You appear before me the night I am crowned, and I almost think it is a dream. But how can it be? In all my dreams you are young and sprightly, your laughter echoing from my memories, and your sadness from the depths of my soul. This person before me right now is but a husk of the young girl I knew.

"Queen," you address me. Not by my name, but by title. And just like that, I know that the child I had loved all my life was dead.

*

It seems such a long time, doesn't it? We've both changed a lot since then.

I've no way to prove it, but I like to think it was today. A day lost in the summer, indistinguishable from the sea of checked boxes on an old, decaying calendar. Indistinguishable, not because it was uneventful, but because every other day was just as plump and colored by adventure. Tell me, were the days longer back then, or does nostalgia paint a halcyon? Perhaps it's just that I've relived those moments so many times that it begins to feel longer than a day.

It could have been any day. It might as well have been today.

We were the daughters of youth, you and I. There were none livelier than us. You, a whirlwind of movement, all laughter and scraped knees, unable to keep still for even a second. Me, with all my schemes and ideas that took us to the ends of the earth, the farthest reaches of space, and back home just in time for dinner. We would go to the Burgundy Wood everyday. You loved the trees. I remember you hopping from branch to branch like a sparrow, your hair a golden halo lit by the sun, and your eyes somehow brighter.

The Wood was your domain. There was nowhere I could hide that you would not find, no place I could run without you tailing after. That's how you won every game of hide-and-seek. Not to mention tag, you cheater.

One.

Two—

You'd have caught me by then. I wouldn't last three seconds with you in pursuit.

One.

Two.

Three.

And I'd be in your arms again, squirming, pouting, laughing. You were always the athletic one, muscles firm even in childhood. This should have made me jealous, but I wasn't. I felt...

Safe.

The Wood was your kingdom, and so my sanctuary. I was never afraid of the looming trees and thick foliage, even as the sun began to set and the land began to thrum with the life of night. I never feared it, because it was yours. And you would never have let anything happen to me.

And so I was just as devastated as you, my Queen, when the City cut our Wood down.

Progress, they said. Advancement. Words that meant nothing to homeless children. I lived in a mansion by the sea, and you in the floor above your father's bakery. But the Burgundy Wood was the home that we made together. And, as it would turn out, the first of many that we would lose together.

You weren't the type to cry when sad. You still aren't. Instead, I watched you wilt and grey as the sorrow you fought so hard to keep inside corrupted you from within. I put my grief aside to comfort you. "We'll build our own kingdom!" I said, my arms wrapped tight around your shoulders. "One the City can't touch. A better kingdom, just for us!"

You snorted, and it sounded wet. You put on a brittle smile, for me. "You'll be the ruler then," you said in an attempt at light-heartedness, "and I'll be your assassin."

I laugh hard enough for the tears I've been holding back to stream down. "Does that mean you'll kill for me, or that you'll kill me?" I asked.

You narrow your eyes, teasing. "You'll just have to find out, wouldn't you?"

And just like that, I knew we were okay. I thought we were okay. But calendar boxes only last a day unchecked. And no matter how long a day felt to me back then, time had the uncanny habit of catching up. Summer came and passed. I was entered into the Academy to begin my training as a model citizen. And you...

The City took you as its own.

*

The Academy molded me into its image. I was it's pride, it's poster girl. I was the perfect citizen. Intelligent, courteous, and a noble at that.

But you...

Last I heard of you, your father had lost his bakery. He had succumbed to his vices and lost his honor, or so I was told. No one could ever be more specific. They didn't know what exactly befell the baker, let alone the fate of his daughter. I had pressed my father for as much information as I could. He was part of the City council. Surely, he would know such a thing.

My father wouldn't look me in the eye. "The Oracle took her in," he finally revealed in a slurred mutter. His face then blanches of all color, as if his whole spirit was breathed out in that single utterance. He scrambles off his seat, out of the dining hall. "Do not worry about your old playmate," he said, pausing at the threshold. "The City has her in its care."

*

Every Ruler had their own assassins. This was common knowledge. No Queen or King was ever seen without an entourage of burly men, armed to the teeth. But you were different.

You were not an entourage, for one. You were singular, not as muscled as most bodyguards, not even as tall as the average man. Could you really hold a candle to anyone sent to kill me?

I make the mistake of asking you this, when you first appear in my chambers at my inaugural night.

"No one sent to kill you will succeed under my watch. Your death is my prerogative." You say this mechanically. Your skin is pale in the moonlight, and your eyes are less expressive than a corpse's.

You are not the child I grew up with. You aren't even human. What did they do to you? Did the Oracle keep you in a dungeon, never to see the light of day until my coronation?

"I think you mean 'your life is under my protection,'" I scoff. The windows are bolted. How did you get in? "You make it sound like you're going to kill me."

You step towards me. Even if you are not as tall as a man, you have a few inches on me. It takes my all not to stumble back.

"Perhaps I'm not transparent enough," you say. "It is my job to keep you alive until the time is right for me to kill you."

"W-What?"

"The City wills, and I enforce." Your eyes lock onto mine, and I've never seen anything so empty. "This is the curse of every Ruler. To deny me is to deny the City. If you have qualms, step down."

You retreat, making a path to lean against the bay window. You look bored, like you'd rather be anywhere else than here in my bedroom, threatening to kill me.

"What is this about? Tell me!" My voice shakes and my eyes find the door.

"If you leave me now, you leave your position. If you want to remain Queen, accept the law. You will rule, then I will kill you."

"Do you..." Do you have to? I want to ask. But I know the City has its secrets. You were one of them. It makes sense that they would only be revealed to me now, after I'd sworn myself into their nest, their web of laws and lies. 'Ruler' was just the name of their favorite puppet. And they like to change its costume every now and then.

What better apparel than the Academy's best and brightest?

Right. It isn't like I didn't have my suspicions. "When?" I ask instead.

You stare at me, hollow, lifeless. Maybe you are the puppet.

"Will you kill me when I am old?" I demand.

"Pray that I will," you drawl. "But not even I know when it will happen."

"Will you kill me when I displease you?" I throw the door one last look. I have worked too hard to let death get between me and my crown.

"No. It isn't about that," you say, straightening. "Nothing you can do will ever displease me enough to warrant murder."

"Then why must you kill me!"

Your eyes glint like evening stars. Cold. Distant. "That's just the way this story goes."

*

I shouldn't have worried about the quality of your protection. You had always been more athletic than me. Whatever training the Oracle put you through, it bested any entourage of bodyguards I could ever ask for.

I was a beloved leader, but not everyone agreed with the City. I was the face of their dissatisfaction, the new target of their rebellion.

None of them got within a meter close to me.

You were always there, guns blazing, sword drawn, fist pulled back and ready to swing. You never faltered.

It's already months into my reign, after you save me from a nasty bombing, that I first see you injured.

You're bandaging an arm in my cloakroom, and it slips out of my mouth. "I didn't know you could bleed."

Your face turns wry. "If I were a god, I wouldn't be in this service, my Queen." If you weren't so monotonous, I'd have sworn that was sarcasm.

"No?" I ask, but in my thoughtfulness, it ends up sounding like a statement. No. She does not want this, even now. Not for the first time, I wonder what they had done to you.

My Queen, I turn your words over in my head. Do you even remember my name?

You don't act like a stranger, but you aren't my friend. I don't know what to make of you. Of us.

In the years to come, you save my life more times than I can count.

"It's just a job," you say.

"You bleed to much for 'just a job,'" I snap. "Or maybe you're just bad at it!"

Another ambush had overwhelmed you. I waited at your bedside for days before you woke up. Me? There wasn't a scratch on me at all.

"I'll make a better kingdom," I grumble. "One the City can't touch. Just for us."

"I've heard this before," you say. Was that disappointment or fondness? You'd fallen back to sleep by then, so I hadn't asked.

*

The idea of a live-in assassin was something that put me at edge at first, but over the years, the domesticity had caught up to us.

The City was changing under my rule, but many didn't like that. Some of the tensions were a long time coming, taking root far before either of us was born. Roots can only bide so long in the soil before breaking the surface, rearing their head.

We stayed home, more often than not, in those later years.

Home. It had crept up on me. Home.

When was the last time we had one together?

I never brought our childhood up, but I could see glimpses of it. When you sit in a patch of sunlight and close your eyes. When you strip from your leather armor and don loose cottons. When you hum to yourself while watering the plants. When you always, always, always catch me, whether in the battlefield or from the library ladder.

It was nothing like the Burgundy Wood, ephemeral halcyon, idyllic and long gone. This was something new. This was something old. This was you and me, doing as history and choruses and broken records do. Despite the distance and the years that had separated us, despite the forces that tore us apart, here we were again, stubborn, inveterate, building a home together.

You had come to my chambers at my inaugural night, and here you are now, sprawled out on my bed even after I tell you 'You have your own bed!' for the hundredth time.

You're as beautiful as our Wood. Your hair aglow like the sun through rustling leaves, your presence as easy as a quiet breeze. I bask in it. Outside, I was the Ruler, wise and ever-vigilant. But in these quiet moments alone with you, I felt like no one. No sword in my hand, no burden of the crown. Only the effortless peace of your company.

Let's be no one together, I want to say. I never do. How foolish, after all, to feel safe with one's murderer. You're the sun on my skin as well as the nimbus curtain hanging over me. Always on the horizon.

"Will you regret it?" I say instead. What a conversation starter, my death. I bring it up all the time, as if I could die more than once. You indulge me either way.

One.

"Why regret how the sun rises and sets when nothing will change its course? I will not regret what was always bound to happen." You're stretched out on my couch, the same drawl as when you were eleven.

Two.

"I will kill you because one day, you will be killed. And I will not let anyone else have that honor." You're pulling a blade from the terrorist's corpse. There's blood on your cheek.

Three.

"I will kill you, because who else is more deserving than I?" You're in my bed and your hand is at my throat. I think, perhaps this is it. Then your hand travels lower, and lower, and—

*

We'll build our own kingdom.

I wanted to. There was nothing I wanted more than to build something with you.

I wanted to give you all the strawberries that would make your eyes widen in delight. I wanted to give you a bed stuffed with the world's softest feathers to hear your contented sigh. I wanted to hide you from the years we spent apart so you'll never have to wake up in the middle of the night and say nothing's wrong.

I wanted to give you back your Wood.

I wanted to take everything the world could offer and put it in your hands. It's yours, it's yours, it's all yours.

But to hell with what I wanted.

You weren't mine.

You were the City's.

*

The City wasn't the city. The law wasn't the people. I wonder if I could have done anything to change the course of history. But I suppose one can only fan the flames so long before it sets fire to the house. The underground forces keeping the kingdom in line had fanned enough flames.

This isn't personal. This is revolution.

They're on their way here now, the people. I can hear them, screaming, crying, wailing. The nobles have been slaughtered, the guards, overthrown. I can't say I didn't see this coming.

You've barricaded us in my chambers. You're the best warrior in the kingdom, but there are thousands of them, each willing to die to get to their purpose.

The purpose is me.

Fish eats shark. Ant eats grasshopper. There's no escape from this.

That's just the way this story goes.

You look at me. You're always so calm in a crisis, always assessing, hand a second away from a concealed weapon. But now, I can see it on your face.

There's only one way out.

Your voice does not tremble, but I know you like I know the house I grew up in, the land I reign over, the mattress we share. You are afraid.

"I will kill you," you say, "because I don't want you to go through killing yourself."

The look in your eyes say you're trying to believe it. You're upset, you're in denial, you want to scream, to throw something, to back out. I know you won't.

I take your face in my hands. You're as beautiful as our Wood. The City had taken it too, had altered it, enslaved it. The City ravaged our childhood, devoured our future.

I tangle my fingers in your hair. The burning chaos outside catches on it like a dying sun. Your eyes glisten like evening stars, harbingers of the long, freezing night ahead. I cannot look away, not even as you lift your pistol, hand eerily steady. You're mesmerizing.

Of all the things I've lost, you're the only one that's found its way back to me. My life begins and ends with you. I wouldn't have it any other way.

"Hey now," you say. The breeze is in your voice. Cool, quiet, calm. Leaves tremble in the undertone. "On the count of three, it will be over, yeah?"

I nod. My thumb grazes your bottom lip.

One.

"Do you regret it?" I ask as the cold metal of the pistol presses the bottom of my chin.

"What does that change?" Your eyes, evening stars, rising tides, don't meet mine.

Two.

"Do you regret it?"

I press our foreheads together until finally, finally you look at me.

You weren't the type to cry when sad. You still aren't.

Your eyes search mine like all the other times we lay together. How could I ever think them empty? There is so much brimming in them, I could drown.

You brush my cheek with the back of your fingers. "I'll be with you soon."

I clutch your hand and laugh. I'd give anything up for you. This kingdom, this world, this life.

"You were my Queen first," I whisper against your lips.

You put on a brittle smile, for me.

One.

Two—

Oh great, Sid thinks to himself. Stuck in a room with everyone I hate.

He glowers covertly at the other four people wandering aimlessly around the otherwise empty classroom. One sits beside him. Again. It’s Gale. “It has been exactly three hours after our dismissal,” she helpfully informs in that formal tone that’s always needlessly polite.

“Gale, there’s a clock on the wall. If I wanted a timecheck, I’d get it myself.”

She doesn’t seem at all deterred at his sarcasm. “Pardon. I only meant to emphasize the length of time we have been here,” she says. We have. Not We’ve. In all honesty, Sid has no clue on what she has against contractions. He’s above asking, though. Asking means he actually noticed and cares. A ridiculous assumption.

“Sid,” she says more seriously, her brow furrowing in worry. “It is past our bedtime,” she stresses. Part of Sid wants to laugh at her for sleeping at eight. The other part forgot that they were dismissed at five o’ clock. Due to bad weather, students got out an hour later instead of earlier. If only the widdifully wonderful Mayor had listened to the weather report this morning. Ninety percent chance of rain. Ninety. And yet he didn’t suspend.

The storm’s still pretty strong, but the sound is muted by the windows. All of them were closed right before everyone absconded. Everyone except for these unfortunate five. Previously, they had been waiting at Gate C, but the flood had gotten too high. It even got to push open the Gate, which would not have happened if the guard made sure it was locked before fleeing. Sid assumes he had fled. No one in their right mind would stay behind under those circumstances.

Sid’s eyes pass over the other three who have been talking nonstop the entire time. Now, they seem pretty glazed over. Even Keil, the overboard extrovert who everyone likes. It’s strange to see her finally quit standing and slump on a chair, an unmistakable frown on her face. The other two, the Santiago’s, look rather antsy.

“How long do you think until we have to start speaking to each other?” Sid murmurs to Gale.

“It is inevitable, I think. But you have successfully ignored each other for three whole hours and counting. With persistence, I estimate thirty more minutes maximum?” she says.

“You getting sleepy there, Sid?”

Sid closes his eyes in exasperation before slowly turning to face the speaker. “No need to shout, Keil. We’re the only five people in the room.”

“No need to snap, Obsidian. I was only asking,” she half-laughs. A malicious grin cracks on her face. “I don’t advise you to sleep, though. There are rumours...” She stands on her chair. ”... of the school being... haunted.” She wiggles her fingers drammatically. Thunder rolls abovehead, making Keil smugger.

Ral, one of the Santiago cousins, claps her hands and smiles, eager for a story. On the other hand, Rob raises an eyebrow, the side of his mouth poking upwards.

“Oh God,” Sid sighs.

“It was not unpredictable. You should have foreseen it,” Gale tells him.

“You A-classers are such killjoys,” Rob drawls out.

“It’s A-students, Santiago,” Sid retorts, but does not rebut. He can’t think of anything to say that won’t sound defensive. Rob sticks out his tongue, causing Sid to roll his eyes.

“Boys,” Keil cutts in. “Trying to tell a story here. Okay.” She wiggles her fingers again and uses her deep, creepy narrator voice. “It was a regular school day. The sun was shining, and a few little gradeschoolers thought it was the perfect day to play hide and seek. One of them was Little Johnny.”

“Why is it always ‘Johnny’?” Ral whines. Rob shushes her, but she continues. “I’m just saying, why not ‘Edward’? Or maybe ‘Lolita’? It sounds way creepier than ‘Johnny’--”

“I don’t make the stories, Ral!” Keil points at her in mock outrage. “I just tell them. Anyway--”

“Who makes them up then?” Sid asks.

“Little Johnny thought he found the best hiding place!” Keil near-yelled, drowning out Sid’s possible elaboration. “In an old Bodega the Janitors stopped using. He snuck in there, and sure as the sun, his playmates couldn’t find him. They called him out, but he wanted to be the ultimate hide-n’-seek champion. He didn’t come out for hours--”

“Didn’t he need to pee?” Ral asked.

