Have you ever imagined what it's like to see something that shouldn't be seen? Maybe not, but that's happen in my whole life.

It all started when I was seven, strolling with my family in a big mall in my hometown. Everything was going fine. We eat famous pizza at the restaurant, watch the latest movie at the cinema, and then my mom dragged me shopping for clothes. That's when I began to sense that things weren't quite right with me.

Back then, while my mom was busy picking out her favorite-colored pants in our usual store, my dad, glued to his smartphone, let me roam around. That's our routine whenever we shop for clothes. As I was checking out the hustle and bustle, I spotted an old granny. She was a bit hunched, wearing clothes like most grannies around here —not too fancy, kinda old-school but still nice to look at. When I looked at her face, she smiled at me. Her teeth were surprisingly white and complete —not like most grannies I knew. She waved at me, and I waved back.

We locked eyes and waved for a short while until blood started flowing from between her whites teeth. I thought maybe she'd been sipping on that popular strawberry-flavored drink that leaves a bright red stain on your mouth and teeth. Or maybe her teeth were just injured. But when blood started flowing from both her eyeballs, that's when I let out a scream, a loud one that grabbed everyone's attention.

My mom rushed over, squatting right in front of me, blocking my view of the horrifying granny. "What's wrong, honey?" she asked, shaking my shoulders. After that, I didn't quite catch what happened next.

###

My eyes slowly regain sight, and I find myself in my own room, gazing at the faded faces of the two people who are my everything —my mom and my dad. Their expressions are a mix of concern, confusion, and curiosity. Yet, they don't bombard me with questions the moment they see me awake. Instead, my mom hands me a glass of water with her gentle touch, and I sip it, gathering energy to see more clearly.

Once my vision is back in full force, my mom asks me what happened. I explain what I saw while hugging her, as she sits right beside me. Even though I can see clearly now, I'm still scared to look at anything, so I bury my face in my mom's warm embrace.

"Robert..." a soft voice calls my name, causing me to pause in my storytelling for a moment.

"Robert..." the voice comes again, clearer this time. I don't recognize this voice, especially since I vividly remember that it was just my mom and my dad in my room, and I'm sure their voices weren't like that.

"Robert..." the voice gets louder, and I turn to find the source of the voice. There, I see the old granny from the mall, sitting with a bloodied face in the corner of my room.

I scream again, pointing towards the granny and telling my mom, "That's the granny..., that's the granny..."

"There's nothing, honey," my mom reassures while gently patting my back. "You don't need to be afraid. Mom and Dad are here."

"B... bu... but, she keeps calling me."

"Robert, look, there's nothing here." My dad interjects, having quietly positioned himself where the granny was sitting before. And he's right, there's nothing there. But I'm still in tears, still terrified.

###

That incident marked the beginning of my never-ending nightmare. About a few weeks later, something similar happened. It was right after my mom came back from the market. When she entered the house, there was someone else who followed her inside. This person was tall, really tall, and skinny. This person was wearing long pants with a hoodie that covered his or her face.

"Mom, is that your friend?" I asked as she was putting away the groceries.

"Which friend?"

"The one who came in with you."

"I came home alone, honey. Don't be silly."

I glanced at that person again, and this time, the hood slipped off, revealing the place where there should have been a face. I ran to hug my mom. She did the same as before, patting my back and reassuring me that there was no one there.

The frequency of these apparitions was unpredictable. In two months, I'd seen dozens of such apparitions. Eventually, my mom called in a paranormal expert. From there, my family and I learned that I could see beings from another dimension. While I can say with absolute certainty, my dad dismissed it as just a little kid's imagination. Maybe he was right if I only saw these things when I was little. But as it turns out, the apparitions continued.

In high school, I started getting used to these apparitions. I also learned that these beings could be good or bad, just like humans. Slowly, I began to open up to them, even talking to them. Some were friendly, and some were dangerous. I even made a friend among them, Desmon —well, from the word "Demon".

Desmon was lively. He never told me the reason why he died. But, he told me that he hated school and my schoolmates. He could get pretty aggressive if he met them or was near the school. But apart from that, he was incredibly helped me in understanding my school lessons, even not all of it was correct.

At school, I earned the new nickname "Freakenstein" because they thought I was weird talking to myself. Even though I'd explained a thousand times that I was talking to beings from another dimension. This made it hard for me to make friends at school, let alone get a girlfriend.

###

But for me, it didn't matter. Desmon was enough to keep me entertained, and most importantly, he was loyal to me. Although, our relationship wasn't that great in the beginning.

