"I made a habit of pushing people away. Life was just easier that way. But I never expected letting someone in would get them killed."

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I sit in physics class the next day, barely listening to a word my teacher says. His voice fades into muffled nonsense. My focus blinds me to everything but the drawing that now fills an entire page of my notebook. The graphite of my mechanical pencil scrapes across the paper as I carve shadows into the grim reaper's face.

Physics is a pointless class anyway. You can't find the chemical properties of the spirit in any textbooks here. I have a few questions, actually. Why does the air suddenly turn cold when a haunt is near? Are the dead just consuming energy? The law of conservation of energy says energy can't be created or destroyed. Does that mean some haunts are just the leftover energy of a soul? That would also imply that the energy of the soul can be harnessed and manipulated like electricity. Does the grim reaper have a soul?

My face melts around the palm of my hand as I desperately try to distract myself from that damned book, and reapers. My eyes throb, clearly bloodshot from the lack of sleep. There has to be some explanation for why those illustrations looked so similar to what I saw in the mirror at the Davidson house. Black veins extending from my eyes flash in my mind. Obviously, it's a coincidence. Besides, I was probably hallucinating from the trauma of that experience. My mind is just latching on to what it saw, real or not.

I try to force myself to believe that explanation. My pencil presses hard into the paper. I have to believe it. Because if I don't—if I believe that reapers are real, not to mention every other creature in that book, then that makes me an omen of death. For the dead are always near. I'm a living curse. Kids are going missing. The Davidson house isn't far from mine. Did I curse them? And Dad... The paper rips beneath my pen. My focus suddenly widens to the rest of the classroom.

"You okay?" An unfamiliar voice speaks up from beside me. The boy who sits next to me at my lab table looks at me curiously. Lary? Luke? I'm pretty sure his name starts with an L. He needs a haircut. His long blonde hair is beginning to curl outward along the edges.

"You're really good at drawing," he says, his eyes scanning my notebook.

I look down at the drawings of a madman. A dark detailed portrait of the grim reaper fills the page. Its haunting face stares back at me. The eyes are coated in black graphite, with distended veins spiderwebbing across its cheeks. My cheeks. This is a self-portrait.

I quickly close the notebook. I probably look like a psychopath. Why is he even talking to me? Either he plans to insult me or pity me. He may not be the bully type, but I don't need his pity.

"Sorry," he continues. "I didn't mean to pry."

"No," I reply, forcing a smile. "I'm just a little tired."

"That's the first thing you've said to me all semester." He whispers under the teacher's voice.

"Yeah, well," I search for an explanation. "I say a lot in my head." I say a lot in my head? Nice, Autumn. Why don't you tell him you see dead people too while you're at it?

"Must get busy in there," he smirks.

"Liam!" The teacher barks from the front of the classroom. How the football coach got a second job as a physics teacher is a mystery to me. Coach Jackson always teaches in a polo shirt and joggers. I can only hope it isn't the same clothing every day. He's a pretty relaxed teacher, when you're not on his bad side.

"Don't flirt with girls in my class," he continues. The class giggles and eyes suddenly shift in my direction. Heat flushes my skin.

"N-no," Liam desperately tries to defend himself. "I wasn't—"

"If my lips are moving, yours should be shut." Coach Jackson interrupts him.

Liam shrivels into his seat. Poor kid. He had no idea he was talking to a living omen of death.

I look away and find the featureless clock hanging on the wall. Class ends in ten minutes. The sooner I can get out, the better. I rub my cheek, probably red from propping it on my hand for an hour.

My attention shifts to Jaqueline, sitting two lab tables ahead of me. Her stool is uncomfortably close to the guy next to her. Jaqueline slowly rotates back and forth in her stool with her legs crossed. Every so often, her shoe gently taps the boy's leg. He makes no motion to reciprocate her affections. I roll my eyes. He must be her next heartbreak.

Jaqueline has a habit of making her relationship status a public spectacle. When she's in love, she clings to her victim every second of the day. And every breakup is accompanied by slamming locker doors and outbursts of dramatic sobbing. Honestly, I think she'd be a hit in drama club if she gave it a chance.

"Alright everyone," Coach Jackson says as he sets his lesson plan down. "I'm assigning a bridge building challenge," he says as he walks around the class passing out assignment sheets. "You may use only popsicle sticks, glue, and string to hold 20 pounds."

Please don't be a group project.

"Each of you will partner into groups of two."

Fuck.

The lunch bell rings as he finishes passing out assignment papers. Everyone erupts from their seats, rushing to claim their partners. I grab my books and leap from my seat. If I’m lucky, maybe Coach Jackson will let me do a solo project.