“Ral! Where was I? Oh yeah. His friends had already quit looking for him. Finally, Little Johnny decided to come out-- ONLY TO REALIZE THAT HE HAD LOCKED HIMSELF IN! For days he cried for help, but no Janitors used that bodega anymore. Only after a month... when his body started to reek... did they discover it rotting away and infested with maggots!”

“Eww,” Ral and Sid reacted. Rob laughed. Particularly at Sid.

“Some say that Little Johnny’s ghost is stuck there. And that he can only escape if he finds another unfortunate child to take his place... And that is the story of Bodega 5!” Keil finishes in a suddenly cheerful tone.

“I find that story pattern somewhat overused, I am afraid,” Gale confesses. Keil looks deeply offended. Her mouth hangs open.

Rob takes over. “Well, got any better ghost stories?” he shoots.

Gale shakes her head. “I do not make any.” Sid snorts at that, earning a glare from Rob.

Thunder cracks in the distance, making the stranded students remember their predicament. Sid doesn’t know about the others, but he’s perfectly fine with sleeping over in the school. His parents are working overseas, so there isn’t anyone fetching him tonight. Commuting is a ‘no’, because of the lake that has developed in the span of six hours. Sid has already accepted these facts.

The silence stretches, until broken by Keil. “So...” Her evil grin has returned. “Anyone want to go ghost hunting?”

“Keil, we’re highschoolers,” Sid says.

“We are middleschoolers by K-12 standards,” Gale corrects.

“Whatever. We’re fourteen, and I’m sure none of us believes in ghosts anymore.”

“So you used to?” Keil presses him. Sid tries on his best withering stare.

“I wanna come,” Ral pipes up. They all stare at her. “What? It’s not like we’ve got anything else to do. I’m tired of just sitting around.”

Rob stands. “Then I’ll come too, I guess.” Eyes turn to Sid and Gale. Gale looks at Sid. Sid rolls his eyes.

“What? Too killjoy or too chicken?” Rob taunts. Ral shushes him, then turns to Sid.

“Come on! Who cares if ghosts are real? It’s better than just waiting here,” she smiles generously with her palms out.

Sid looks at her hand and considers taking it. Instead, Sid tries to look severely annoyed when he says “Fine.” In truth, he just doesn’t want to be alone.

“I shall tag along,” Gale announces.

“Good choice!” Keil says. “Alright, I lead! Bodega 5, here we come!” She marches to the door, followed by the cousins, then by Gale and Sid. Gale leans in to whisper in Sid’s ear.

“Do you think leaving the room is a wise choice?” she asks.

Sid ponders for a moment before shaking his head. “It’s not about ‘wise’ anymore, Gale. It’s about how stupidly we can pass the time,” he jokes.

*

The corridors are dark. The only sources of light are the lightning streaks that come in succession from outside. Sid knows the switches would work, but turning them on would make Rob tease him for being scared. That imbecile. No one else tries to turn on the lights, though he sees Ral twitch towards the switches as they pass by.

“So what’s our plan exactly? We enter Bodega 5 and lock ourselves in?” Sid says.

Keil turns to walk backwards-- or at least that’s what Sid can tell from her silhouette. “Not a bad idea, Sid!” Her teeth reflect the scarce glow of lightning.

“That’s boring,” Rob says. “I wanna check out the Quad.”

″’Cause that’s far more interesting, Santiago.”

“Take a hike, Trinidad!”

Ral falls behind to talk to Gale. “Do you get this a lot? I get this a lot.”

“Sid’s personality is something to get accustomed to,” Gale agrees. Traitor, Sid thinks.

“You know I was talking to the Janitor the other day,” Keil started babbling again. “And you know how this place used to be a convent, right? Well the Janitor told me that he had to stay late the night before. At around midnight, he said he saw some movement down at the Quadrangle. He had one of those huge flashlights, and he shone it down--”

“Did he glimpse the Midnight Murderer?” Gale asks, looking sincerely intrigued. Sid remembers her obsession with serial killers. She literally has a poster of Jack the Ripper in her bedroom. She sleeps with it on the wall right beside her bed.

“God-- No!” Keil says, actually looking scared for a moment. “He saw a nun DIGGING HERSELF OUT OF THE GROUND!”

“Oh,” Gale says, unimpressed.

“The Midnight Murderer’s been in the asylum for a year, Gale,” Sid reminds her. “There’s no way a janitor saw him two nights ago.”

“So that’s your name. Gale,” Keil says thoughtlessly.

Sid scowls at her. “Seriously?”

She spreads her arms out as if to say What? It’s not my fault! “Sorry,” she shrugs.

“Though most people find it repugnant, I am not offended that you forgot my name,” Gale says, sliding her hand against the windows.

“Thank you,” Keil grins.

Before Sid could fume at her, the lights at the far side of the corridor flicker on and off. Ral gasps, Keil spits out an expletive, Rob spits out a more atrocious expletive, and Gale keeps silent. “What was that?” Keil exclaims.

Sid scans the corridor with his eyes, but the light is gone, so he sees nothing. Ghosts aren’t real, he thinks over and over again like a protective mantra. He sees Rob take a daring step forward. Undoubtedly to show off.

“It was probably just the lightning,” Sid discourages him.

“Yeah. The lightning inside the building,” Rob glances back at him. Ral quickly follows behind her cousin, as if to give him backup against this imaginary monster. Keil steps forward too.

Sid sighs in exasperation. “Come on. There’s a million reasons why that light could have flickered. It’s probably not a gh--”

All the lights above them turn on, causing everyone to yelp. They spin around quick to see Gale’s hand on the light switches. “Pardon. I thought it would be easier to find clues if the light was on,” she says.

Sid squints against the brightness. “At least we know we’re not all imbeciles--”

A series of metal clangs and clatters ring out from the far side of the corridor, where the lights have turned off. “Shut up, Trinidad,” Rob hisses. “What room is that at the end of the corridor?”

“The Cooking Room,” Ral whispers to him, trying to conceal the quiver in her voice.

She’s scared, Sid notes, but that won’t stop her from beating the living hell out of whatever comes round that corner. Last year, she beat up some older students who were trash-talking Rob. She never got caught because the older boys didn’t want to admit they were beat up by a twelve-year old girl.

Sid smiles to himself. He was the one who got the older boys to trash-talk Rob.

Rob enters the room first, determined to find a ghost. He doesn’t turn on the lights, probably due to his stupid theatrics. Everyone gets in at once, not wanting to be the rearguard in a horror movie. They venture around in different directions: the Santiago’s to the farthest kitchens near the giant mirror, Sid and Gale to the near ones, and Keil to the one and only refrigerator.

“You know there’s a ghost story about this place. A teacher sees a child playing around while the students are having a practical test--” Keil gabs.

“Keil. Shut up,” Rob says.

“Not helping,” Ral adds.

Keil raises her hands in surrender, then returns to investigating the refrigerator.

Sid feels around the sink of the second kitchen. It’s dry, as to be expected. He looks at Gale, who’s in the first kitchen, nearest the door.

“Anything?” he asks her quietly.

She rummages through the emergency kit by the wall. She turns to him with an object in each of her hands. “Flashlights,” she smiles, tossing one.

Sid reaches out to catch it. “Thanks,” he says when he does, realizing only then what would have happened if he didn’t get to. It would be noisy, and he’d be breaking school property with four witnesses. He shrugs it off, and tests the light.

Keil shrieks. They all snap their necks towards her. “There’s Stick-O!” she says ecstatically, grabbing a plastic cylinder filled with wafer sticks from the fridge.

“Keil, I will-” -expletive- ”-kill you,” Rob growls.

Keil chuckles. “Light’s in my eye, Sid,” she covers her face. Sid makes the flashlight point at the floor, annoyed. “That’s better,” she says, beginning to munch on some Stick-O’s. “I can’t believe they would leave these here! Mm, they taste so good!”

Sid continues his search, trying not to grumble. His light reflects on something silver. It’s in the third kitchen. He walks into the area then sees pots and pans scattered on the floor. He releases a huff of surprise when his flashlight hits them all. “Rob...” he calls.

“What?” comes the reply.

Sid doesn’t answer. He sees little red spots on the floor, trailing further. He shines his light on the part of the floor they lead to, and is surprised when something reflects. There are utensils-- No, knives spilled on the floor. Four knives, Sid observes.

Each kitchen has five.

Ral screams. She stretches her hand to point at the mirror, as if it had wronged her. “I saw something! S-someone-- I saw someone in the mirror, h-he was staring at me like--”

“What do you mean?” Rob asks. “Where?”

They both look at the mirror. Sid checks over his shoulders. He feels like they’re being watched. Ral stammers. “I-i-it was right--”

“Guys,” Gale raises her voice. She looks serious. Almost angry. “Let us leave.”

They all bolt out at her command. Let us leave, Sid thinks. Was she telling them to leave, or was she asking permission from someone they couldn’t see to allow them to leave?

“Run!” one of them shouts, and they all flee through the corridors, then down the stairs. Sid doesn’t recall ever running so fast in his life. By the time they stop, they’re on the floor of the Mini Hall, breathless. Sid lies down on the rough floor, already feeling like he wants to sleep. He rolls his head to see the others.

Keil’s hugging the Stick-O’s to her chest. That girl has jacked-up priorities.

Gale’s beside him, looking left and right. “We... are complete,” she breathes out. Rob sits up, looking bummed. “I almost caught the ghost,” he complains.

Sid sits up at that. “Are you kidding me? Your cousin--”

“I saw it,” Ral exhales, her breath evening out. She’s holding her head in her hands, looking as if she wants to cry. “He looked at me with his eyes... so angry. He... he was so angry... At me...”

Silence hung thick and foreboding. Sid turns to Keil. “Give me a Stick-O. I’m gonna need it,” he says, taking one of the chocolate wafer sticks.

The walls of the Mini Hall are made out of glass. Outside, they can see with the help of the limited light from streetlamps, that the storm is still violent. Rain pours down the glass, and the trees are swaying dangerously. Sid remembers that since the Hall is in the first floor, it overlooks the quadrangle. He stands and lumbers to the glass, leaning on it for support.

“Hey Rob,” Sid calls without turning. “Here’s your sightly quadrangle.”

He hears Rob walk to his right. Rob mutters yet another expletive. Sid concurs. The quadrangle is flooded to the point that only the tops of the trees are visible. That and the flagpole, whose tip is burnt black, after being hit by lightning. That was when the faculty decided to give up on the Mayor and send the students home, but the flood was already too high for them to be safely dismissed. The ground floor classrooms were evacuated and, praise the Lord, the gradeschool students were sent home first.

One thing is certain: No one’s voting for that Mayor next election.

“Guess the nun wasn’t the ghost Ral saw,” Keil says nonchalantly. Sid looks at her. She’s stretching on the floor like a cat in the sun. She rolls over to meet his gaze. “You got scared, didn’t you?”

And just like that, Sid’s back to being stubborn. “I did not,” he glowers.

Keil’s grin spreads like a disease. “You sure looked like you did.”

“I did not.”

“Did too.”

Sid rolls his eyes, then returns to the window. “Okay,” Keil says. “Maybe we should go somewhere else haunted. Classroom 8C is nearby.”

Nobody asks What happened in Classroom 8C? so Keil goes out of her way to ask herself. “You guys don’t know that? The classroom with a poltergeist that pretends to be a class observer? Miss Benito?”

“No one wants to hear your stories, Keil. Ghosts aren’t real,” Sid’s words drip with venom.

″‘Ghosts aren’t real!’” Rob says in a poor imitation of Sid’s voice. “Did you not see what happened back in the cooking room?”

“I’m saying that there may have been a plausible explanation for that!”

“I’m not a liar,” Ral suddenly blurts from the corner. “If you think I’m lying, I’m not.”

“Okay, guys. Chill,” Keil interrupts, waving her hands above her head. “How about we just head to Classroom 8C to prove to Obsidian here that ghosts are real. We have... what? Twelve hours ’til the staff arrives?”

“Seven hours and thirty minutes. It is approximately nine-thirty right now, and the staff arrives at five o’ clock tomorrow,” Gale states, examining her watch.

“Right, thanks, Gale. I think my school bus won’t mind,” she glances at the flood outside, before her eyes return to Sid. “So?” Without waiting for a reply, she stands and ambles to the corridor.

To Sid’s surprise, Gale stands up too. Sid pulls her aside and tries to ask her without the others hearing. “Have you grown daft?” he starts.

“I have not.”

“Why?”

“Keil is obviously persistent in her ghost hunting aims. Splitting up in a school as spacious as this would be, as you say, daft. It is better to stay together. And as we cannot convince Keil to stay with us, we should instead follow her,” Gale reasons.

Sid blinks once. Twice. Then he sighs. “Fine,” he relents, joining her out the room.

Rob stands too. “Ral. You coming?” he calls. Ral remains on the ground, hugging her knees. She’s picking on the cuticle at the sides of her fingers.

“Ral! Ralene Santiago! I can’t leave you here!” he urges. Ral stands and begrudgingly follows them to the door. Sid nods, then faces Keil. She’s smiling like a lunatic. “Get on with it,” Sid says, and Keil obediently skips away.

*

The door to Classroom 8C is locked. Keil tries pathetically to bust it open, before Rob takes out from his pocket an honest-to-god lock-picking set. Sid gives him a look that states explicitly, What the hell do you even do with your life?

Rob growls and thinks probably along the lines of Who cares what you think? Get out of my way, which is typical of him. The felon manages to unlock the door within seconds. They hear a click, and Rob pulls the door open with a dramatic bow.

“Damn, man! Good job,” Keil smacks him on the shoulder.

“Convenient,” Gale remarks, walking in after Keil.

Ral smiles. “Whatever. I could do that faster if I tried.”

When it’s only Sid and Rob in the corridor, Rob rises from his bow and puts his hands on his hips, a smug grin on his face. Sid gazes up at him. “Oh bravo. Your deft hands astound me,” he says dryly. Rob sticks out his tongue, but doesn’t look disheartened. A rare defeat for Sid.

Inside the room looks no different from any other highschool classroom. Keil jogs to sit on the chair at the teacher’s table. She swings her arm to point at the blackboard. ”‘Eef yu dohn’t get tu annsah dees kwehhhs-chuns, yu weell nevah pass mayyy class,’” she says in a scratchy imitation of their science teacher’s voice.

Ral laughs from one of the armchairs. “Do Math Dad next,” she says.

Gale is standing in the center aisle, beaming her flashlight all around the room. “I see no poltergeist,” she frowns. Rob examines the observer’s chair at the back of the classroom, beside the huge cabinet that only teachers can open. He seems to really take seriously this whole ghost hunting business.

Sid leans on the cabinet, not bothering to turn on his flashlight. His eyes meander boredly, until they rest on the curtains, gently blown by the wind that escapes the closed windows. It almost looks like the curtains are breathing.

″‘Any questions? No? Okay, get one-whole sheet of paper--’”

They all jerk their heads up in fear at Keil’s impression of their math teacher. It was his signature ‘Pop quiz intro’. Students were never prepared for any of his quizzes. Keil laughs at their faces. “Math Dad: scarier than any poltergeist,” she jests.

Sid rolls his eyes-- just in time to see a silhouette pass behind the classroom windows. He stands straight, squinting at those windows on the wall that separates the classroom and the corridor. “What the...”

“Gale, how good are you at volleyball?” Keil asks, standing on the teacher’s table. Gale looks at her confused. “Decent? I do not understand the significance,” she replies.

Keil’s eyes are intense when she says, “Catch me.” She jumps from the table, her arm brushing the ceiling fan. “Volleyball players do not catch!” Gale screams before a loud crash is heard and the light from Gale’s flashlight disappears.

The room is drenched in complete darkness. Sid’s stomach tightens in discomfort. He hears groans, footfalls, the shuffling of clothes, and a squeak. He assumes the last one came from Ral.

Since no one’s asking how Gale is, and because she might have hit her head on the floor and died, Sid takes the duty upon himself. His voice fails the first few times he tries to talk, which is stupid because he isn’t afraid of the dark. And he isn’t afraid of ghosts. Nope. Not one bit.

“Gale, did you survive that?” His voice comes out higher than usual. Despite the cold, sweat trickles down his brow as he waits for a reply. The shuffling of clothes is audible, then a few more footsteps. “Yes,” Gale’s voice finally chokes out from somewhere on the ground in front of him.

“I knew I could reach the ceiling fan,” Keil croaks, contented.

