Portals

Invisible

Danny imagined an overplayed eighties song crooning in the background as he walked through the streets of "Norrisville", according to the sign on the high school. Maybe this wasn't some twisted future. Maybe it was Small Town, USA, like Amity Park used to be before... everything.

Then the girl in the shirt that covered none of her belly next to him pulled out a glowing flat thing and started tapping it with her thumbs.

He stared at it, baffled, then gathered up his courage.

"Uh, excuse me?"

The girl turned and snorted. Like an animal. "What do you want, shoob?"

"Uh..." Danny considered asking what shoob meant, but decided to ask the more important question first in the probable case that she would walk away before he could ask another. "What's that you're holding?"

"Oh, this?" She raised the device, grinning smugly. So it was the right question after all. "Just the McPhone 7SHDR."

All Danny got out of that was "phone". "Can I touch it?"

"No way!" The girl tore away and raced out of sight. "Get your own, you shoob!"

The half-ghost still didn't know what shoob meant, but he was starting to get the idea. So maybe this was the future, but a close one. Like, three years close. He couldn't remember how long Tuck was usually hyped about a new PDA. Six months, maybe? It seemed about right.

As he glanced around, he quickly realized he was one of a handful of people that weren't smearing oil from their face onto their box's screen. Great. Maybe in this future Tuck's crazy plan to get everyone injected with his brain cells to "spread his greatness" had been realized. A world with six billion Tuck's was not one he wanted to live in, as much as he loved his best friend.

He struggled to the side of the street, careful not to nudge any of the Tuck drones. He had seen enough science fiction films to know that would probably end with him escaping by the tip of his tail.

He slipped into some grimy place. It was called Fred's something or other.
Danny was surprised to find himself in an arcade. An old, dirty one with food stains on the floor, but an arcade all the same. Finally, something he recognized, if indirectly.

He was even more surprised to find Howard button-mashing at the console a good way into the shop. Cunningham- Randy- was tottering towards him, balancing two trays that looked more like cheese with chips than nachos.

Randy all but dropped the food when he glanced at the console's screen. "Howard, you're two hundred points away from beating the high score!"

"I know, Cunningham."

Danny's eyes were locked on the molten cheese tray that wobbled in one of Randy's hands. Crud. "Randy, look out-"

The tray toppled, spraying the screen with cheese. A second later, a ba-ba-ba-bum sounded from the machine. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened.

"Cunningham!" The red-head turned to his friend. "What the cheese!"

Danny couldn't tell if that was another piece of slang or that was Howard being punny. No, it was slang; Howard was far too upset to be witty, if he was ever witty at all.

They argued before Howard stormed up a flight of stairs, leaving Randy muttering to himself. Danny blinked. Weird habit. Then something glowed red from Randy's satchel at the same time a small puff of condensation slipped from between Danny's lips. His... ghost sense? He hadn't seen any signs of a ghost beyond that chained green guy under the school.

Randy yanked a heavy black book from his bag and cracked it open. Then the slim boy crumpled, banging his head on the console before falling to the ground in a heap.

"What the heck!" Danny rushed over, rolling Randy over. The boy's eyes were glassy and staring into nothing. His whole body was limp. "Please don't be dead. Please don't be dead." He pressed an ear to Randy's chest and was relieved to find a heartbeat, just that it was beating a mile a minute. Maybe it was a cardiac episode? "Can I get a defibrillator over-"

Randy gasped awake, launching away from the console and setting his chin on a direct collision course for the back of Danny's head. The ghost boy was flattened with his chest on Randy's lap, waiting until the room stopped spinning.

Randy rubbed his chin, grumbling. "Ow, what the cheese- hey, new kid."

Danny pushed himself off of Randy, nearly falling back over. "Dude, what was that? You like, passed out."

"What? Oh, the shloop? I mean, I have trouble staying awake sometimes." Danny knew that nervous chuckle. He had done it several times himself. This kid was hiding something, and that book was part of it. He glanced on top of the gaming console and was surprised to see that the book had closed by itself. Weird.

"Dude, what is this thing?" Danny reached for the book.

"It's mine-" Something flashed green and the book fell open, pages flying. Randy's jaw dropped. "How-"

Another puff of condensation escaped Danny. "The book? Is it the book?" Great, now Randy had him doing it too. But he saw what was inside: doodles, squiggles and shoddy drawings. That moved on their own.

"How did you get that open?" Randy ripped the book away and slammed it shut, careful not to look inside.

The words slipped past Danny's ears. His mind was racing. Clockwork had said something about losing one of Ghost Writer's journals.

"Give that to me!" He tore the heavy black book from Randy's hands and darted into the bathroom.

Randy fled after Danny. "Hey, give it back!" His nose still scrunched up as he pushed into the bathroom, but the new kid had vanished. With the Ninjanomicon.

Danny panted in the bathroom he had just fazed into. The store next door- a supermarket, maybe. The heavy black book was clutched to his chest. He made it. He had Ghost Writer's journal. He would burn it first chance he got.
Then a stall door swung open. A woman with shoulder-length blonde hair wobbled out, locked eyes with Danny, and let out a screech that rivaled one of Ember's.

The half-ghost fled, hair whipping in his eyes. "Women's room; it's the women's room!"

He bolted out, almost barreling over a huge man waiting right outside. Danny could have sworn that he had a brain on a green hand, but there was no time to stop and goggle. He knew the next link in this chain; tomorrow there would be wanted posters all over the city with his face on it. Well, at least these ones wouldn't turn into his Phantom form every ten seconds.
He charged down the street with Ghost Writer's journal under one arm, hoping that he would escape whatever he just started.