The first time I met Desmon was when I went to school late at night with two of my friends. My friend Ken told me he heard whispers in our classroom when he was alone and calling my name. That's why the three of us decided to go to school at night to find out where the sound was coming from.

As we reached our classroom, just before entering the classroom, crying could be heard from the direction of the soccer field. The field my friends usually used for playing soccer and chatting during breaks was right in the middle of our school. It seemed like my two friends didn't hear it, as Ken urged me to enter the classroom. I refused and explained to them that I heard crying sound from the soccer field. But Ken ignored my explanation and insisted I go inside. That's when I started suspecting that this might just be a prank to mess with me.

Why do teenagers love to prank their friends so much, especially if their friend is considered weird? Well, even though I was already used to their mischievous ways, it still bothered me.

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I ignored them and walked towards the field on my own. But, before I could take three steps, Ken intercepted me. He once again asked me to enter the classroom, claiming there was a ghost asking for my help inside.

"Nonsense," I thought to myself. How could he lie about a ghost to someone who can clearly see them?

Suddenly, a hand grabbed both of mine and pulled me towards the classroom. When I turned around, I realized it was my other friend, Nevo. Nevo had a bulkier physique compared to other teens in his age, so I knew I stood no chance against him.

"Hey, Freakenstein, we told you there's a ghost inside. Why are you running away?" Nevo said. "Are you just pretending? Get in now or..." he didn't finish his sentence, but it was clear he was threatening me, as he clenched his fist, which was about the size of my face.

I had no choice but to enter the classroom. First step, I was still safe. Second and third steps, nothing happened. Every step after that, everything was fine, I thought. No incidents, no traps. Maybe I just misunderstood them.

"KEN!!!" Nevo's shout echoed outside the school, "Don't tell me you forgot to set the trap."

Before Ken could respond, a bowl of raw eggs was seen above their heads, turned upside down, so they were both covered in the pungent smell of raw eggs. Even though Nevo was bulky and Ken was chubby, it didn't make them brave enough to stand in front of the classroom for another minute. Their terrified screams could still be heard, although I was sure they had already descended to the first floor and were heading for the school gate.

Funny, I just smiled in satisfaction, as if I were the one who did it to them. But I realized the main perpetrator hadn't revealed himself or maybe herself to me yet. Maybe he or she knew I could see he or she, or maybe he or she were afraid of me.

I began to walk towards the classroom door, but my steps came to a halt when the desk moved on its own, blocking my way out. I tried to find another way out, but another desk moved on its own, blocking my path. The same happened with the rest of the desks, until I couldn't move any further.

"Hey, you know I can see you, right? You were the one crying on the field, weren't you?" I asked to confirm if he or she was still in the classroom or if he or she had left.

He or she acknowledged his or her presence in the classroom, but his or her response wasn't what I expected. Instead of using words, he or she responded by throwing a chair towards me. Luckily, I managed to dodge it.

"How did you see that?" a male voice asked.

Was he a child, a teenager, or an adult? My intuition told me he was still a teenager from the sound of his voice.

Hopefully, I thought. Because spirits can be very aggressive if we're not polite to them. And if this spirit turns out to be an adult, it would be very impolite not to address him as 'sir,' which would put me in danger.

"Well, of course I can see that if you throw a chair at me. Can you just show yourself and tell me why were you crying?" I asked.

"You can hear me?" his voice sounded not far from where I stood, but I wasn't sure if he was in front of me, behind me, or beside me. I kept turning to ensure the direction of his voice.

"Of course, I told you, I can see you too," my response.

"Damn you." This time, I could be sure he was above me. Then, all the desks and chairs seemed to move, and suddenly, one by one, they attacked me. Fortunately, I managed to avoid them all and make my way out of the classroom.

"Robert... my name is Robert. What's yours?" I asked while trying to calm myself.

"What do you want, Robert?" His voice sounded closer, as if he was heading towards me. "You want to see your friends die?"

"No... what are you thinking? I just want to help you, why were you crying?"

"Then why were you smiling when I disturbed your friend?"

Perhaps he thought I was pleased to see Ken and Nevo pranked by him. I had to admit, I was very satisfied to see Ken and Nevo pranked, but wanting them dead, that never crossed my mind.

"Using the trap they set up to prank me? How could I not smile? By the way, thanks for your help. So, let me help you now," I said, still trying to persuade him to open up. He fell into the type of ghosts that were difficult to approach or closed off, usually because they were hiding something or had experienced trauma.

"You were trapped? By them? Are you okay?" His voice changed slightly, he wasn't as aggressive as before.

"Yes, thanks to you. You can see, right? Or are you blind?"

"Yes, I can see. Do you want me to be blind? Do you want to blind your friend?" His voice raised again, it seemed I asked the wrong question.