“Gale, turn on the light,” Ral demands. She sounds mad. She’s scary when she’s mad.

Sid hears clattering, like pieces of shattered glass. Gale speaks. “I think Keil... I broke it,” she corrects herself. Sid groans at her chivalry. Keil practically breaks her back, and Gale still sees to it that she’s blameless.

Before he scolds her for it, his voice dies in his throat. He has that feeling again-- They’re being watched. He opens his eyes wide, but still it’s pitch black. A cold wind brushes the back of his neck. It came from his left. Sid realizes, a chill running down his spine, that the windows are on his right.

“Ha!” Rob yells as he smacks the light switches on. Something Sid forgot they could do.

“What the heck, Rob!” Ral screams at him. Keil and Gale slowly get up from the floor.

“I felt something!” Rob says seriously. “Something passed by me!” He marches to the curtains, searching for-- what? Sid isn’t entirely sure. Thunder booms outside, causing everyone to jump. The light flickers off, and for a moment, Sid is sure someone is laughing at them. Playing tricks, yet unseen.

“Show yourself!” Rob shouts at the walls. Everyone inches towards him for protection. They all know something is malevolently wrong here. Everyone but Sid, who leans on the cabinet again. He tries not to look frantic when he fishes for the flashlight in his pocket. He presses the button, beaming the light on Rob’s chest.

“There’s nothing to see. No one, rather,” Sid says coolly.

“Give me the flashlight,” Rob orders.

“No.”

“Dammit, Sid! I’m serious!”

“It’s my flashlight,” Sid says, realizing how childish he must sound.

Rob growls like a territorial dog. “Fine! Just-- Point it at the floor! I think I saw something.”

Sid waits a few seconds before doing so. He doesn’t want to look too cooperative. The beam hits the floor. Sid steps forward, sweeping the light around until it finds drops of blood at the door. Was that there before? Not too much blood, Sid thinks, but just enough to drip from a wound without squeezing.

There are only a handful of drops. One... Two... Sid traces them with his light until it reaches his shoes. The trail ends there.

“Look out!” Rob warns.

Sid feels a hand grab the back of his (meticulously ironed) uniform, and toss him to the chairs. The cabinet crashes to the ground where Sid was previously standing, breaking the two backmost seats as it falls.

Good Lord! What are they keeping in there? Sid thinks. He turns to see who pulled him, but everyone is already scrambling out the room. He picks up his flashlight and follows suit. Gale slams the door shut when they’re all out. They walk away briskly, as if they’re being chased. They probably are, Sid thinks. The feeling hasn’t left.

“It’s real! It’s real!” Keil covers her mouth in astonishment. Sid notices that she isn’t holding the Stick-O’s anymore. She must have left it on the teacher’s table. Not that they’re going to risk their necks to get it back, anyway.

“I knew it! We shouldn’t have gone here!” Ral cries. “Let’s go back to the Gate. Please!”

“Sid has to say it first!” Keil says. ”‘Ghosts are real.’ Come on!”

“First of all, I’d like to thank... whoever saved me. No need to name yourself, I won’t treat you any differently anyway.” Sid isn’t as ungrateful as he pretends to be. Sometimes. “Second of all, that wasn’t a ghost.”

Keil stops in her tracks. “Oh you little--” An expletive blesses their ears.

“Are you -” -expletive- ”-kidding me, Sid?” Rob explodes. “It tried to kill you! Squish you flat against the floor--”

“That was the cabinet. No ghost of any kind,” Sid says flatly.

“Oh yeah, the cabinet just started bleeding and decided to fall!”

“Listen here, Obsidian,” Keil grabs him by the collar. “You’re just being... being--the guy who dies first in any horror movie! We are not going back to the Gate until you swallow your fat pride and admit it!”

“Please, Sid,” Ral begs him. “Just say that ghosts are real. We won’t hold it against you!”

Sid stares at Keil, mouth tightly shut. At one second, Keil lets go of Sid’s collar, allowing him to regain his personal space. The next second, she gives him a solid punch to his cheek. Sid’s left eye tears up at the pain, and he feels anger boil inside him. He turns and punches her back, his knuckles colliding painfully with her cheekbone.

Before it turns into a full-on brawl, Gale steps between them, pushing a hand in each of their chests. She eyes both of them. “No,” she says plainly, yet effectively. Keil rips herself away from Gale’s reach. “Bodega 5. Now. Sid is going to see a ghost, even if I have to lock him in for it to happen,” she says through gritted teeth.

Sid laughs bitterly.

“No!” Ral bellows, stomping a foot. “We are going back to Gate C!”

“Guess what? You can’t make me,” Keil jeers.

Rob’s eyes travel back and forth between the two. Sid has to withhold a snort at that. Usually, it’s Rob making a ruckus. Now that he’s on the sidelines, he’s utterly clueless.

“Uh, guys, look, we can split up?” Rob suggests, moving his hands up and down, as if to pat calm the aura.

“Well fine! We’ll go this way,” Ral says, pointing towards the direction of the Gate.

“Fine!” Keil spits.

“No,” Gale repeats. She is suddenly brimming with authority. “We are not splitting up. Keil, I thought you would have learned enough from all those movies you say you watch, that splitting up just makes us easier for the monster to target. We are neither going to Bodega 5, nor to Gate C, because I do not know if you remember, Ralene, but the flood is almost as tall as we are-- perhaps taller! Understood?”

Everyone shuts up for a whole minute. Gale huffs, seeming uncomfortable with all the attention, but keeps her face austere. Sid’s mouth is open. He doesn’t remember ever being this proud of someone else in his entire life. “Where do we go then?” he asks.

Gale stares at him for a while, considering the question carefully in her head before answering, “The bathroom. The boy’s bathroom.”

They all make a sound of disbelief. “The boy’s bathroom has toilets and urinals, for both our genders,” she explains. “We have gone three hours without using the bathroom, and like I said, we cannot risk splitting up.”

Rob scratches his arm. “That’s gonna be... real awkward. And the girls’ bathroom is right beside the guys’, right? So that’s like, close enough. It’s not splitting up too far,” he reasons.

Gale gazes at him. “I am not allowing you and Sid to be alone in a room together.”

“She’s got a point there,” Keil raises her eyebrows pointedly at Rob.

“Alright, alright, let’s go. I don’t like being out in this corridor,” Ral confesses. “It feels like I’m being...”

‘Watched’ goes unsaid. They are all aware of that now.

*

The walk to the bathroom is quick-paced, but not quite a run yet. The five flock close together, as if in danger of being snatched if they stand an inch too far. The rain is loud on their ears, but Sid feels that for every five pairs of footsteps, he hears a sixth set that is much heavier, and faster.

He hopes it’s just his imagination.

Gale is in the vanguard. She stops when they’ve reached the bathroom and ushers everyone inside. Rob turns on the light and shuts the door behind them. And they’re in.

Keil exhales noisily. “That was...” She throws back her head and laughs. Ral joins in for no apparent reason.

“No one, like, got possessed, right?” Rob asks.

“It’s not like we’d admit it if we did,” Sid says, hands on hips. “How would you be able to tell?”

Rob glares at him. Then speaks in some foreign, possibly made up, language. “Exorcizamus te omnus immundi... Spiritum omni satanica potestas...”

At first, Sid thinks Rob is talking gibberish, which he can’t say he didn’t expect. Then he recognizes some words. “Did you just exorcise me?” Sid wrinkles his nose.

“Too bad it didn’t work,” Rob sneers.

A deafening thump comes from the door, causing all of them to lurch away from it. A series of expletives comes from Keil’s throat. More thumps follow, threatening to take down the locked door. The knob starts shaking violently like it wants to fall off.

“Get into the cubicles,” Ral orders, and they scramble to obey. Sid locks himself in his cubicle and covers his mouth because of the insane thought that the ghost might hear him breathing.

The thumps turn more urgent, and Sid swears the door is going to break. But all of a sudden, the thumps halt. Sid hears the patter of shoes against the floor outside speed away... and disappear.

Sid exhales in relief. He leans his back against the door and decides that maybe he doesn’t have to use the urinal tonight. The toilet would be enough.

Once everyone is done and out of their cubicles, Sid asks, “What now?”

Everyone seems to look at each other upon hearing the question. Sid washes his hands while waiting for the others to come to a decision. He hears Keil spout out another expletive.

“Pardon?”

“That banging on the door earlier?” she says. “Yeah. I think that was Gale.”

“What do you mean?” Sid turns around and feels his heart fall flat into his stomach. The faces he sees are all as appalled as he is. Because Gale isn’t one of them.

″You locked her out the room?” Sid snaps at Rob.

“How is it my fault?” Rob throws his arms out in exasperation.

A distant scream tears through the air. “Gale!” they all shout.

Sid bolts out of the room. “Gale! Where are you?” he yells. He takes out his flashlight, and sure enough, there is a trail of blood on the floor. “Gale!” he shouts.

Thunder booms overhead as if to emphasize the dread and trepidation that chokes Sid as he barrels through corridors. He can hear the other three close behind, but he doesn’t care at the moment. Another scream pierces their ears. “GALE!” he bellows, even though he’s running out of breath, and his heart is beating too fast.

He stops running when his knees threaten to give in. He follows the trail with the beam of his flashlight. There are suddenly more drops on the floor. Bigger. He shines the light on the end of the corridor, right beside the stairs. There, he sees a figure. Huge and hunched over a heap that Sid recognizes as-

“Gale!” he shrieks, speeding towards her. The figure stands between the two students. Sid can see that its hands-- both of them-- have only three fingers. The middle and ring fingers are missing. The clothes it’s wearing look like they came from a hospital, all white but spattered with red. Sid musters up enough courage to point the flashlight at the figure’s head.

Sid gasps. A hideous wound shaped like an eye takes up the entirety of its forehead, and the wound bleeds heavily down onto its face. It-- He looks angry. Angry enough to kill.

The Ghost pins Sid down. Sid wants to squirm, to scream, but he’s frozen. Like in some twisted nightmare he can’t wake from. The Ghost lifts a bloody knife and stabs it down on Sid’s upper arm. That’s when Sid’s voice starts to work, and a scream rips his throat raw.

He isn’t aware for the next few seconds, except of the searing pain that throbs in his arm, but somehow, the Ghost isn’t on top of him anymore. He rolls his head to the side and sees Rob thrashing around, his neck in the hands of the monster. On the other side of the floor, Ral is tearing through her skirt like she’s done it a million times, to use as a bandage for Gale. Honestly, these Santiago cousins. What have they been training for?

That leaves Keil. Out of nowhere, she plummets into the Ghost and whacks his head with a broom. The Ghost stumbles backwards and drops Rob. “Let’s GO! GO! GO!” Keil pulls a coughing Rob along. Sid staggers to his feet, wincing when his arm gets displaced. He places the flashlight under his good arm, and uses his free hand to squeeze his wound.

He’s running up the stairs, and everyone is there alongside him. Keil tugging on Rob, and Ral supporting Gale. But they’re injured. And the Ghost is faster.

“Obsidian, you’re the smart one. Where do we go?” Keil demands.

“Well, I don’t know! I just got stabbed, why do you think--”

“Just think of something!” Rob rasps.

Sid might resort to expletives himself. A glance backwards tells him that the Ghost is gaining on them. Only a few stairs away. We have to get out of here, Sid thinks, Out of this godforsaken school. But it’s raining too hard, and they’d need a submarine. Or, like, a really tall car.

“I’ve got an idea,” Sid says. His head starts to feel lighter. He’s lost a lot of blood.

“What?” Keil, Rob, and Ral ask in unison.

“It’ll only work if you know how to drive.”

“I know how to drive,” Rob assures.

Sid barely stops his eyes from rolling. “Of course you do. Alright, everyone. Just follow ME!” He darts away from the stairs and into the corridor. They’re on the top floor, but the place Sid has in mind is on the first. He hopes their stamina lasts.

His head is throbbing, and his eyes are threatening to close. He sees a fire alarm button and smashes it with his left hand, nearly dropping the flashlight in the process. The alarm goes off along with the emergency lights. Thank you! he thinks.

“Why did you have to do that?” Ral says loudly over the sirens.

“To keep me awake,” Sid says in an equally loud volume.

He seizes a small fire extinguisher they pass by on a pillar. He takes off the pin and forces it into Keil’s arms. “Ack!” she yelps.

“Familiar?” Sid bellows.

Keil laughs. “No!”

“Grip the hose tight and squeeze the trigger!” Sid instructs. “And don’t forget to aim!”

Keil must be a fast learner, because when Sid glances backwards, he sees the Ghost gets a full blast of foam in his sorry face! What a peculiar ghost this must be. He falls back, and Keil keeps squeezing.

“Stop!” Sid tells her. “Use it only when it gets close!”

Keil nods and runs faster. Ral points ahead of them with the hand not supporting Gale. “It’s a dead end!” she shouts.

“Stairs!” Sid shoots to their left, quickly descending the staircase. He’s getting tired... sleepy...

“You kidding me?” Rob’s voice comes from behind him.

“Stairs,” Sid repeats weakly, before adding a more audible, “All the way down!”

″‘ut these ‘re ‘rivate stairs,” Sid hears a slur that takes him a joyful moment to identify as Gale’s voice. “They ‘on’t lead down to the groun’ floor,” she says.

‘Don’t’ Sid notes. A contraction. There can be miracles. “I know,” he laughs. He must really be dying.

The Ghost bursts after them before they’re even a floor away. Keil screams and shoots him in the face again, but misses. Sid nearly trips on a stair, and decides to stop looking at what’s going on behind him. The only thing he should focus on right now is in front.

They’ve travelled down two floors when Sid realizes that he can no longer feel the tips of his left fingertips. He doesn’t look at his wound. He knows he wouldn’t like what he’d see. The last floor is finally in sight when Sid’s legs fail on him and he tumbles off. His arm is seized when his head is just centimeters from cracking on a stair. Sid screams. It’s the bad arm.

The next thing he knows, he’s riding on a person’s back. Piggyback. Good Lord. He feels like he’s five or something.

The first floor in the private area is used to access the school’s personal parking lot. It isn’t walled, so the rain is deafening from out there. The floor there is the same height of the fieldtrip bus’s windows. The grey stairs that lead down to the bus door are flooded. Yeah... Forgot to put that under consideration, Sid apologizes mentally.

“Quick!” Keil’s voice shouts. “I’ve run out of foam!”

So it’s not Keil carrying me, Sid thinks. His eyelids droop, and right now, the hair of whoever’s carrying him feels amazingly soft under his chin. “Sid,” he hears like a lullaby. “Sid...”

“SID, WAKE THE-” -beep- ”-UP!”

His bad arm is slapped, causing him to jolt in pain. “I’M BLOODY AWAKE NOW,” Sid screams.

“Well, what do we do?” Rob-- because of course it’s Rob-- shouts.

“Get in the bus!” Sid shouts back.

“It’s flooded! How on earth do we do that?”

“How should I know!”

Keil interrupts their conversation by stepping forward and ramming the fire extinguisher into one of the windows, one... two... three times and it shatters. She throws her jacket over the shards, and chants, “GO GO GO GO!”

Ral gets in first, then she and Keil carefully help Gale enter the vehicle. Rob makes sure Sid is safely in before crawling through the window himself. Keil hops in, slicing her knee on a shard. She inhales sharply, and Ral has to help her in the rest of the way.

“The keys,” Sid shouts, fighting to keep alert. “We forgot the bus keys!”

Rob carries Sid in his arms--Bridal style. I can’t believe him. I’m never going to live this down, am I?-- and lays him down gently on the seat behind the driver’s. “No need,” he says, “I can hotwire.”

“You WHAT?”

“Uh, guys?” Keil whispers. Sid looks back and sees that Keil’s knee has already been bandaged (cleaned too, he hopes) by Ral. Honestly, if she rips anymore strips off that skirt, she’d be wearing what the school considers provocative clothing.

Keil, Ral, and Gale are crouching beneath the seats. Sid looks out the window and sees that, yes, it’s the Ghost, and they ran out of foam just in time. “Rob. Hurry,” Sid hisses.

“I’m trying! Hotwiring a bus is a lot harder than hotwiring a car!”

The Ghost puts a three-fingered hand on the shattered window’s frame and tries to enter the bus. Ral takes that as a cue to spring from hiding and slam the unholy creature with the fire extinguisher. They really do come in handy.

The Ghost makes a gurgling noise, like his vocal chords had been ripped out sometime ago. He charges at Ral with his knife, and she dodges just in time, but the Ghost is already half inside the bus. Keil takes over, pulling a wrench from God-knows-where, and beating the Ghost up with all her strength.