I start to walk to the front of the class when I meet eyes with the boy Jaqueline has been so fascinated with. He's tall, and obviously some kind of athlete. Maybe he plays soccer. He doesn't look like the normal football jock. But his moss green eyes are definitely looking at me.

"Autumn, right?" His deep voice vibrates in my chest. Why the fuck is he talking to me?

"You want to be partners?" He asks.

This has to be some kind of trap. This is social suicide. He's clearly Jaqueline's partner. I look at Jaqueline, and her face says it all. She’s fuming. Her eyes are wide with pure shock, which turns to seething rage. That is a face I can get used to. I don't know what this is, but if Jaqueline hates it, I'm in.

"Uh, sure."

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Before lunch I use the bathroom and check my face in the mirror. My eyes are still a bit swollen from the lack of sleep. My hair is a mess, which isn't anything new, but I attempt to tame it with a few quick brushes. The bruises on my neck have already begun to fade. Some concealer and my black hoodie hide what's left of it.

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

Every time I look at the mirror, I feel the hairs on my arms rise, afraid I might see black eyes staring back at me. Instead, I see my own brown eyes. Flecks of gold dot the edges of my iris. I swear there are more specks than there used to be.

A sheet of paper taped to the wall catches my attention. The missing poster for the two kids. Whoever made this used the kids’ school pictures from last year. They look so posed. The photo on the left is of a boy with short brown hair. Trevor Mason is printed in fat letters below his photo. He has a wide nose and soft round cheeks. He honestly looks happy to get his picture taken. He’s dressed nice with his button up shirt and a wide smile that squeezes his cheeks. I don't think I've ever seen him in the halls, not that I try to get to know anyone here.

But the photo of the girl on the right makes my skin turn cold. It's the girl from the woods. Beware the cannibal. Her scratchy voice echoes in my head. I knew she looked familiar. I feel the bile in my stomach bubble up. The girl is dead. And I'm the only one who knows. She's dead.

She's pretty. The kind of pretty that never gets into trouble and probably helps old ladies cross the street. Mallory White. Her wavy blonde hair perfectly frames her small face. She probably never stood a chance against whatever killed her. What was she doing in the woods anyways?

Two other girls burst into the bathroom, giggling between each other. I shake the anxiety off and exit behind them. My stomach groans for food.

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"I'll be home late tomorrow night. I packed leftovers for your lunch tomorrow." I remember my mom's words from last night. I, however, forgot to grab said lunch this morning. So, cafeteria food it is.

I bite into a dry burger with some lettuce, tomato, and cheese to add some semblance of flavor. The cafeteria is just large enough for me to find a table where I can eat in solitude. I pick a corner of the room where I can just eat and people watch.

Suddenly, Mallory's face flashes in my mind. I see her standing at the other end of the cafeteria. Her wet clothing drips onto the tile floor. Her blonde hair falls flat across the sides of her face. Pink butterfly clips dangle from her wet hair. Her skin is a pale corpse blue. People walk around her without noticing as she stands in the center of the hall, but her white lifeless eyes stare directly at me, unmoving.

"Hey, Spooks92." An unfamiliar voice breaks my focus.

I jerk my attention to the source. My eyes lock on two strangers standing across the table. The source of the voice was a short girl who fits squarely in the goth category. Her black lips curl upward with confidence. A long strip of pink hair covers the right side of her face, contrasting the rest of her dark brown hair. The skull of a cat is printed on her over-sized black shirt, paired with a pink and black plaid skirt. I'm surprised I missed the sound of her black boots approaching.

Standing close behind her is a stick of a boy. His brown hair is perfectly combed back and cemented in place with gel, shining in the cafeteria's florescent lighting. His white polo shirt is tucked neatly into his pants. He doesn't share her confidence. His face seems to be in a permanent state of anxiety as his eyes dart between her and I.

"I knew it," she continues. "There's no hiding it now." She sits down across from me and sets her lunch tray down. The boy quickly does the same. "Besides, I already know everything."

"Do I," I begin, swallowing my last bite. "Know you?"

"Well no," she replies with a mischievous smile. "But I left you a message on your blog."

HannaHex.

"I'm Hannah," she says then points her thumb at the nervous boy. "And this is JJ." JJ nods his head and gives a small awkward smile.

I lean my head slightly to look past Hannah and see if Mallory is still there. She's gone, as if she was never there to begin with.

Hannah quickly follows my gaze and looks behind her.

"You see a ghost?" Hannah whispers. "Is the school haunted?"

