jazz pulled the folder out and sat on the edge of her bed, her heart pounding in her chest as she flipped it open. The papers inside were neatly organized, each one a reminder of the quiet sacrifices she had made over the years.

The first page was a medical report—one she had intercepted before their parents could see it. It detailed the strain Danny's ghost powers had been putting on his body, the toll it had taken on his health. Jazz had read it over a hundred times, memorizing every detail, every warning. She had known the risks from the beginning, known that Danny's powers came with a cost. But she had kept the report from him, from their parents, not wanting to add to the burden he already carried.