Sid drags Gale away from the scene, and onto the floor behind the driver’s seat. It’s the first time he’s properly looked at her since she was abducted. Her face is deathly pale, and both her upper arms have been bandaged. The stains that bleed through are the same shape that was on the Ghost’s forehead: an eye.

Sid risks a glance at his own wound, where a messy white substance is already clotting. The deep stab was probably supposed to be the pupil. The Ghost hasn’t finished his drawing yet.

“Rob...” he calls.

“I’m trying!” Rob snaps from the floor.

Sid looks at Keil and Ral struggling to keep the Ghost at bay. An idea forms in his mind. “Ral! Help Rob get this thing moving!” Sid stands.

“I’m a little busy at the moment!” she growls.

“The faster you get the bus working, the higher the chances are of us surviving! Now, Ral!” Sid commands, hoping she doesn’t beat him up.

She looks between Sid and the Ghost, then with a frustrated shout, she slides to Rob’s side, leaving the fire extinguisher on the floor. Keil takes up the extinguisher and strains to hold the monster off all by herself. “Obsidian!” she shouts.

Sid takes over, grabbing the extinguisher and swinging it as hard as he can against any part of the Ghost’s body. Pain explodes in Sid’s arm as he moves, but he holds his scream back with a grimace.

The Ghost looks angrier than before. He bares his teeth that don’t look like human teeth at all. They look larger, and as though they’ve been sharpened. No matter how many times Sid hits him, it seems to only slow him down.

“Ral! Progress!” Sid cries, his voice cracking a bit because of exhaustion.

“Almost done!” She replies.

The Ghost takes hold of the fire extinguisher, pulls it from Sid’s grasp, and throws it aside. Sid gulps. “How long!” he calls.

“Just a few seconds! I promise!” Ral says. That’s enough for Sid.

“Keil, get to Gale and grab on to something stable,” Sid commands without looking at her.

“What?” she reacts.

“Do it. Right now.” Sid has been staring at the Ghost, and to his horror, the Ghost returns the unblinking stare, seemingly locked on to him. Little by little, it crawls onto the seat.

“If I stop, Little Johnny here is sure to get in!” she argues.

“Let him come,” Sid mutters. “Trust me! Go!”

Keil drops the wrench then dives towards the front seats, and the Ghost takes that as a cue to crash through the window. He’s dripping wet as he raises his knife and prepares to pounce on the other four. Sid throws the wrench at the Ghost’s back. “Hey!” he shouts. “You don’t want them!”

Quiet falls. The Ghost turns around. Slowly. The expression on his face hasn’t changed. Sid backs away in little steps, hoping to lure the Ghost to him. He speaks in slow, easy sentences, so as not to agitate the monster. If he brings out words like ‘brobdingnagian’, he’s sure to die.

“You’ve been watching us the whole night,” Sid says, remembering Gale. “But you only attack when we’re alone. I’m alone.”

The Ghost takes the bait and moves towards him in slow, but long strides. Sid stares at the bloodstained knife in the Ghost’s hand, and his left arm starts to hurt once more. Sid’s eye twitches, but otherwise, he ignores it.

“You’re not done with me, are you? This little scratch you gave me?” Sid shows off his left arm which is still oozing slightly. The Ghost seems invigorated at the sight. “It’s not complete. Not yet. You have to finish your masterpiece.”

The back of Sid’s legs bump against the backseats. The Ghost is still walking. Sid keeps eye contact, while his right hand slowly, slowly, unhooks the back window and lifts it up. The Ghost takes notice and starts making that demented gurgling noise.

The bus hums to life, and the Ghost makes a distorted march towards him. Sid sees at the side of his eye that Rob is sitting on the driver’s seat waiting for a signal. He tries to speak, but his voice is gone again. Yes, he’s afraid of the dark, yes, he’s afraid of ghosts, and most of all, yes, he’s afraid of death who is staring him right in the face!

Sid’s arm brushes against the backseat, and pain sears through his arm. In that very moment, Sid finds his voice and remembers what he has to do. “ROB! FLOOR IT!” he bellows, then flattens himself on the ground.

The Ghost pounces, but when the bus shoots forward, he catapults headfirst out the window. Sid stands on a seat and hurries to kick the rest of him out. The Ghost’s legs fall out to be quickly replaced by an arm as he holds on for dear life-- afterlife?

The Ghost’s disfigured hand curls around Sid’s ankle, fixing him with one last glare from a visage of pure hate. Sid brings the window down to slam on the Ghost’s wrist. With an inhuman screech, he lets go, and is carried away by the current.

Sid watches the Ghost, feeling many things at the same time. Fear, rejuvenating relief, bone-rattling panic, success. Sid hits his head on the back window’s glass when Rob rams Gate A off its hinges. They nearly run over the house just across the road.

“You can slow down now,” Sid says, massaging his head. He looks at his friends and lets go a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. They’re all there. Bloody and bruised, but they’re complete, and they’re all in one piece. Or, their respective pieces, rather. For that, Sid is thrilled.

And he swears up and down he’ll never admit it to any of them.

They all make this sort of celebration by stationary whooping and cheering. They’re all too tired for anything any more intense.

“We ghost-busted Little Johnny!” Keil says, overjoyed.

Sid stares pensively at the distant figure of the ‘Ghost’ struggling to swim back to the platform. “It’s not a ghost...” Sid realizes. “It’s a man.”

*

Streetlamps bless their eyes on their way home, and despite the storm and the floods, the height of the bus ensures that they stay safe and dry for about until the water fills up the engine. Sid notices only then that he doesn’t have his flashlight anymore. He must have dropped it by the stairs, when Rob caught him.

Ral bandages his arm, then pushes him to the seat beside Keil.

“Make up,” Ral commands them both.

Sid stares blankly at Keil, who holds his gaze for no more than a few seconds, then rips her eyes away. “I’m sorry,” she tells the ground. “For punching you, shouting at you, and whatever.” She holds out her hand stiffly, but seems to mean it.

Sid stares at the outstretched hand. He doesn’t know what comes over him, but he feels a pang of remorse that helps him breathe easier. He supposes that it had finally occurred to him, probably when he got punched in the face, that they aren’t that different after all.

He takes her hand. “Ghosts are real,” he smiles.

Keil returns a full-on grin that’s infectious. Pretty soon, they’re both laughing and shaking hands vigorously. Ral joins in, ever the ray of sunshine.

Gale stays cognizant for the rest of the trip too. They all apologize for accidentally locking her out of the bathroom. Of course, typical Gale as she is, she forgives them. “I should have shouted instead of just abusing the door,” she says, and, “It does not matter anymore. What is important is that we make it home.”

And that’s the next problem.

“Uh, Sid?” Rob’s voice calls from behind the wheel.

Sid leans on the driver’s seat to stand beside Rob. “That may be the first time you said any part of my name without malice,” Sid snarks.

Sid thinks he sees a smile form on Rob’s face. “Can it, Trinidad,” Rob says, still looking at the street ahead. “I don’t have enough gas to get everyone home. That, and I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m bad at driving.”

“I wasn’t going to mention it,” Sid smirks. He has noticed. They’ve been bumping of streetlamps and crossing over sidewalks for a good amount of time. Sid’s got to hand it to him, though. The bus hasn’t tipped itself over yet.

“It’s not my fault! If this was a car, heck yeah, I’d nail it. Driving a bus is a first for me,” Rob says.

“I wasn’t going to mention it,” Sid repeats, amused. He considers the ‘getting everyone home’ problem. “What street are we on?” he asks, because he can’t recognize anything amidst the flood, the rain, and the darkness.

“Red street,” Rob informs.

Whoever decided to name streets after colors has a lack of imagination, Sid thinks. There’s a billion categories to choose from! Sid shakes his head, reminding himself to stay focused. “Take a left. Right there.”

Rob obeys without any snide remark, probably because driving takes a lot out of him. Sid spouts out a few more directions that Rob obeys with nearly no flaw. Nearly. The streetlamps have taken a beating. The bus drives up a hill, where the flood doesn’t get to reach.

“Park right there. Beside the blue house,” Sid instructs.

“Where is this?” Rob asks suspiciously.

Sid smiles. “It’s my home.”

They disembark through the back window, which is wider and safer than the shattered one. There’s a bit of a fuss upon leaving, (“You parked the car in the middle of the street.” “I know what I’m doing!”) but once Ral picks the lock of the house, they all know the worst is over.

Sid’s exhilarated to know that the electricity still works. He’s been in the dark for far too long, for his liking. As soon as they enter, Gale asks to use the phone to contact her Dad. Sid remembers she mentioned that her Dad was a doctor, and would pick her up late because he took the night shift. That was before the storm caused traffic and casualties. Sid lets them all use the phone while he prepares hot water for everyone to take a bath. Rob hovers to make sure Sid doesn’t faint and hit his head on the stove.

When Sid returns with the water, Keil’s hand is in the refrigerator, Ral’s flipping through channels like she owns the place, and Gale’s asleep on the sofa beside her. Sid doesn’t know what he expected.

“I’m getting everyone dinner!” Keil blurts like a defensive criminal caught in the act. “I’m not sleeping on an empty stomach!”

Sid gives her one long stare. He tilts his head to the right. “There’s Stick-O in the cabinet.”

“Bless the Lord, oh my soul!” Keil exclaims, dashing to the cabinet.

“Get everyone some milk too,” Sid tells her.

“Don’t order me around!” Keil says.

“Do it or I won’t tell you which cabinet.”

“I can find it myself.” There is about twenty cabinets in Sid’s kitchen.

“Fine,” Keil relents upon noticing.

“Thankyou. Milk is in the fridge, cups are in there, and Stick-O’s in there,” Sid points in different directions, causing Keil’s brow to furrow. Sid leaves her to it, being followed out by Rob.

“So you own the huge mansion up the hill,” Ral greets him with, staring at the news. The storm has destroyed a few houses a city away. The images they flash on the screen makes Sid feel lucky.

“It’s not a mansion,” Sid says, though he feels boastful when Ral mistakes it for one. He turns to face Rob. “Here, make yourself useful and pour this over there.” Sid hands Rob the kettle of hot water and points to the bathroom.

“Fine, but if you faint again...” Rob starts, making Sid’s eyes roll. “I won’t!” Sid says, shoving him away.

Sid then turns to Gale. She’s curled up like a cat. Sid’ stomach twists when he sees the stain of her wounds on the bandage. He prods her awake. “Hey...”

Gale opens a bleary eye to peek up at him. “Go wash yourself up in the bathroom,” Sid says. “There’s still clothes in the closet, from the last time you slept over. The first aid kit is behind the mirror.”

Gale nods, and Sid helps her up. She wobbles to the bathroom, where Rob is freaking out. “Dude! Your bathroom is huge! I’m hating you more by the minute-- Oh.” He steps aside for Gale to enter. She’s about to close the door when Sid says “If you need anything, just ring.” She offers a weak smile then locks the door.

“There’s a-” -expletive- ”-telephone in there too?” Rob turns to Sid.

“Yes. There is a telephone. This is a huge house. We use an intercom,” Sid explains.

“Can I go next?”

“No. I’m going next. I got stabbed in the arm.”

“Can I go after?”

“No. Keil’s after. Her knee got sliced.”

“After her?”

“No. Ral comes after.”

“Why?”

“I like her better.”

Rob groans, but quickly smirks again. “I wonder what I can do with this information. I know your address,” he says like a threat.

“You can take that kettle, fill it with water, and heat it by the stove,” Sid says sarcastically.

He expects Rob to stick out his tongue again, but instead, he says, “I don’t know how to use a stove.”

Sid blinks at him. Twice. “Of course you don’t know how to use a stove.”

Once everyone is already bathed and in pajamas, and all their wounds and bruises are properly dressed, instead of using any of Sid’s abundant guest bedrooms, they sprawl around the living room’s sofas and watch TV. Sid’s consciousness is already drifting away, when he hears something from the news that makes his blood run cold.

″The Midnight Murderer has escaped his asylum earlier today. His current whereabouts are unknown...”

*

Written October 31, 2016

March arrives with silence as its chaperone,

The storm leaves us barely alive, only a little softer than stone,

The looks on our faces seem grim and resigned,

Being slowly eroded by relief as we find---

The light at the end of the tunnel,

The pot of gold at the tip of the rainbow that drips

Of acid rain and bitter poison,

Enveloping like a python---

It's huge.

This deluge that pushes us to subterfuge.

We're consumed by required, recorded deeds,

They demand we be subdued instead of freed,

'Course they'd assume we don't need

Rest and sleep, an occasional feed,

The joy brought by unproductive idleness.

It was idleness that made Newton see

that apple that fell from the tree,

thus discovering gravity!

Suppose-- Just suppose!

Theoretic'ly presume

That if they resume to assume

Won't we soon be consumed

By the fumes of their ignorance,

How our self-worth degrades with mere grades,

How we're deprived by their pride

In the system. It's crazy!

'Cause the Mad Hatter only looked mad

when everyone else was sane,

They say Academics is future,

But what's rotting is our brains,

We're the personification of tired,

Which is why, if you asked me which month I would put to fire,

I'd say Jan, Feb, June through November,

Scorch them all. I don't care! I surrender!

But until then...

We will be Marching 'til it's over.

"I've already given everything for him! Is that not enough?" He's aware that tears are already streaming down his face. The empty ache in his chest feels like it's going to swallow him whole. Michael always said he felt too deeply. For him, there was no other way to feel.

Uriel watches him with dithering concern. Emotions weren't his forté. Raphael feels a squirm in his stomach, that he should put his brother in this situation. He doesn't deserve to deal with all Raphael's 'passing fancies'. That's all that Tobias is now. Or what he should be.

And yet.

His voice hitches. His breathing is chaotic. Uriel is no longer in the room when he falls to the floor and pulls his knees to his chest. There was a million people to choose from. A million people to fall in love with. But none of them made his heart dance like the boy who always held back a smile, who argued about such trivial things, who always had a retort at the tip of his tongue, who was competitive to the bone, who could never be held back by anything. The boy who was also obstinate, dense, and indifferent. Who thought Raphael was only 'silly', because 'no one could possibly love me!'

Love. Raphael coughs, his throat scratching terribly. He has never troubled himself so deeply with the word before. Sealtiel had said that love was a choice. Raphael feels as though he did not make it.

Uriel rams through the door with a glass of water and arms full of tissue boxes. He treads nimbly across the room, planting all the items on the floor in front of Raphael, careful and quick. "Here you go. Blow your nose, and wipe... everything," he instructs in a voice gentler than usual. Raphael pulls out the soft sheets of paper and does as told.

"Here." Uriel flops down on the floor in front of him, holding out the glass. "Drink."

Raphael reaches forward, bowing his head in gratitude. The cool water relaxes his throat as it passes. He takes a inhales deeply, and his breathing calms down.

"Better?" Uriel asks.

Raphael nods. "Thank you," he says in a shaky voice, attempting a misty-eyed smile. Uriel returns it, looking more relieved than Raphael feels. They sit a while, in companionable silence as Raphael tries to let the void in his chest fade into the background. It would never fully heal, he realizes.

"So," Uriel says after a while, staring at the floor in front of him, "Do you want to know what I think?"

Raphael eyes him in invitation. Uriel meets his gaze, looking like he's holding his breath. "I've helped you with all your plans, so far," he begins slowly. "I've seen how much this matters to you. How much he matters to you. And all the time and effort you've put into this. It's inspiring, really. I don't think I've ever seen you this driven." He chuckles for a second, looking down. When he meets Raphael's eyes again, it is with a seriousness he's never seen on Uriel before.

"But if this whole affair causes you more pain than satisfaction, you have to end it. If Toby doesn't see your value, all your work, how much you care, then he's not worth it. I know you, Raph. You feel with your entire being, you love with all you've got. For all that, you deserve someone who loves you back."

Lunam had so much faith in dictionaries. It always seemed like his source if truth, where every question was met with a precise answer. 

Hjolmar was not so straightforward. He never liked the wordy descriptions. For him, most things couldn't be that easily explained. The meaning to a word wasn't always the same to every person, and even the same person saw it differently after a time.

There was never an absolute for Hjolmar. Which is why he was always stumbling with words, finding himself frustrated in the middle of what seemed like normal conversations with Lunam.

Lunam would raise an eyebrow, a mix of patience and amusement showing in his face. And when Hjolmar would growl at him, he would only laugh. His laugh only made Hjolmar angrier, except... not really? He couldn't say why.

It just wasn't that easy to describe an emotion! It would have been easier if he could just make someone feel what he felt through some magic spell of transference. But with words, it was harder. Hjolmar tried to connect them to what he felt.