"Hm... no, it seems like you have a problem with your friend. Is that your past? Is that why you died?"

"DO YOU WANT ME DEAD???" His voice sounded like a scream. Maybe I was too hasty, but it was already midnight and I had to go home.

"No, no... of course not... actually, do you know what you are?" I answered to calm his emotions.

"Yes, a ghost. Aren't you afraid?"

"I've seen scarier things since I was a kid."

"Really? What do I look like to you then?"

"You haven't shown yourself to me, how am I supposed to see you?" It seemed I succeeded in persuading him.

I looked forward to seeing his appearance, whether it was frightening or not. But, like the habits of ghosts, they always surprised me, but he was different. Instead of showing a terrifying form, he showed a comical face. I tried to hold back my laughter and could only smile. I was afraid of making him angry again.

"Well, how about this, funny enough?" He asked, still with his comical face. He seemed to be smiling, a sign that he wanted me to laugh, so I could laugh freely. Then he introduced himself, but we didn't have time to chat any longer because I had to go home as it was already midnight.

However, he followed me home. I realized he had trauma at school, which was why his behavior at my house was not as aggressive as when he was at school.

He didn't bother anyone as long as he was in my house, which was different from our first meeting. Since then, I became more familiar with him, and we became good friends, despite being from different worlds.

###

Day by day, Desmon stayed faithful in teaching me some really difficult subjects. Maybe he was a smart and diligent student back in the day.

Wait, scratch that, he was just diligent. Turns out, half of the stuff he taught me was wrong.

"How was your school life, did you enjoy studying?" I asked, looking away. Desmon really hated it when I brought up his school life. I guess the trauma still lingered.

"Just shut up... I don't want to talk about it, you know that. But yeah, I did enjoy studying..." Desmon went on and on about why his love for books and learning. About he wanted to become a scientist who could create superheroes, just like the ones in his favorite movies when he was alive. I have no clue which movies he meant though.

If Desmon were still alive, he'd probably be as old as my grandpa by now. Our eras were definitely worlds apart. Desmon often talked about weird stuff that I couldn't relate to —not even the internet knew his stories, Similarly, he often struggled to relate with what I was talking about. But one thing was for sure, he'd have adapted well to this era. He even knew some of the slang, so at least I could feel like I had a friend my age, even if we were from different worlds and eras.

"It looks like I'll have to start looking for a tutor," I mused. "You're often wrong, so I can't rely on you anymore."

"That's because you don't give me the right books, or at least let me borrow your gadgets." His reasoning.

"Can you even use them?"

"Do you really think I can't? Your era's gadgets aren't that different from mine."

"That's not what I meant. Can ghosts like you use gadgets?"

"Of course, I even have a Ghostube account."

"Ghostube?"

Before Desmon could launch into another long explanation, I cut him off. "I think I'll head to bed for a bit. You can tell me while I'm getting some rest."

I straightened up the pile of books on my study table, filled with stuff about living creatures, math, physics, biology, existence, and the one thing I dreaded the most —history, especially the wars. World War I, World War II, and even about of World War III, it's all horrifying. Do humans not have a conscience? That's all I can think about when I read war history.

Then, I lay down on my super comfy bed. Desmon once said he envied me because my bed was comfier than any he'd had in his whole life. But even so, if you're thinking my bed is spacious, you're wrong. Its only flaw is how small it is; even my feet hang off the edge because it's not long enough to hold my entire height.

Desmon started talking as he pushed the chair I'd just neatly arranged to the side of my bed. He delved into the story of Ghostube, an internet platform about life in the other world, as well as a means of communication for ghosts —kind of like in the real world. I never imagined the internet could reach other dimensions, but Desmon explained that the internet in both worlds was completely different. Since I'd been with him, he hadn't used the internet or Ghostube at all.

Desmon's story went on, and I learned a lot. In the ghost world, they had objects and technology somewhat similar to the real world, but they were different and not connected at all. Desmon's story got a bit annoying, especially when he shifted from storytelling to asking me for a bunch of things. I knew it was just a joke, but there was only one thing I could give him —his freedom.

I don't know if I forgot or didn't realize, but it turns out Desmon was bound to me. Maybe that's why he never seemed to leave my house. I absolutely don't recall ever saying or doing anything to bind Desmon to me, so he couldn't be free. I suspect this might just be one of Desmon's tricks, making it seem like he's bound to me, when he really just likes chatting with me. Or maybe it's a rule that neither of us knows about, a rule between two worlds, maybe. But one thing's for sure, this time he can go about freely, especially when I'm at school or heading to the tutoring center that starts next month.

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