It could have been either day or night had it not been for the few children milling about the hallways, lingering like spirits; but these youthful souls weren’t trapped between the realms of life and death. They were trapped between periods.

Walking down the hallways, Abor seemed timeless. As did the school; dusk or dawn, Abor could not tell as the wisps of light coming in through the few windows revealed little to the imagination. All Abor knew was that he was in a school. What school? He didn’t know or care to know.

While he passed by the few lingering students, he did not draw attention to himself. And being the age of the kids in the school— luckily, Abor had brought himself to a middle school, by the looks of it— Abor blended in effortlessly. Neither the students nor him noticed each other and that was the best of it all. It was almost like being back home, back in his own school. Ignored. Glorious.

But the question remained— where would be the best place to lay more spells?

It was a hard question, to Abor. Many places in a school were constantly frequented by students. Hallways, classrooms, bathrooms. But the one place that stood out more than others had to be the gymnasium. Abor decided that he would begin there by placing several siphons— ‘siphon’ was that the word, Abor thought to himself? — and then he would work his way out from there.

In this particular school, the gymnasium was larger than at his own. It could fit a hundred or more students, by Abor’s estimate. With such a large place to work with, Abor knew that he had to concentrate on the chokehold points: the entrances and exits, the entryways to the changing rooms, the spaces around the bleachers. Even a point or two on the floor.

By the end of some length of time, Abor didn’t know how long, he had placed half a dozen traps within the gym. Remarkably, he still had energy leftover after to place some more siphons within the hallways and some of the classrooms. But a couple dozen incantations later, he was exhausted. And Abor had to admit that as much as he wanted to place even more, he needed to rest.

Walking back to some place where he didn’t even know, Abor was about to walk into the shadows, and therefore, back to the strange apartment room filled with ghosts, his little lair, when he noticed some kids which caught his eye.

It was between classes and the hallways were filled with students. As Abor drifted between the closely packed adolescents, trying his best to avoid colliding with anyone, he noticed a few students unlike the rest. How they were different Abor couldn’t quite say, not right away, anyway. Approaching them from behind, Abor asked what their name was. No response.

Not wanting to lose them before they went into a classroom, Abor reached out and grabbed their shoulder. The student stopped dead in the tracks. Slowly, they turned to face Abor and what Abor saw shocked him.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The student had no face.

It was just a blank. Smooth. Featureless.

Retching back in horror, Abor now saw more distinctive features to the student; although, from a distance, they had looked dressed in the latest fashions, up close, Abor saw that their style of dress was at least a decade or more behind. And moreover, their clothes were dirty and stained with some kind of red dye. Wafting off of them was a cruel energy which although felt familiar to Abor, also repulsed him as it contained a high concentration of misery.

“Who are you?” Abor asked.

But Abor received no response. Whatever the creature was, it simply turned around and continued to walk with the crowd.

~

It was all surreal.

Back at his little stone room filled with ghosts he could only see by glimpses, Abor thought about the encounter at the school. Really, it had brought him back to the proverbial drawing board: where was he and where was his mother, his home? Why was he doing this stuff with the siphons and the shadow-walking? Why couldn’t he find his way home when he could find his way to random places like supermarkets and schools?

He had so many questions and no answers. He felt like crying. But he knew from experience that crying did no good. It solved no problems. All that Abor wanted was release from this strange hell. He wanted his cozy bedroom back that had been lined with video game posters. He wanted his family back. Why was that so much to ask?

It was at that moment that one of the ghosts spoke to Abor. “We. Your family. Now.” The ghost said. In keeping in line with their strange ghostly afflictions, Abor did not see any part of the ghost other than a limb or hand here and there, but it was a shock that a ghost spoke to him at all.

“No,” Abor replied. “I have a family. I have a loving mother and a caring father— or, I used to have a caring father. He’s gone now, but— NO, the point is, I have a mother who must be worried sick about me. I need to get back to her. Back. And hug her and tell her I am fine and alive and . . . and” but Abor could not finish the thought before he began to heavily sob.

Crying for the better part of several hours (or less), Abor let everything that he had bottled up, out; the frustration at being away from home, the strange situation he found himself in, the unusual ability of his to travel to these offbeat locations but not his own home. He let it all out and acted his age for just a while. After his crying jag, he did feel mildly better, but the ghosts just picked up right where they left off.

“We. Family now.” the same ghost said. “You, leader.”

Abor, a leader? The thought tickled the boy pink. No, Abor, he thought, was a follower. He did things at the behest of other people: adults, older kids, some of his tougher looking peers. He obeyed and carried out instructions. He didn’t give the instructions. And why would he? He was no original thought in his head; he didn’t know how other people worked. He was just he. A kid.

“Soon. You will. Grow.” the ghost said before wandering back off to do whatever it was that ghosts did.

Really, why bother fighting it? Abor thought. The whole situation was screwy. Who was he to tell of a ghost’s incorrect ideas on leadership and today’s modern youth?

So, he was a “leader.” Then what? Who was he leading? The ghosts? If so, then to what end?

Abor tried to think on what it meant to be a leader. He sat cross-legged on top of the stone markings and let himself become lost in ideas and musings. As he did so, he felt the surgings of a familiar energy; over his skin, he noticed the flow of that life force that had come to him when he set the siphons off in the grocery store. Now, those same grocery siphons were combining with the new siphons he had set in the school. And the result?

It was intoxicating.