It was like he was high up in a tree, deep in the forest. He could see the river flowing for miles, and its sound blurred into the threads of the scene. Birds chirped overhead, where the sun was dithering on another rest, leaving an orange tinge in the sky. Rays of sunlight peeked through rustling leaves. In the shade, a cool breeze coaxed him to sigh along with the wind. 

Amidst the environing tranquility, his heart pounded as if this was the pinnacle of his existence. As if this was all he'd ever wanted, and all that was needed to complete him. 

Joy brimmed in him from the moment itself. But sorrow thundered in his chest like a muted typhoon. It made his heart race. For if this was his pinnacle, then the path ahead could only slope down. Once this moment ended, it would never come back. Because that's how pinnacles work. The prospect felt like a tragedy. One he couldn't stop no matter how hard he fought. It made him feel weak and helpless, and made tears fill his eyes.

And that made no sense! This was only a sunset in a forest-- One of many others! He shouldn't cry at the idea of losing it, simply because it is one of the things that seem so impossible to lose!

The confusion and the conflict had always left him unreasonably mad, although it was only a shallow anger. He learned not to trust the feeling whenever it came up. But its uninvited presence was worrisome. He couldn't help but be cautious.

Hjolmar wasn't good at words, and he wasn't good at explaining. But he knew how to speak the truth. This joy, sadness, anger, and fear of loss all mashed together into one. 

It was the feeling he got when he saw Lunam laugh.

Lunam looks upon Hjolmar's broken form, his heart breaking along with every second. His limbs are battered, and his face bloody. Hjolmar's eyes threaten to glaze over upon the eve of death--

No. No no no, not death. He will live. We can-- He--

Lunam can't finish the thought. How could they possibly fix this? He was staring at the person who had given his life so much meaning, so much to celebrate, but he couldn't give him anything back. Hjolmar's eyelids droop, making Lunam lean forward in alarm.

"I love you. I love you so, so much," he blurts, cradling Hjolmar's head in his arms. He is aware that his voice is cracking. He is aware that his eyes are fogging. He is aware that this could be the last time he would ever be with Hjolmar again. "Please," he begs softly, "Don't leave me."

Hjolmar inclines his head slowly to follow the sound of Lunam's voice. His eyes are draining of its sheen, but on his lips is a ghost of a smile. "You... love me?" he says, his voice a whisper in the unforgiving wind. "I won't... leave you... I promise."

But what could a boy do against the will of fate, and the stubbornness of circumstance? Lunam feels the life leave his beloved. His body grows stiffer and stiffer, and he's so cold. No matter how tight Lunam embraces him, he is so cold. Lunam clings on, hot tears dribbling down his cheeks, but nothifng can impede a spirit from its course. No matter how many weeks it would take for him to accept it, or how many years until he finally moves on-- if he can even get there, the fact remains.

Hjolmar is dead.

the three words

i want to

hear the most

now are not

i love you

because i did

not doubt that

but would it

kill you to

at least text

are you okay?

because i'm not

but you would

not know. you

did not ask

( ̶d̶i̶d̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶w̶o̶n̶d̶e̶r̶?̶)

I.

Flame was the likeness of our genesis,

Spreading wild through nooks and crevices.

And there was light. There was warmth.

There was life dancing in its arms.

The beginning of the world, so benign and dire,

Defined by one word: Fire.

II.

And then came us: Children of Flame,

Beings of hope and light the same.

With stories shared around sparkling embers,

Smoke atwist despite decembers.

We were A L I V E. That is apparent.

If souls of laughs and tears could warrant.

If the buzzing speech of trees be loud.

The ambience itself avowed.

We were the notes of harmony,

And rests of balanced melody.

Where root, and rock, and heart are sown,

Is paradise ethereal grown.

III.

And then, we were no longer.

We were split to ‘Man’ and ‘Other’.

Covenant had torn asunder

By mock divinity surmised; a blunder.

Yet there were you who stewards remained,

Derided by ‘Enlightened’ man who claimed:

“Nature’s reign was time arcane.

Man who defers is not man by name.”

And so stewards were the race unlistened to, unheard,

Opinions demeaned to the point of absurd.

Still, you were beings of hope and light,

Of passion in rebellious fight.

Discriminated eyes ablaze,

No matter what, your chins were raised;

“We are the children of Flame! No less!”

And so, Man battled, and ‘Other’…

Acquiesced.

IV.

Amidst the blood that watered our soils,

After compromises tried and foiled,

Did the ‘Enlightened’ King declare:

“Enough is enough. Let no one be spared!”

Ice were the hearts of the soldiers deployed.

Merciless like machines, sent to destroy.

Cold like their leader, the king of torn oaths.

Thus, paradise crumbled for Man and Other both.

Once we were reduced to flickering sparks,

Ships in the clouds began to embark.

Prepared to drop like rain, those bombs of the sky,

That root, and rock, and heart­—All! Should die.

Ready.

The deplorable word. The concluding blow.

Aim.

Desolation, the nooks and crevices shall know.

V.

The loss of light and warmth, to greed and desire,

All dawned by one word…

The King smirked: “Fire.”

Oh great, Sid thinks to himself. Stuck in a room with everyone I hate.

He glowers covertly at the other four people wandering aimlessly around the otherwise empty classroom. One sits beside him. Again. It’s Gale. “It has been exactly three hours after our dismissal,” she helpfully informs in that formal tone that’s always needlessly polite.

“Gale, there’s a clock on the wall. If I wanted a timecheck, I’d get it myself.”

She doesn’t seem at all deterred at his sarcasm. “Pardon. I only meant to emphasize the length of time we have been here,” she says. We have. Not We’ve. In all honesty, Sid has no clue on what she has against contractions. He’s above asking, though. Asking means he actually noticed and cares. A ridiculous assumption.

“Sid,” she says more seriously, her brow furrowing in worry. “It is past our bedtime,” she stresses. Part of Sid wants to laugh at her for sleeping at eight. The other part forgot that they were dismissed at five o’ clock. Due to bad weather, students got out an hour later instead of earlier. If only the widdifully wonderful Mayor had listened to the weather report this morning. Ninety percent chance of rain. Ninety. And yet he didn’t suspend.

The storm’s still pretty strong, but the sound is muted by the windows. All of them were closed right before everyone absconded. Everyone except for these unfortunate five. Previously, they had been waiting at Gate C, but the flood had gotten too high. It even got to push open the Gate, which would not have happened if the guard made sure it was locked before fleeing. Sid assumes he had fled. No one in their right mind would stay behind under those circumstances.

Sid’s eyes pass over the other three who have been talking nonstop the entire time. Now, they seem pretty glazed over. Even Keil, the overboard extrovert who everyone likes. It’s strange to see her finally quit standing and slump on a chair, an unmistakable frown on her face. The other two, the Santiago’s, look rather antsy.

“How long do you think until we have to start speaking to each other?” Sid murmurs to Gale.

“It is inevitable, I think. But you have successfully ignored each other for three whole hours and counting. With persistence, I estimate thirty more minutes maximum?” she says.

“You getting sleepy there, Sid?”

Sid closes his eyes in exasperation before slowly turning to face the speaker. “No need to shout, Keil. We’re the only five people in the room.”

“No need to snap, Obsidian. I was only asking,” she half-laughs. A malicious grin cracks on her face. “I don’t advise you to sleep, though. There are rumours...” She stands on her chair. ”... of the school being... haunted.” She wiggles her fingers drammatically. Thunder rolls abovehead, making Keil smugger.

Ral, one of the Santiago cousins, claps her hands and smiles, eager for a story. On the other hand, Rob raises an eyebrow, the side of his mouth poking upwards.

“Oh God,” Sid sighs.

“It was not unpredictable. You should have foreseen it,” Gale tells him.

“You A-classers are such killjoys,” Rob drawls out.

“It’s A-students, Santiago,” Sid retorts, but does not rebut. He can’t think of anything to say that won’t sound defensive. Rob sticks out his tongue, causing Sid to roll his eyes.

“Boys,” Keil cutts in. “Trying to tell a story here. Okay.” She wiggles her fingers again and uses her deep, creepy narrator voice. “It was a regular school day. The sun was shining, and a few little gradeschoolers thought it was the perfect day to play hide and seek. One of them was Little Johnny.”

“Why is it always ‘Johnny’?” Ral whines. Rob shushes her, but she continues. “I’m just saying, why not ‘Edward’? Or maybe ‘Lolita’? It sounds way creepier than ‘Johnny’--”

“I don’t make the stories, Ral!” Keil points at her in mock outrage. “I just tell them. Anyway--”

“Who makes them up then?” Sid asks.

“Little Johnny thought he found the best hiding place!” Keil near-yelled, drowning out Sid’s possible elaboration. “In an old Bodega the Janitors stopped using. He snuck in there, and sure as the sun, his playmates couldn’t find him. They called him out, but he wanted to be the ultimate hide-n’-seek champion. He didn’t come out for hours--”

“Didn’t he need to pee?” Ral asked.

“Ral! Where was I? Oh yeah. His friends had already quit looking for him. Finally, Little Johnny decided to come out-- ONLY TO REALIZE THAT HE HAD LOCKED HIMSELF IN! For days he cried for help, but no Janitors used that bodega anymore. Only after a month... when his body started to reek... did they discover it rotting away and infested with maggots!”

“Eww,” Ral and Sid reacted. Rob laughed. Particularly at Sid.

“Some say that Little Johnny’s ghost is stuck there. And that he can only escape if he finds another unfortunate child to take his place... And that is the story of Bodega 5!” Keil finishes in a suddenly cheerful tone.

“I find that story pattern somewhat overused, I am afraid,” Gale confesses. Keil looks deeply offended. Her mouth hangs open.

Rob takes over. “Well, got any better ghost stories?” he shoots.

Gale shakes her head. “I do not make any.” Sid snorts at that, earning a glare from Rob.

Thunder cracks in the distance, making the stranded students remember their predicament. Sid doesn’t know about the others, but he’s perfectly fine with sleeping over in the school. His parents are working overseas, so there isn’t anyone fetching him tonight. Commuting is a ‘no’, because of the lake that has developed in the span of six hours. Sid has already accepted these facts.

The silence stretches, until broken by Keil. “So...” Her evil grin has returned. “Anyone want to go ghost hunting?”

“Keil, we’re highschoolers,” Sid says.

“We are middleschoolers by K-12 standards,” Gale corrects.

“Whatever. We’re fourteen, and I’m sure none of us believes in ghosts anymore.”

“So you used to?” Keil presses him. Sid tries on his best withering stare.

“I wanna come,” Ral pipes up. They all stare at her. “What? It’s not like we’ve got anything else to do. I’m tired of just sitting around.”

Rob stands. “Then I’ll come too, I guess.” Eyes turn to Sid and Gale. Gale looks at Sid. Sid rolls his eyes.

“What? Too killjoy or too chicken?” Rob taunts. Ral shushes him, then turns to Sid.

“Come on! Who cares if ghosts are real? It’s better than just waiting here,” she smiles generously with her palms out.

Sid looks at her hand and considers taking it. Instead, Sid tries to look severely annoyed when he says “Fine.” In truth, he just doesn’t want to be alone.

“I shall tag along,” Gale announces.

“Good choice!” Keil says. “Alright, I lead! Bodega 5, here we come!” She marches to the door, followed by the cousins, then by Gale and Sid. Gale leans in to whisper in Sid’s ear.

“Do you think leaving the room is a wise choice?” she asks.

Sid ponders for a moment before shaking his head. “It’s not about ‘wise’ anymore, Gale. It’s about how stupidly we can pass the time,” he jokes.

*

The corridors are dark. The only sources of light are the lightning streaks that come in succession from outside. Sid knows the switches would work, but turning them on would make Rob tease him for being scared. That imbecile. No one else tries to turn on the lights, though he sees Ral twitch towards the switches as they pass by.

“So what’s our plan exactly? We enter Bodega 5 and lock ourselves in?” Sid says.

Keil turns to walk backwards-- or at least that’s what Sid can tell from her silhouette. “Not a bad idea, Sid!” Her teeth reflect the scarce glow of lightning.

“That’s boring,” Rob says. “I wanna check out the Quad.”

″’Cause that’s far more interesting, Santiago.”

“Take a hike, Trinidad!”

Ral falls behind to talk to Gale. “Do you get this a lot? I get this a lot.”

“Sid’s personality is something to get accustomed to,” Gale agrees. Traitor, Sid thinks.

“You know I was talking to the Janitor the other day,” Keil started babbling again. “And you know how this place used to be a convent, right? Well the Janitor told me that he had to stay late the night before. At around midnight, he said he saw some movement down at the Quadrangle. He had one of those huge flashlights, and he shone it down--”

“Did he glimpse the Midnight Murderer?” Gale asks, looking sincerely intrigued. Sid remembers her obsession with serial killers. She literally has a poster of Jack the Ripper in her bedroom. She sleeps with it on the wall right beside her bed.

“God-- No!” Keil says, actually looking scared for a moment. “He saw a nun DIGGING HERSELF OUT OF THE GROUND!”

“Oh,” Gale says, unimpressed.

“The Midnight Murderer’s been in the asylum for a year, Gale,” Sid reminds her. “There’s no way a janitor saw him two nights ago.”

“So that’s your name. Gale,” Keil says thoughtlessly.

Sid scowls at her. “Seriously?”

She spreads her arms out as if to say What? It’s not my fault! “Sorry,” she shrugs.

“Though most people find it repugnant, I am not offended that you forgot my name,” Gale says, sliding her hand against the windows.

“Thank you,” Keil grins.

Before Sid could fume at her, the lights at the far side of the corridor flicker on and off. Ral gasps, Keil spits out an expletive, Rob spits out a more atrocious expletive, and Gale keeps silent. “What was that?” Keil exclaims.

Sid scans the corridor with his eyes, but the light is gone, so he sees nothing. Ghosts aren’t real, he thinks over and over again like a protective mantra. He sees Rob take a daring step forward. Undoubtedly to show off.

“It was probably just the lightning,” Sid discourages him.

“Yeah. The lightning inside the building,” Rob glances back at him. Ral quickly follows behind her cousin, as if to give him backup against this imaginary monster. Keil steps forward too.

Sid sighs in exasperation. “Come on. There’s a million reasons why that light could have flickered. It’s probably not a gh--”

All the lights above them turn on, causing everyone to yelp. They spin around quick to see Gale’s hand on the light switches. “Pardon. I thought it would be easier to find clues if the light was on,” she says.

Sid squints against the brightness. “At least we know we’re not all imbeciles--”

A series of metal clangs and clatters ring out from the far side of the corridor, where the lights have turned off. “Shut up, Trinidad,” Rob hisses. “What room is that at the end of the corridor?”

“The Cooking Room,” Ral whispers to him, trying to conceal the quiver in her voice.

She’s scared, Sid notes, but that won’t stop her from beating the living hell out of whatever comes round that corner. Last year, she beat up some older students who were trash-talking Rob. She never got caught because the older boys didn’t want to admit they were beat up by a twelve-year old girl.

Sid smiles to himself. He was the one who got the older boys to trash-talk Rob.

Rob enters the room first, determined to find a ghost. He doesn’t turn on the lights, probably due to his stupid theatrics. Everyone gets in at once, not wanting to be the rearguard in a horror movie. They venture around in different directions: the Santiago’s to the farthest kitchens near the giant mirror, Sid and Gale to the near ones, and Keil to the one and only refrigerator.

“You know there’s a ghost story about this place. A teacher sees a child playing around while the students are having a practical test--” Keil gabs.

“Keil. Shut up,” Rob says.

“Not helping,” Ral adds.

Keil raises her hands in surrender, then returns to investigating the refrigerator.

Sid feels around the sink of the second kitchen. It’s dry, as to be expected. He looks at Gale, who’s in the first kitchen, nearest the door.

“Anything?” he asks her quietly.

She rummages through the emergency kit by the wall. She turns to him with an object in each of her hands. “Flashlights,” she smiles, tossing one.

Sid reaches out to catch it. “Thanks,” he says when he does, realizing only then what would have happened if he didn’t get to. It would be noisy, and he’d be breaking school property with four witnesses. He shrugs it off, and tests the light.

Keil shrieks. They all snap their necks towards her. “There’s Stick-O!” she says ecstatically, grabbing a plastic cylinder filled with wafer sticks from the fridge.

“Keil, I will-” -expletive- ”-kill you,” Rob growls.

Keil chuckles. “Light’s in my eye, Sid,” she covers her face. Sid makes the flashlight point at the floor, annoyed. “That’s better,” she says, beginning to munch on some Stick-O’s. “I can’t believe they would leave these here! Mm, they taste so good!”