"What? No." I say.

"Anyways, you ruined our hunt." Hannah says as she bites into a chicken finger.

"What are you talking about?" I don't bother to hide my confusion.

"Okay." Hannah rolls her eyes. "You don't have to hide it from me. I read your blog, and I don't think you’re crazy." My eyes narrow. I'm so thrown off by her, I don't even know how to reply. "I saw you break into the Davidson house," she says leaning in close. "Which was totally badass by the way."

"But," JJ speaks up. "Activity was completely dead after you left. There was nothing left for us to study."

"Okay," I shake my head. "Back up. How did you find my blog?"

"Oh that was just dumb luck." Hannah takes another bite of her chicken. "I follow a lot of spooky ghost blogs. I thought yours was just a creepy fiction story. Then the details started to feel a bit too familiar. When I saw you break into the Davidson house, I knew."

"How do your powers work?" JJ blurts out.

I take a moment to think about my answer. She's read the blog, so she knows a lot. But I haven't written anything about the book, or Maggie. Why are they so interested anyway? Am I some sort of science experiment to them?

"Why would you just come out with a question like that?" Hannah smacks JJ's arm.

"Is there something I can help you with? It's just a blog." I say, and stuff my mouth with another bite of my burger. The less I say, the better.

"Look," Hannah straightens her shoulders. "I've studied ghosts my entire life. I read every paranormal journal I can get my hands on. And I want–will be the one to prove their existence."

I pick at the paint on my fingernails. This is insane.

"Something weird is clearly going on in Greenfield, and I know you feel it too," Hannah pleads. "We just want you to join us on some hunts."

"You would be a crucial asset on our team." JJ says.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh. But when I look back at Hannah, my heart drops to my stomach.

Behind her stands a familiar face.

"Autumn?" My new physics partner asks. Those moss green eyes meet mine. Wait. What's his name again? Did I even ask his name? I totally left class without even asking his name.

"Um, hi." Hannah pipes up. "Yeah, your table is over there," she says pointing to a table filled with athletes and cheerleaders.

He's surprised by Hannah's frankness. So am I, honestly. Who is this girl? He turns and looks at the other table and smiles. "Yeah, I think they have enough testosterone already," he says.

"And you think we need yours?" Hannah barks.

He looks at her and blinks, then walks around the table to sit next to me.

"I never got a chance to introduce myself before you disappeared," he says with a smirk. "I'm Ethan."

Okay, I'm so done with all these surprise interactions today. I really need to know what's going on.

"Why didn't you partner with Jaqueline?" I ask, probably a bit too pointedly. "She hates me enough already."

"Yeah, sorry about that." He grimaces. "I really need a B on this project, and Jaqueline seems like the type to make me do all of the work." Points for accuracy. "And since everyone's kind of scared of you, I figured you needed a partner." Aaaand you lose some points. "So, I told her I was partnering with you."

I purse my lips, a bit frustrated with this entire day.

"Fine, but I'm not doing the whole project for you either," I say.

"Of course not," He smiles. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Sure," I quickly grab a pen and write my number on a napkin. "Text me. I don't have unlimited minutes."

The bell rings to end lunch. Chatter fills the air as everyone erupts from their seats.

"People may be scared of her, but I'm her bodyguard," Hannah says. "If you hurt her, I hurt you."

Ethan narrows his eyes. I roll mine.

"I don't know them," I say to Ethan. "I don't know you," I repeat to Hannah.

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When school ends, light rain covers the town. The cool air fills my nose as the sound of raindrops clatter against the pavement. I pull my hood up and start my journey home.

I'm emotionally exhausted from the day. Frankly, this whole week has been a blur. I know Maggie will want to hear everything, and I'm not sure I even have the energy to explain it to her. But she will freak when she hears about Ethan. She loves drama.

I smile at the thought. For once, the crazy part of my day wasn't creepy faces, dead people, or old houses. It's just everyday school drama. Warmth flushes my face. I feel human.

The more I think about it, the more I want to tell Maggie. My pace quickens. I watch my breath freeze into little clouds as I walk. I reach an intersection near the edge of the woods, and a red truck sits at the stop sign. White fog bellows from the old truck as it slowly turns right, crossing my view.

The truck disappears down the road and my body freezes. A girl stands in the middle of the street, soaking wet. Her silhouette is so pale, my eyes can't decide if she's really there or just a shadow in the road. But a single pink butterfly clip hanging from her hair makes it clear.

"Come see," Mallory says without moving her lips.

Her empty black eyes turn to face the woods at the end of the road, and she begins to walk.