It is awfully lonely, here, Abor thought.

I went outside. To the store . . . and then, what? Abor tried to think but couldn’t. He drew a blank. And as he blanked, he continued to sit. Centered on the floor in the middle of the strange markings, he felt secure here, but did not know why.

Emotions rang through Abor like church bells. Each bell ring a changing of the guard: depressed, angry, manic. Sometimes content, at least when Abor thought he had understood something about this place and why he was here and why he could not go home. But those moments were fleeting and understanding was rare.

Looking up from his cross-legged position on the floor, which seemed homelier by the moment, he saw the constant ill-defined motion of a room full of ghosts which he, nevertheless, could not see but in pieces. They moved non-stop but never went anywhere? Abor was confused by the notion of movement for the sake of movement.

“Hi, guys,” Abor ineffectually said.

No response.

Not surprising, Abor thought.

So, Abor tried a different route to find somebody to talk to: “Can someone talk to me, please?”

And again, nothing.

In him, Abor felt a wellspring a sadness surge upward. And once more, the question of why he couldn’t go home rang throughout.

But as soon as he started to cry, feeling as pitiful as he did, he felt like stopping.

Inside, Abor felt a contentment regarding life. It was like a warm feeling around his chest. If he were an adult, he might have likened it to taking an antacid tablet before a meal to relieve heartburn; or, if he were an alcoholic, that first shot of poison. Abor felt inside himself a surging flow of energy— but even as he was appreciative for the energy, he knew it was so much more than a simple generic energy. What was coursing through his veins wasn’t just some supernatural caffeine equivalent, no. It was something all the more refined. Sophisticated. Like a smooth cappuccino made in an artistic cafe off the busy end of an Italian Shoreside town.

It was intoxicating.

For a while, Abor reveled in the good feeling this force was giving him. Sinking lower to the floor, he even bent lower and stretched out on the floor like a dog; the strange energy was causing experiential sensations throughout his body and he needed to move, stretch, touch, and connect. He couldn’t just remain static and sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the floor.

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Abruptly, the energy slowed to a trickle. Then ceased. Over the course of several hours— or however long it had been, time meant nothing to Abor right now— Abor noticed it was on a cycle of full, partial, stop, flow. Repeat.

As he took delight in his new solo activity, Abor began to wonder where the energy had come from . . . it couldn’t have just come from nowhere. Right? No one else was with him in this strange place. So, where?

But the answer, even to one as young as Abor, did not remain a mystery for long. For, what was the only possible source that it could have come from? When he was at the grocery store. He had done that Ritual of Meaning. It must have come from that incantation he had cast in the store. How? Who knows, but he knew that it had to have come from that. And, if so, then more must be better, right?

Opening the grimoire, Abor found a page near the back which he now knew referred to casting the incantations; it was odd: before, he had tried to “read” the page bit could not understand it. After the events at the store, however, he now understood the meaning of the writing. He still could not read the strange language, obviously, but he could not understand what this particular page was talking about.

Abor knew that if he wanted more of that energy, he needed to cast more spells. But he wondered— did he have the energy?

After casting the incantations at the grocery store, he had been exhausted. Would he be able to continue his spellmongery in such a state? Getting up to test the waters and walk around the ghostly room, he found that he was very well rested. How was that possible? He had only been back for no more than a few hours. Or, he thought it was a few hours, anyway.

But enough talk— or talking to himself. It was time for action. He needed another casting location.

But what location? One with a lot of people? Or maybe not many people?

Giving it a good think, Abor knew that he needed a location which was frequented by many and was dense in its general population. As he held the book and fixated on the newly revealed page, he learned that the locale preferences for wizardry always centered on more people is better. Magic was evidently a very social activity.

As Abor searched his mind for places with a high number of people, he tried to remember places from his own life that were always crowded. “School. Fun parks and fairs. Man. Not many places. But it is not like I have lived long enough to see many places.” Abor told himself.

Although Abor decided that a fair or amusement park would be the most ideal places to cast incantation and fish out that fantastic energy which gave him such an energy high, the only theme parks he had gone to while he and his mother had gone on their semi-annual vacation after she had won the lottery and was going crazy with her winnings. And that theme park, unfortunately, had been far away— hours and hours by car. No way would Abor be able to make it there by walking the shadow tunnels. Heck, he couldn’t even find his own home, so what hope did he have in finding an amusement park he had visited once years ago?

His school, then, was the next best bet. Well, probably not HIS school, but A school.

Walking to the tunnels, he gave himself away to thoughts and memories of schooling. And when he snapped out of his reverie, he found that he had arrived at the one place every kid dreaded— public school.