Sid continues his search, trying not to grumble. His light reflects on something silver. It’s in the third kitchen. He walks into the area then sees pots and pans scattered on the floor. He releases a huff of surprise when his flashlight hits them all. “Rob...” he calls.

“What?” comes the reply.

Sid doesn’t answer. He sees little red spots on the floor, trailing further. He shines his light on the part of the floor they lead to, and is surprised when something reflects. There are utensils-- No, knives spilled on the floor. Four knives, Sid observes.

Each kitchen has five.

Ral screams. She stretches her hand to point at the mirror, as if it had wronged her. “I saw something! S-someone-- I saw someone in the mirror, h-he was staring at me like--”

“What do you mean?” Rob asks. “Where?”

They both look at the mirror. Sid checks over his shoulders. He feels like they’re being watched. Ral stammers. “I-i-it was right--”

“Guys,” Gale raises her voice. She looks serious. Almost angry. “Let us leave.”

They all bolt out at her command. Let us leave, Sid thinks. Was she telling them to leave, or was she asking permission from someone they couldn’t see to allow them to leave?

“Run!” one of them shouts, and they all flee through the corridors, then down the stairs. Sid doesn’t recall ever running so fast in his life. By the time they stop, they’re on the floor of the Mini Hall, breathless. Sid lies down on the rough floor, already feeling like he wants to sleep. He rolls his head to see the others.

Keil’s hugging the Stick-O’s to her chest. That girl has jacked-up priorities.

Gale’s beside him, looking left and right. “We... are complete,” she breathes out. Rob sits up, looking bummed. “I almost caught the ghost,” he complains.

Sid sits up at that. “Are you kidding me? Your cousin--”

“I saw it,” Ral exhales, her breath evening out. She’s holding her head in her hands, looking as if she wants to cry. “He looked at me with his eyes... so angry. He... he was so angry... At me...”

Silence hung thick and foreboding. Sid turns to Keil. “Give me a Stick-O. I’m gonna need it,” he says, taking one of the chocolate wafer sticks.

The walls of the Mini Hall are made out of glass. Outside, they can see with the help of the limited light from streetlamps, that the storm is still violent. Rain pours down the glass, and the trees are swaying dangerously. Sid remembers that since the Hall is in the first floor, it overlooks the quadrangle. He stands and lumbers to the glass, leaning on it for support.

“Hey Rob,” Sid calls without turning. “Here’s your sightly quadrangle.”

He hears Rob walk to his right. Rob mutters yet another expletive. Sid concurs. The quadrangle is flooded to the point that only the tops of the trees are visible. That and the flagpole, whose tip is burnt black, after being hit by lightning. That was when the faculty decided to give up on the Mayor and send the students home, but the flood was already too high for them to be safely dismissed. The ground floor classrooms were evacuated and, praise the Lord, the gradeschool students were sent home first.

One thing is certain: No one’s voting for that Mayor next election.

“Guess the nun wasn’t the ghost Ral saw,” Keil says nonchalantly. Sid looks at her. She’s stretching on the floor like a cat in the sun. She rolls over to meet his gaze. “You got scared, didn’t you?”

And just like that, Sid’s back to being stubborn. “I did not,” he glowers.

Keil’s grin spreads like a disease. “You sure looked like you did.”

“I did not.”

“Did too.”

Sid rolls his eyes, then returns to the window. “Okay,” Keil says. “Maybe we should go somewhere else haunted. Classroom 8C is nearby.”

Nobody asks What happened in Classroom 8C? so Keil goes out of her way to ask herself. “You guys don’t know that? The classroom with a poltergeist that pretends to be a class observer? Miss Benito?”

“No one wants to hear your stories, Keil. Ghosts aren’t real,” Sid’s words drip with venom.

″‘Ghosts aren’t real!’” Rob says in a poor imitation of Sid’s voice. “Did you not see what happened back in the cooking room?”

“I’m saying that there may have been a plausible explanation for that!”

“I’m not a liar,” Ral suddenly blurts from the corner. “If you think I’m lying, I’m not.”

“Okay, guys. Chill,” Keil interrupts, waving her hands above her head. “How about we just head to Classroom 8C to prove to Obsidian here that ghosts are real. We have... what? Twelve hours ’til the staff arrives?”

“Seven hours and thirty minutes. It is approximately nine-thirty right now, and the staff arrives at five o’ clock tomorrow,” Gale states, examining her watch.

“Right, thanks, Gale. I think my school bus won’t mind,” she glances at the flood outside, before her eyes return to Sid. “So?” Without waiting for a reply, she stands and ambles to the corridor.

To Sid’s surprise, Gale stands up too. Sid pulls her aside and tries to ask her without the others hearing. “Have you grown daft?” he starts.

“I have not.”

“Why?”

“Keil is obviously persistent in her ghost hunting aims. Splitting up in a school as spacious as this would be, as you say, daft. It is better to stay together. And as we cannot convince Keil to stay with us, we should instead follow her,” Gale reasons.

Sid blinks once. Twice. Then he sighs. “Fine,” he relents, joining her out the room.

Rob stands too. “Ral. You coming?” he calls. Ral remains on the ground, hugging her knees. She’s picking on the cuticle at the sides of her fingers.

“Ral! Ralene Santiago! I can’t leave you here!” he urges. Ral stands and begrudgingly follows them to the door. Sid nods, then faces Keil. She’s smiling like a lunatic. “Get on with it,” Sid says, and Keil obediently skips away.

*

The door to Classroom 8C is locked. Keil tries pathetically to bust it open, before Rob takes out from his pocket an honest-to-god lock-picking set. Sid gives him a look that states explicitly, What the hell do you even do with your life?

Rob growls and thinks probably along the lines of Who cares what you think? Get out of my way, which is typical of him. The felon manages to unlock the door within seconds. They hear a click, and Rob pulls the door open with a dramatic bow.

“Damn, man! Good job,” Keil smacks him on the shoulder.

“Convenient,” Gale remarks, walking in after Keil.

Ral smiles. “Whatever. I could do that faster if I tried.”

When it’s only Sid and Rob in the corridor, Rob rises from his bow and puts his hands on his hips, a smug grin on his face. Sid gazes up at him. “Oh bravo. Your deft hands astound me,” he says dryly. Rob sticks out his tongue, but doesn’t look disheartened. A rare defeat for Sid.

Inside the room looks no different from any other highschool classroom. Keil jogs to sit on the chair at the teacher’s table. She swings her arm to point at the blackboard. ”‘Eef yu dohn’t get tu annsah dees kwehhhs-chuns, yu weell nevah pass mayyy class,’” she says in a scratchy imitation of their science teacher’s voice.

Ral laughs from one of the armchairs. “Do Math Dad next,” she says.

Gale is standing in the center aisle, beaming her flashlight all around the room. “I see no poltergeist,” she frowns. Rob examines the observer’s chair at the back of the classroom, beside the huge cabinet that only teachers can open. He seems to really take seriously this whole ghost hunting business.

Sid leans on the cabinet, not bothering to turn on his flashlight. His eyes meander boredly, until they rest on the curtains, gently blown by the wind that escapes the closed windows. It almost looks like the curtains are breathing.

″‘Any questions? No? Okay, get one-whole sheet of paper--’”

They all jerk their heads up in fear at Keil’s impression of their math teacher. It was his signature ‘Pop quiz intro’. Students were never prepared for any of his quizzes. Keil laughs at their faces. “Math Dad: scarier than any poltergeist,” she jests.

Sid rolls his eyes-- just in time to see a silhouette pass behind the classroom windows. He stands straight, squinting at those windows on the wall that separates the classroom and the corridor. “What the...”

“Gale, how good are you at volleyball?” Keil asks, standing on the teacher’s table. Gale looks at her confused. “Decent? I do not understand the significance,” she replies.

Keil’s eyes are intense when she says, “Catch me.” She jumps from the table, her arm brushing the ceiling fan. “Volleyball players do not catch!” Gale screams before a loud crash is heard and the light from Gale’s flashlight disappears.

The room is drenched in complete darkness. Sid’s stomach tightens in discomfort. He hears groans, footfalls, the shuffling of clothes, and a squeak. He assumes the last one came from Ral.

Since no one’s asking how Gale is, and because she might have hit her head on the floor and died, Sid takes the duty upon himself. His voice fails the first few times he tries to talk, which is stupid because he isn’t afraid of the dark. And he isn’t afraid of ghosts. Nope. Not one bit.

“Gale, did you survive that?” His voice comes out higher than usual. Despite the cold, sweat trickles down his brow as he waits for a reply. The shuffling of clothes is audible, then a few more footsteps. “Yes,” Gale’s voice finally chokes out from somewhere on the ground in front of him.

“I knew I could reach the ceiling fan,” Keil croaks, contented.

“Gale, turn on the light,” Ral demands. She sounds mad. She’s scary when she’s mad.

Sid hears clattering, like pieces of shattered glass. Gale speaks. “I think Keil... I broke it,” she corrects herself. Sid groans at her chivalry. Keil practically breaks her back, and Gale still sees to it that she’s blameless.

Before he scolds her for it, his voice dies in his throat. He has that feeling again-- They’re being watched. He opens his eyes wide, but still it’s pitch black. A cold wind brushes the back of his neck. It came from his left. Sid realizes, a chill running down his spine, that the windows are on his right.

“Ha!” Rob yells as he smacks the light switches on. Something Sid forgot they could do.

“What the heck, Rob!” Ral screams at him. Keil and Gale slowly get up from the floor.

“I felt something!” Rob says seriously. “Something passed by me!” He marches to the curtains, searching for-- what? Sid isn’t entirely sure. Thunder booms outside, causing everyone to jump. The light flickers off, and for a moment, Sid is sure someone is laughing at them. Playing tricks, yet unseen.

“Show yourself!” Rob shouts at the walls. Everyone inches towards him for protection. They all know something is malevolently wrong here. Everyone but Sid, who leans on the cabinet again. He tries not to look frantic when he fishes for the flashlight in his pocket. He presses the button, beaming the light on Rob’s chest.

“There’s nothing to see. No one, rather,” Sid says coolly.

“Give me the flashlight,” Rob orders.

“No.”

“Dammit, Sid! I’m serious!”

“It’s my flashlight,” Sid says, realizing how childish he must sound.

Rob growls like a territorial dog. “Fine! Just-- Point it at the floor! I think I saw something.”

Sid waits a few seconds before doing so. He doesn’t want to look too cooperative. The beam hits the floor. Sid steps forward, sweeping the light around until it finds drops of blood at the door. Was that there before? Not too much blood, Sid thinks, but just enough to drip from a wound without squeezing.

There are only a handful of drops. One... Two... Sid traces them with his light until it reaches his shoes. The trail ends there.

“Look out!” Rob warns.

Sid feels a hand grab the back of his (meticulously ironed) uniform, and toss him to the chairs. The cabinet crashes to the ground where Sid was previously standing, breaking the two backmost seats as it falls.

Good Lord! What are they keeping in there? Sid thinks. He turns to see who pulled him, but everyone is already scrambling out the room. He picks up his flashlight and follows suit. Gale slams the door shut when they’re all out. They walk away briskly, as if they’re being chased. They probably are, Sid thinks. The feeling hasn’t left.

“It’s real! It’s real!” Keil covers her mouth in astonishment. Sid notices that she isn’t holding the Stick-O’s anymore. She must have left it on the teacher’s table. Not that they’re going to risk their necks to get it back, anyway.

“I knew it! We shouldn’t have gone here!” Ral cries. “Let’s go back to the Gate. Please!”

“Sid has to say it first!” Keil says. ”‘Ghosts are real.’ Come on!”

“First of all, I’d like to thank... whoever saved me. No need to name yourself, I won’t treat you any differently anyway.” Sid isn’t as ungrateful as he pretends to be. Sometimes. “Second of all, that wasn’t a ghost.”

Keil stops in her tracks. “Oh you little--” An expletive blesses their ears.

“Are you -” -expletive- ”-kidding me, Sid?” Rob explodes. “It tried to kill you! Squish you flat against the floor--”

“That was the cabinet. No ghost of any kind,” Sid says flatly.

“Oh yeah, the cabinet just started bleeding and decided to fall!”

“Listen here, Obsidian,” Keil grabs him by the collar. “You’re just being... being--the guy who dies first in any horror movie! We are not going back to the Gate until you swallow your fat pride and admit it!”

“Please, Sid,” Ral begs him. “Just say that ghosts are real. We won’t hold it against you!”

Sid stares at Keil, mouth tightly shut. At one second, Keil lets go of Sid’s collar, allowing him to regain his personal space. The next second, she gives him a solid punch to his cheek. Sid’s left eye tears up at the pain, and he feels anger boil inside him. He turns and punches her back, his knuckles colliding painfully with her cheekbone.

Before it turns into a full-on brawl, Gale steps between them, pushing a hand in each of their chests. She eyes both of them. “No,” she says plainly, yet effectively. Keil rips herself away from Gale’s reach. “Bodega 5. Now. Sid is going to see a ghost, even if I have to lock him in for it to happen,” she says through gritted teeth.

Sid laughs bitterly.

“No!” Ral bellows, stomping a foot. “We are going back to Gate C!”

“Guess what? You can’t make me,” Keil jeers.

Rob’s eyes travel back and forth between the two. Sid has to withhold a snort at that. Usually, it’s Rob making a ruckus. Now that he’s on the sidelines, he’s utterly clueless.

“Uh, guys, look, we can split up?” Rob suggests, moving his hands up and down, as if to pat calm the aura.

“Well fine! We’ll go this way,” Ral says, pointing towards the direction of the Gate.

“Fine!” Keil spits.

“No,” Gale repeats. She is suddenly brimming with authority. “We are not splitting up. Keil, I thought you would have learned enough from all those movies you say you watch, that splitting up just makes us easier for the monster to target. We are neither going to Bodega 5, nor to Gate C, because I do not know if you remember, Ralene, but the flood is almost as tall as we are-- perhaps taller! Understood?”

Everyone shuts up for a whole minute. Gale huffs, seeming uncomfortable with all the attention, but keeps her face austere. Sid’s mouth is open. He doesn’t remember ever being this proud of someone else in his entire life. “Where do we go then?” he asks.

Gale stares at him for a while, considering the question carefully in her head before answering, “The bathroom. The boy’s bathroom.”

They all make a sound of disbelief. “The boy’s bathroom has toilets and urinals, for both our genders,” she explains. “We have gone three hours without using the bathroom, and like I said, we cannot risk splitting up.”

Rob scratches his arm. “That’s gonna be... real awkward. And the girls’ bathroom is right beside the guys’, right? So that’s like, close enough. It’s not splitting up too far,” he reasons.

Gale gazes at him. “I am not allowing you and Sid to be alone in a room together.”

“She’s got a point there,” Keil raises her eyebrows pointedly at Rob.

“Alright, alright, let’s go. I don’t like being out in this corridor,” Ral confesses. “It feels like I’m being...”

‘Watched’ goes unsaid. They are all aware of that now.

*

The walk to the bathroom is quick-paced, but not quite a run yet. The five flock close together, as if in danger of being snatched if they stand an inch too far. The rain is loud on their ears, but Sid feels that for every five pairs of footsteps, he hears a sixth set that is much heavier, and faster.

He hopes it’s just his imagination.

Gale is in the vanguard. She stops when they’ve reached the bathroom and ushers everyone inside. Rob turns on the light and shuts the door behind them. And they’re in.

Keil exhales noisily. “That was...” She throws back her head and laughs. Ral joins in for no apparent reason.

“No one, like, got possessed, right?” Rob asks.

“It’s not like we’d admit it if we did,” Sid says, hands on hips. “How would you be able to tell?”

Rob glares at him. Then speaks in some foreign, possibly made up, language. “Exorcizamus te omnus immundi... Spiritum omni satanica potestas...”

At first, Sid thinks Rob is talking gibberish, which he can’t say he didn’t expect. Then he recognizes some words. “Did you just exorcise me?” Sid wrinkles his nose.

“Too bad it didn’t work,” Rob sneers.

A deafening thump comes from the door, causing all of them to lurch away from it. A series of expletives comes from Keil’s throat. More thumps follow, threatening to take down the locked door. The knob starts shaking violently like it wants to fall off.

“Get into the cubicles,” Ral orders, and they scramble to obey. Sid locks himself in his cubicle and covers his mouth because of the insane thought that the ghost might hear him breathing.

The thumps turn more urgent, and Sid swears the door is going to break. But all of a sudden, the thumps halt. Sid hears the patter of shoes against the floor outside speed away... and disappear.

Sid exhales in relief. He leans his back against the door and decides that maybe he doesn’t have to use the urinal tonight. The toilet would be enough.

Once everyone is done and out of their cubicles, Sid asks, “What now?”

Everyone seems to look at each other upon hearing the question. Sid washes his hands while waiting for the others to come to a decision. He hears Keil spout out another expletive.

“Pardon?”

“That banging on the door earlier?” she says. “Yeah. I think that was Gale.”

“What do you mean?” Sid turns around and feels his heart fall flat into his stomach. The faces he sees are all as appalled as he is. Because Gale isn’t one of them.

″You locked her out the room?” Sid snaps at Rob.

“How is it my fault?” Rob throws his arms out in exasperation.

A distant scream tears through the air. “Gale!” they all shout.

Sid bolts out of the room. “Gale! Where are you?” he yells. He takes out his flashlight, and sure enough, there is a trail of blood on the floor. “Gale!” he shouts.

Thunder booms overhead as if to emphasize the dread and trepidation that chokes Sid as he barrels through corridors. He can hear the other three close behind, but he doesn’t care at the moment. Another scream pierces their ears. “GALE!” he bellows, even though he’s running out of breath, and his heart is beating too fast.

He stops running when his knees threaten to give in. He follows the trail with the beam of his flashlight. There are suddenly more drops on the floor. Bigger. He shines the light on the end of the corridor, right beside the stairs. There, he sees a figure. Huge and hunched over a heap that Sid recognizes as-

“Gale!” he shrieks, speeding towards her. The figure stands between the two students. Sid can see that its hands-- both of them-- have only three fingers. The middle and ring fingers are missing. The clothes it’s wearing look like they came from a hospital, all white but spattered with red. Sid musters up enough courage to point the flashlight at the figure’s head.

Sid gasps. A hideous wound shaped like an eye takes up the entirety of its forehead, and the wound bleeds heavily down onto its face. It-- He looks angry. Angry enough to kill.

The Ghost pins Sid down. Sid wants to squirm, to scream, but he’s frozen. Like in some twisted nightmare he can’t wake from. The Ghost lifts a bloody knife and stabs it down on Sid’s upper arm. That’s when Sid’s voice starts to work, and a scream rips his throat raw.

He isn’t aware for the next few seconds, except of the searing pain that throbs in his arm, but somehow, the Ghost isn’t on top of him anymore. He rolls his head to the side and sees Rob thrashing around, his neck in the hands of the monster. On the other side of the floor, Ral is tearing through her skirt like she’s done it a million times, to use as a bandage for Gale. Honestly, these Santiago cousins. What have they been training for?

That leaves Keil. Out of nowhere, she plummets into the Ghost and whacks his head with a broom. The Ghost stumbles backwards and drops Rob. “Let’s GO! GO! GO!” Keil pulls a coughing Rob along. Sid staggers to his feet, wincing when his arm gets displaced. He places the flashlight under his good arm, and uses his free hand to squeeze his wound.

He’s running up the stairs, and everyone is there alongside him. Keil tugging on Rob, and Ral supporting Gale. But they’re injured. And the Ghost is faster.

“Obsidian, you’re the smart one. Where do we go?” Keil demands.

“Well, I don’t know! I just got stabbed, why do you think--”

“Just think of something!” Rob rasps.

Sid might resort to expletives himself. A glance backwards tells him that the Ghost is gaining on them. Only a few stairs away. We have to get out of here, Sid thinks, Out of this godforsaken school. But it’s raining too hard, and they’d need a submarine. Or, like, a really tall car.

“I’ve got an idea,” Sid says. His head starts to feel lighter. He’s lost a lot of blood.

“What?” Keil, Rob, and Ral ask in unison.

“It’ll only work if you know how to drive.”

“I know how to drive,” Rob assures.

Sid barely stops his eyes from rolling. “Of course you do. Alright, everyone. Just follow ME!” He darts away from the stairs and into the corridor. They’re on the top floor, but the place Sid has in mind is on the first. He hopes their stamina lasts.

His head is throbbing, and his eyes are threatening to close. He sees a fire alarm button and smashes it with his left hand, nearly dropping the flashlight in the process. The alarm goes off along with the emergency lights. Thank you! he thinks.

“Why did you have to do that?” Ral says loudly over the sirens.

“To keep me awake,” Sid says in an equally loud volume.

He seizes a small fire extinguisher they pass by on a pillar. He takes off the pin and forces it into Keil’s arms. “Ack!” she yelps.

“Familiar?” Sid bellows.

Keil laughs. “No!”

“Grip the hose tight and squeeze the trigger!” Sid instructs. “And don’t forget to aim!”

Keil must be a fast learner, because when Sid glances backwards, he sees the Ghost gets a full blast of foam in his sorry face! What a peculiar ghost this must be. He falls back, and Keil keeps squeezing.

“Stop!” Sid tells her. “Use it only when it gets close!”

Keil nods and runs faster. Ral points ahead of them with the hand not supporting Gale. “It’s a dead end!” she shouts.

“Stairs!” Sid shoots to their left, quickly descending the staircase. He’s getting tired... sleepy...

“You kidding me?” Rob’s voice comes from behind him.

“Stairs,” Sid repeats weakly, before adding a more audible, “All the way down!”

″‘ut these ‘re ‘rivate stairs,” Sid hears a slur that takes him a joyful moment to identify as Gale’s voice. “They ‘on’t lead down to the groun’ floor,” she says.

‘Don’t’ Sid notes. A contraction. There can be miracles. “I know,” he laughs. He must really be dying.

The Ghost bursts after them before they’re even a floor away. Keil screams and shoots him in the face again, but misses. Sid nearly trips on a stair, and decides to stop looking at what’s going on behind him. The only thing he should focus on right now is in front.

They’ve travelled down two floors when Sid realizes that he can no longer feel the tips of his left fingertips. He doesn’t look at his wound. He knows he wouldn’t like what he’d see. The last floor is finally in sight when Sid’s legs fail on him and he tumbles off. His arm is seized when his head is just centimeters from cracking on a stair. Sid screams. It’s the bad arm.

The next thing he knows, he’s riding on a person’s back. Piggyback. Good Lord. He feels like he’s five or something.

The first floor in the private area is used to access the school’s personal parking lot. It isn’t walled, so the rain is deafening from out there. The floor there is the same height of the fieldtrip bus’s windows. The grey stairs that lead down to the bus door are flooded. Yeah... Forgot to put that under consideration, Sid apologizes mentally.

“Quick!” Keil’s voice shouts. “I’ve run out of foam!”

So it’s not Keil carrying me, Sid thinks. His eyelids droop, and right now, the hair of whoever’s carrying him feels amazingly soft under his chin. “Sid,” he hears like a lullaby. “Sid...”

“SID, WAKE THE-” -beep- ”-UP!”

His bad arm is slapped, causing him to jolt in pain. “I’M BLOODY AWAKE NOW,” Sid screams.

“Well, what do we do?” Rob-- because of course it’s Rob-- shouts.

“Get in the bus!” Sid shouts back.

“It’s flooded! How on earth do we do that?”

“How should I know!”

Keil interrupts their conversation by stepping forward and ramming the fire extinguisher into one of the windows, one... two... three times and it shatters. She throws her jacket over the shards, and chants, “GO GO GO GO!”

Ral gets in first, then she and Keil carefully help Gale enter the vehicle. Rob makes sure Sid is safely in before crawling through the window himself. Keil hops in, slicing her knee on a shard. She inhales sharply, and Ral has to help her in the rest of the way.

“The keys,” Sid shouts, fighting to keep alert. “We forgot the bus keys!”

Rob carries Sid in his arms--Bridal style. I can’t believe him. I’m never going to live this down, am I?-- and lays him down gently on the seat behind the driver’s. “No need,” he says, “I can hotwire.”

“You WHAT?”

“Uh, guys?” Keil whispers. Sid looks back and sees that Keil’s knee has already been bandaged (cleaned too, he hopes) by Ral. Honestly, if she rips anymore strips off that skirt, she’d be wearing what the school considers provocative clothing.

Keil, Ral, and Gale are crouching beneath the seats. Sid looks out the window and sees that, yes, it’s the Ghost, and they ran out of foam just in time. “Rob. Hurry,” Sid hisses.

“I’m trying! Hotwiring a bus is a lot harder than hotwiring a car!”

The Ghost puts a three-fingered hand on the shattered window’s frame and tries to enter the bus. Ral takes that as a cue to spring from hiding and slam the unholy creature with the fire extinguisher. They really do come in handy.

The Ghost makes a gurgling noise, like his vocal chords had been ripped out sometime ago. He charges at Ral with his knife, and she dodges just in time, but the Ghost is already half inside the bus. Keil takes over, pulling a wrench from God-knows-where, and beating the Ghost up with all her strength.

Sid drags Gale away from the scene, and onto the floor behind the driver’s seat. It’s the first time he’s properly looked at her since she was abducted. Her face is deathly pale, and both her upper arms have been bandaged. The stains that bleed through are the same shape that was on the Ghost’s forehead: an eye.

Sid risks a glance at his own wound, where a messy white substance is already clotting. The deep stab was probably supposed to be the pupil. The Ghost hasn’t finished his drawing yet.

“Rob...” he calls.

“I’m trying!” Rob snaps from the floor.

Sid looks at Keil and Ral struggling to keep the Ghost at bay. An idea forms in his mind. “Ral! Help Rob get this thing moving!” Sid stands.

“I’m a little busy at the moment!” she growls.

“The faster you get the bus working, the higher the chances are of us surviving! Now, Ral!” Sid commands, hoping she doesn’t beat him up.

She looks between Sid and the Ghost, then with a frustrated shout, she slides to Rob’s side, leaving the fire extinguisher on the floor. Keil takes up the extinguisher and strains to hold the monster off all by herself. “Obsidian!” she shouts.

Sid takes over, grabbing the extinguisher and swinging it as hard as he can against any part of the Ghost’s body. Pain explodes in Sid’s arm as he moves, but he holds his scream back with a grimace.

The Ghost looks angrier than before. He bares his teeth that don’t look like human teeth at all. They look larger, and as though they’ve been sharpened. No matter how many times Sid hits him, it seems to only slow him down.

“Ral! Progress!” Sid cries, his voice cracking a bit because of exhaustion.

“Almost done!” She replies.

The Ghost takes hold of the fire extinguisher, pulls it from Sid’s grasp, and throws it aside. Sid gulps. “How long!” he calls.

“Just a few seconds! I promise!” Ral says. That’s enough for Sid.

“Keil, get to Gale and grab on to something stable,” Sid commands without looking at her.

“What?” she reacts.

“Do it. Right now.” Sid has been staring at the Ghost, and to his horror, the Ghost returns the unblinking stare, seemingly locked on to him. Little by little, it crawls onto the seat.

“If I stop, Little Johnny here is sure to get in!” she argues.

“Let him come,” Sid mutters. “Trust me! Go!”

Keil drops the wrench then dives towards the front seats, and the Ghost takes that as a cue to crash through the window. He’s dripping wet as he raises his knife and prepares to pounce on the other four. Sid throws the wrench at the Ghost’s back. “Hey!” he shouts. “You don’t want them!”

Quiet falls. The Ghost turns around. Slowly. The expression on his face hasn’t changed. Sid backs away in little steps, hoping to lure the Ghost to him. He speaks in slow, easy sentences, so as not to agitate the monster. If he brings out words like ‘brobdingnagian’, he’s sure to die.

“You’ve been watching us the whole night,” Sid says, remembering Gale. “But you only attack when we’re alone. I’m alone.”

The Ghost takes the bait and moves towards him in slow, but long strides. Sid stares at the bloodstained knife in the Ghost’s hand, and his left arm starts to hurt once more. Sid’s eye twitches, but otherwise, he ignores it.

“You’re not done with me, are you? This little scratch you gave me?” Sid shows off his left arm which is still oozing slightly. The Ghost seems invigorated at the sight. “It’s not complete. Not yet. You have to finish your masterpiece.”

The back of Sid’s legs bump against the backseats. The Ghost is still walking. Sid keeps eye contact, while his right hand slowly, slowly, unhooks the back window and lifts it up. The Ghost takes notice and starts making that demented gurgling noise.

The bus hums to life, and the Ghost makes a distorted march towards him. Sid sees at the side of his eye that Rob is sitting on the driver’s seat waiting for a signal. He tries to speak, but his voice is gone again. Yes, he’s afraid of the dark, yes, he’s afraid of ghosts, and most of all, yes, he’s afraid of death who is staring him right in the face!

Sid’s arm brushes against the backseat, and pain sears through his arm. In that very moment, Sid finds his voice and remembers what he has to do. “ROB! FLOOR IT!” he bellows, then flattens himself on the ground.

The Ghost pounces, but when the bus shoots forward, he catapults headfirst out the window. Sid stands on a seat and hurries to kick the rest of him out. The Ghost’s legs fall out to be quickly replaced by an arm as he holds on for dear life-- afterlife?

The Ghost’s disfigured hand curls around Sid’s ankle, fixing him with one last glare from a visage of pure hate. Sid brings the window down to slam on the Ghost’s wrist. With an inhuman screech, he lets go, and is carried away by the current.

Sid watches the Ghost, feeling many things at the same time. Fear, rejuvenating relief, bone-rattling panic, success. Sid hits his head on the back window’s glass when Rob rams Gate A off its hinges. They nearly run over the house just across the road.

“You can slow down now,” Sid says, massaging his head. He looks at his friends and lets go a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. They’re all there. Bloody and bruised, but they’re complete, and they’re all in one piece. Or, their respective pieces, rather. For that, Sid is thrilled.

And he swears up and down he’ll never admit it to any of them.

They all make this sort of celebration by stationary whooping and cheering. They’re all too tired for anything any more intense.

“We ghost-busted Little Johnny!” Keil says, overjoyed.

Sid stares pensively at the distant figure of the ‘Ghost’ struggling to swim back to the platform. “It’s not a ghost...” Sid realizes. “It’s a man.”

*

Streetlamps bless their eyes on their way home, and despite the storm and the floods, the height of the bus ensures that they stay safe and dry for about until the water fills up the engine. Sid notices only then that he doesn’t have his flashlight anymore. He must have dropped it by the stairs, when Rob caught him.

Ral bandages his arm, then pushes him to the seat beside Keil.

“Make up,” Ral commands them both.

Sid stares blankly at Keil, who holds his gaze for no more than a few seconds, then rips her eyes away. “I’m sorry,” she tells the ground. “For punching you, shouting at you, and whatever.” She holds out her hand stiffly, but seems to mean it.

Sid stares at the outstretched hand. He doesn’t know what comes over him, but he feels a pang of remorse that helps him breathe easier. He supposes that it had finally occurred to him, probably when he got punched in the face, that they aren’t that different after all.

He takes her hand. “Ghosts are real,” he smiles.

Keil returns a full-on grin that’s infectious. Pretty soon, they’re both laughing and shaking hands vigorously. Ral joins in, ever the ray of sunshine.

Gale stays cognizant for the rest of the trip too. They all apologize for accidentally locking her out of the bathroom. Of course, typical Gale as she is, she forgives them. “I should have shouted instead of just abusing the door,” she says, and, “It does not matter anymore. What is important is that we make it home.”

And that’s the next problem.

“Uh, Sid?” Rob’s voice calls from behind the wheel.

Sid leans on the driver’s seat to stand beside Rob. “That may be the first time you said any part of my name without malice,” Sid snarks.

Sid thinks he sees a smile form on Rob’s face. “Can it, Trinidad,” Rob says, still looking at the street ahead. “I don’t have enough gas to get everyone home. That, and I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m bad at driving.”

“I wasn’t going to mention it,” Sid smirks. He has noticed. They’ve been bumping of streetlamps and crossing over sidewalks for a good amount of time. Sid’s got to hand it to him, though. The bus hasn’t tipped itself over yet.

“It’s not my fault! If this was a car, heck yeah, I’d nail it. Driving a bus is a first for me,” Rob says.

“I wasn’t going to mention it,” Sid repeats, amused. He considers the ‘getting everyone home’ problem. “What street are we on?” he asks, because he can’t recognize anything amidst the flood, the rain, and the darkness.

“Red street,” Rob informs.

Whoever decided to name streets after colors has a lack of imagination, Sid thinks. There’s a billion categories to choose from! Sid shakes his head, reminding himself to stay focused. “Take a left. Right there.”

Rob obeys without any snide remark, probably because driving takes a lot out of him. Sid spouts out a few more directions that Rob obeys with nearly no flaw. Nearly. The streetlamps have taken a beating. The bus drives up a hill, where the flood doesn’t get to reach.

“Park right there. Beside the blue house,” Sid instructs.

“Where is this?” Rob asks suspiciously.

Sid smiles. “It’s my home.”

They disembark through the back window, which is wider and safer than the shattered one. There’s a bit of a fuss upon leaving, (“You parked the car in the middle of the street.” “I know what I’m doing!”) but once Ral picks the lock of the house, they all know the worst is over.

Sid’s exhilarated to know that the electricity still works. He’s been in the dark for far too long, for his liking. As soon as they enter, Gale asks to use the phone to contact her Dad. Sid remembers she mentioned that her Dad was a doctor, and would pick her up late because he took the night shift. That was before the storm caused traffic and casualties. Sid lets them all use the phone while he prepares hot water for everyone to take a bath. Rob hovers to make sure Sid doesn’t faint and hit his head on the stove.

When Sid returns with the water, Keil’s hand is in the refrigerator, Ral’s flipping through channels like she owns the place, and Gale’s asleep on the sofa beside her. Sid doesn’t know what he expected.

“I’m getting everyone dinner!” Keil blurts like a defensive criminal caught in the act. “I’m not sleeping on an empty stomach!”

Sid gives her one long stare. He tilts his head to the right. “There’s Stick-O in the cabinet.”

“Bless the Lord, oh my soul!” Keil exclaims, dashing to the cabinet.

“Get everyone some milk too,” Sid tells her.

“Don’t order me around!” Keil says.

“Do it or I won’t tell you which cabinet.”

“I can find it myself.” There is about twenty cabinets in Sid’s kitchen.

“Fine,” Keil relents upon noticing.

“Thankyou. Milk is in the fridge, cups are in there, and Stick-O’s in there,” Sid points in different directions, causing Keil’s brow to furrow. Sid leaves her to it, being followed out by Rob.

“So you own the huge mansion up the hill,” Ral greets him with, staring at the news. The storm has destroyed a few houses a city away. The images they flash on the screen makes Sid feel lucky.

“It’s not a mansion,” Sid says, though he feels boastful when Ral mistakes it for one. He turns to face Rob. “Here, make yourself useful and pour this over there.” Sid hands Rob the kettle of hot water and points to the bathroom.

“Fine, but if you faint again...” Rob starts, making Sid’s eyes roll. “I won’t!” Sid says, shoving him away.

Sid then turns to Gale. She’s curled up like a cat. Sid’ stomach twists when he sees the stain of her wounds on the bandage. He prods her awake. “Hey...”

Gale opens a bleary eye to peek up at him. “Go wash yourself up in the bathroom,” Sid says. “There’s still clothes in the closet, from the last time you slept over. The first aid kit is behind the mirror.”

Gale nods, and Sid helps her up. She wobbles to the bathroom, where Rob is freaking out. “Dude! Your bathroom is huge! I’m hating you more by the minute-- Oh.” He steps aside for Gale to enter. She’s about to close the door when Sid says “If you need anything, just ring.” She offers a weak smile then locks the door.

“There’s a-” -expletive- ”-telephone in there too?” Rob turns to Sid.

“Yes. There is a telephone. This is a huge house. We use an intercom,” Sid explains.

“Can I go next?”

“No. I’m going next. I got stabbed in the arm.”

“Can I go after?”

“No. Keil’s after. Her knee got sliced.”

“After her?”

“No. Ral comes after.”

“Why?”

“I like her better.”

Rob groans, but quickly smirks again. “I wonder what I can do with this information. I know your address,” he says like a threat.

“You can take that kettle, fill it with water, and heat it by the stove,” Sid says sarcastically.

He expects Rob to stick out his tongue again, but instead, he says, “I don’t know how to use a stove.”

Sid blinks at him. Twice. “Of course you don’t know how to use a stove.”

Once everyone is already bathed and in pajamas, and all their wounds and bruises are properly dressed, instead of using any of Sid’s abundant guest bedrooms, they sprawl around the living room’s sofas and watch TV. Sid’s consciousness is already drifting away, when he hears something from the news that makes his blood run cold.

″The Midnight Murderer has escaped his asylum earlier today. His current whereabouts are unknown...”

*

Written October 31, 2016

Getting to school that day wasn’t any more difficult than every other day. One only had to accept that Capitalism was terrible, acknowledge that one’s life is not one’s own, and be thankful that one will, eventually, be given the opportunity to die.

It wasn’t the best outlook, but it got people out of bed. ‘People’ being Amihan.

He arrived at school the same time as he always did and found Lila on her chair, head down. He patted her back gently. “You didn’t do the homework,” he said.

“Nagawa ko na,” she tells him, the quickest way to make him back off.

“Not AP. The Math one. They gave it yesterday after our exile.”

Lila jolted up, looking around for any proof. Sure enough, the questions were written on the board. She turned to him accusingly. “E paano mo nalaman?”

Amihan raised an eyebrow. “I checked my Messenger.”

She dug angrily through her bag for some paper. “Kailan ang Math?” she all but demands, looking almost feral. Amihan thinks about letting her copy from him to give her time to sleep, but knew she would refuse. Copying meant the system won, and succumbing to sleep meant Mrs. Cruz did.

“First subject,” he informs.

Lila exclaimed something inappropriate and started solving. Amihan grabbed his bag from the floor. “If you wanna compare answers, I’ve got mine right—”

His fingers touch something cold and wet. He looked into his bag and found his water jug overturned, his homework reduced to an indiscernible rag.

It was his turn to exclaim inappropriately.

Lila handed him a piece of paper. Together, they did their homework in a thoroughly disgruntled manner.

“Ah, buhay pa kayo?” one of their classmates, Vic, asked upon approaching. “So. Totoo ba ang sabisabi?”

“Oo. Nasiraan kami ng ulo at namatay. Ang kinakausap mo ngayon ang aming mga bangkay na sinasapian ng mga demonyo,” Lila replied without lifting her head.

“Wow, sungit,” Vic laughs, turning to Amihan. “What happened?”

“Um… we walked. We ate. We sang. We slept. I have it on video.”

“Pa-send,” she requested, hitting his shoulder good-naturedly before walking away.

“Sure…” He watched her go while Lila chuckled at him.

Despite the distraction, they managed to finish the homework before flag ceremony. The teacher had just walked in when they simultaneously lifted their pens. The teacher, being Mrs. Cruz, eyed them suspiciously. “Narito pa kayo?”

“Magandang umaga po! Magagalak kayong malaman na walang nagparamdam na ‘masamang espirito’ at hindi kami hinoldap pauwi nang 2 AM.”

Lila grinned wide and tantalizing, causing Amihan to stifle a laugh. On one hand, Mrs. Cruz could get them in trouble for disobedience and truancy. On the other hand, Mrs. Cruz could get in trouble herself for leaving kids stranded in the woods, unsupervised. Checkmate.

Mrs. Cruz glowered venomously then ripped her stare away. “Good Morning, Class…”

*

He was really lucky to be Lila’s friend. She was probably the coolest person he’s ever met for various reasons. However, this meant that she’d outshine him in almost every aspect. It didn’t bother him most of the time.

“Wrong,” Mr. Guerro said flatly, waving him back down to his seat. Amihan grumbled. It was the third time he tried to recite today. It was also the third time he made a mistake.

“Lila raised her hand. “Oxygen,” she said confidently. Predictably, she was correct.

Amihan reached into his bag for a book he bought, so he could keep his mind off the jealousy. He frowned. It was soaking wet.

*

The second bell rang, and lunch had officially ended. Amihan stared at the door nervously. Lila wasn’t there yet. They weren’t together at lunch because she had a club meeting. Maybe that could excuse her.

Twenty minutes in and still no sign. Amihan was about to het the comfort room pass when a small blurry figure barreled into the room.

“Good afternoon po, Sir Basil!” Lila’s voice greeted breathlessly.

Chuckles bounced about the room. Mr. Basil raised an eyebrow, amused enough to perhaps save Lila’s conduct grade.

“Miss Albao,” he huffs. “And what is your excuse for being so tardy?”

“Akala ko po… ’yung kabilang music room…”

Their classmates start laughing, and Amihan isn’t entirely immune himself.

“You have to go to the Office then.”

“Pero, Sir—”

“Either speak straight English or straight Filipino.”

“Subalit, Ginoo! Hindi niyo ginawang tiyak ang particular na silid ng musika na nararapat puntahan! Makatwiran naming isipin na magkaklase tayo sa silid na lagi nating pinuntahan sa mga nakaraang klase. Hindi ko po sinasadya ang pagkakamaling ito!”

Amihan couldn’t hold the giggles in, at that point. “Sir, as politely as possible, wouldn’t it be punishment enough for her to walk across the school twice and have to catch up to the lessons she missed?” he interjected a little too quickly.

Mr. Basil considered this. Lila tried her best to look twice as exhausted.

“The rest of your classmates knew to go here,” he points out.

“Iba ang aking kaisipan sa karaniwan, Ginoo,” was Lila’s terse reply.

Their teacher looked pleased by this. Or perhaps by being called ‘Ginoo’. “Alright, Miss Albao. Only this once.”

*

“I told you it was this music room right before you left for your meeting!”

“Nakalimutan ko, okey?” Lila gulped down all the remaining water in Amihan’s jug and wiped her face. “Nagmamadali na kasi ako.”

They were at the rear end of the crowd of students headed back to their classrooms. “There’s been a lot of bad luck today, don’t you think?” Amihan mused quietly. Unfortunately, it wasn’t quiet enough.

“Hindi totoo ang ‘luck’, Amihan. H’wag kang maging pesimista,” Lila scolded. “Kung totoo ang luck, edi marami na rin tayong swerte dahil natapos natin ang homework bago mag-time. Nakalusot ako kay Basil. Hindi tayo kinidnap pauwi.”

Amihan rolled his eyes and decided to let that pass. Upon rolling his eyes, he caught sight of a figure beside their path. “Good morning…” he tried, but trailed away.

The janitress’ face was as pale as an equatorial sheet, and her unblinking eyes were wide in terror. She was frozen in place, staring at them. At him and Lila.

“Hi, Ate Tessa,” Lila greeted nonchalantly and walked straight by her.

“She didn’t seem okay,” Amihan told her as he caught up. He glanced back at Ate Tessa’s paralyzed figure. Her gaze followed their every step.

“Heheh. Nag-‘good morning’ ka. Alas dos ng hapon.”

He glared at her. “She looked terrified,” he pointedly continued.

“H’wag mong pansinin,” she waved him off. “Nananakot lang ’yon. Palagi niyang sinasabi na may third eye siya. Naniniwala naman sila.”

Third eye… A theory brewed in Amihan’s mind that he dare not say out loud. It wasn’t until the middle of their last class that he put all the pieces together. He leaned forward to whisper to his friend. She turned at the call of her name, raising her eyebrows.

“I’ve been having a bad day,” Amihan starts.

Lila nodded attentively. “Same. Kung nalaman mo yung nangyari sa banyo…”

“What happened in the bathroom?”

She sliced her hands around dismissively and gestured for him to continue.

“So we saw Ate Tess staring at us weird a while ago.”

“Mm.”

“And you said she had a third eye.”

“’Mihan.”

“And a lot of bad… stuff has been going on.”

“Mihan.”

“And it started when we got back from the—”

“’Mihan, hindi totoo ang malas o ang masamang espirito.”

“But—”

“Ms. Albao and Mr. Zelsos!” Ms. Mata called with the snap of a ruler. Amihan blanched. “Ano’ng pinag-uusapan ninyo?”

“Ang aralin po,” Lila answered without missing a beat. “Iniisip po namin kung ang maikli na ‘ng’ ang dapat gamitin sa pangalawang halimbawa.”

Ms. Mata looked down at her book. “Ay, oo nga noh! Dapat sa akin n’yo na lang sinabi…”

Lila spared him a milisecond’s glance radiating smugness. Amihan could only frown at his book in contemplation.

Any bad thing, left unchecked, got worse. Time would prove which one of them was right.

*

Wednesday and Thursday passed. Along came more accidents and unfortunate incidents than they had ever experienced in the past few years.

The wifi in Lila’s house was cut off, and Amihan’s shoe fell into the swimming pool. Lila had the hiccups the entirety of a group reporting. Amihan’s group had a problem with the projector, causing them to desert the powerpoint presentation he worked all night on. Lila forgot their locker key inside their locker, and somehow, they managed to simultaneously forget their packed lunches.

“Hindi totoo ang malas,” Lila said persistently as she tripped over the boundary of a ‘keep off the grass’ area.

That was how she found herself inside the Coordinator’s office, arguing for her academic reputation while Amihan waited outside. She came out eventually, plopping down beside him. Her mouth was pressed in a grim line.

“Verbal warning,” she informed. It wasn’t a bad punishment. It wouldn’t even turn up in her report card. It was just her first time losing a battle to teachers. Over a ‘keep off the grass’ sign, no less.

“Maybe if you hadn’t rolled over, you could’ve gotten away with it,” said Amihan. Lila didn’t deign to reply.

“A lot of bad luck…”

“Tahimik.”

*

There was a lot of proof, the problem was that none of them was conclusive. He needed evidence so cliché and obvious that Lila could not deny the urban mythological level of involvement of supernatural beings.

That was exactly what he got.

Victoria: WHAT IS THAT BEHIND U???

Amihan looked at Vic’s message, puzzled. She must be talking about the video he just sent.

Amihan: It’s just Lila. She woke up like that.

His attempt at humor was brushed aside by a screenshot from the video. Amihan stared at it. Then he stared at it some more. Then he checked the video in his phone. Sure enough, it was there too: a face with inhuman pallor hovering above their shoulders, blood red eyes staring directly at the camera.

Amihan’s mouth curled into a grin. He forwarded it to Lila.

*

“Lumabas ka na masamang espirito! O taong gumagamit ng masyadong maraming pulbos!” Lila shouted somewhat wearily.

It was Thursday, after school. The next day was the last before semestral break, so they wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. Especially Lila; her birthday was on its way. However, that meant conforming to silly superstition.

“Exorcizamus te omnis immundi…” Amihan read from his notebook. It was an exorcism prayer he got online.

Lila sprayed the plants using her mother’s laundry atomizer which was filled with Agua Bendita. “Baka tao lang ’yon” she tried grouchily.

“Doesn’t explain the bad luck,” Amihan hissed before continuing the prayer.

Lila threw him a suspicious glower. “Nasisiyahan ka bang minumulto tayo?”

He walks on, ignoring her. They weren’t sure if this was the same path they had taken through the forest last time. The foliage looked identical, all aesthetically disorganized. Darkness fell, and they brought out their flashlights. The beams swept about, leaving them disappointed with all the typical figures it illuminated. An hour passes with no revelation.

“Maybe we’re doing something wrong.” Amihan clicks his light off and flops down on a mound of earth. Lila follows suit and lands beside him. They were both silent, under the veil of shadows and nature.

“Magagalit si Nay kung hindi pa ako umuwi,” Lila announced.

Amihan slumped backwards. “I know. Could we please stay a little longer? Maybe it’ll come if we sit and wait. If we don’t do this, the bad luck might persist. Please?” he begged.

Lila’s eyes shone in the dark, seeing right through him. It wasn’t about the bad luck.

She stood, cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted. “Hoy! Alam naming sinusundan mo kami! Kung hindi ka lumabas, magagalit na ako! Isa!” She started counting like an angry mom.

Amihan shook his head, chuckling. Sure, counting might work to pressure neurotic kids. But monsters? It was worth a shot. A very sad, short-lived shot.

“Dalawa,” she drawled loudly, the promise of retribution upon her tongue.

One more number and either the monster come out, or they go home. Then, they would have to live with unexplained bad luck and the realization that life is as bad as it is. Monsters and magic don’t exist, only Capitalism and corruption. They would be doomed to a life without spontaneity, with only lifeless toil or squalor as options. Privilege was not a choice, and so neither was leisure. Heaven forbid anyone to have a job that made them happy and financially secure at the same time. Heaven forbid anyone less than a genius, a prodigy, or a patrician to thrive. Anyone who wasn’t productive. Who made mistakes.

Amihan long expected that magic wasn’t as real to the world as it used to be for him. Perhaps it was time for him to be part of the world.

Lila drew in a breath. “Tat—”

“Narito ako.”

Amihan jumped to his feet, whipping out his flashlight. Of course. If anyone was going to summon a mythical being from another dimension through sheer anger and counting, of course it would be Lila.

The two stood together, before a pallid creature with hair that fell to the ground and eyes that glistened like flames.