The ghost of a drowned sailor stood across from me. Water dripped from her hair, as if she had walked right out of the ocean, and her clothes were ragged and torn. There was a deep gash running across her chest— likely the wound that killed her. I averted my eyes from the rotting flesh and cleared my throat.

“Still no sign of them?”

She frowned, shaking her head. Then, she pointed to the sky, where the clouds poured sleet over the cemetery and thrummed against the gravestones, and motioned to me. This ghost couldn’t speak, but I could feel her annoyance with the quick swipe of her hands.

“She’s right, dear.” Ellen Terrell, resident of Camus Cemetery since 1946, kept her eyes on her knitting needles as she spoke, threads floating in the air around her. “You’ll catch your death in this weather. A girl your age has no business loitering in a graveyard.”

“Not even to see her parents?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

The graves of Samuel and Kristie Locke stood between us. Ellen paused her knitting to study the headstones, pursing her lips.

Two months ago, I became the last remaining Locke in Camus— a fact that bothered Ellen Terrell greatly. Your parents had no right leaving you alone, she said last week, as if my parents could have prevented their own deaths, as if they had gone somewhere they could have come back from.

I expected they would get an earful when they finally became ghosts.

“Miss Indigo,” rumbled a deep voice behind me. At seven feet tall, Marcus Freeman towered over everyone in the graveyard. He wore an over-sized gray suit with a top hat to match. “What brings you here today? Still waiting on your parents?”

I nodded. “Still waiting.”

The words pulled something in my chest, but I ignored it. Even if it took longer than usual, my parents’ spirits would show up at the graveyard. They were the only people in the world who knew I could see ghosts, and after dying without saying goodbye, they owed me that much.

Marcus leaned down. If it was anyone else, the sight would have been disconcerting. He squinted his eyes at my watch and said, “You’re going to be late again, Miss Indy.”

Checking the time, I cursed— earning a scowl from Ellen. I grabbed my backpack from the headstone and slung it over my shoulders. Running towards the exit, I paused and waved at the cemetery’s inhabitants.

“Bye bye, Miss Indigo,” said Marcus.

Ellen pointed her knitting needles at me, the threads coiling like vipers. “Drive safe. Slick roads are what got Agnes Harrington.”

“Did not, Ellen!” spat a voice across the graveyard.

I looked at them all for a moment, my heart warming. From my first day at my parents’ plots, the ghosts of Camus Cemetery stayed by my side, pestering me with questions about my life and the outside world. Apparently, new gossip was hard to come by in a cemetery— but I didn’t mind. In fact, I welcomed the distraction. It made the last two months of my life a little less miserable.

Grinning, I shouted, “See you guys tomorrow!”

I stepped out of the gates. At once, the inhabitants disappeared.

Rushing to my car, I pulled the door open and stepped inside, warming my hands on the vents. When I was sure no one could see, my shoulders drooped. I leaned against the headrest and blew a long sigh.

I whispered, “Where are you?”

But the question floated in the air, unanswered.

It was two weeks before graduation. Before my parents died, I had been thrilled to see acceptance letters from colleges and applied for every scholarship I could find. But now, those envelopes were piled on the kitchen table, along with heaps of other clutter I couldn’t bring myself to touch— not until I could speak to them again. Taking a deep breath, I pulled out of the cemetery and headed for Camus High.

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Marcus Freeman was right: I was disgustingly late for school. If Ellen Terrell could see me barge through the front doors, casting a quick apologetic glance at the office staff, she would have called me a delinquent and locked the cemetery gates.

“Indigo Locke.”

Professor Giles, a short, red-headed man with round glasses that sat atop his nose, scurried after me. His face was scarlet, and he inhaled deeply. It took him a moment to catch his breath.

“Sorry I’m late.”

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“No, no. Don’t worry about that.” Giles cut a hand through the air dismissively. “Actually, I was wondering if you’d help me— decorate. The gym.”

I raised my eyebrows. Frowning, I glanced at the staff in the office, but they all avoided my gaze, not keen to be given more work.

“Decorate the gym,” I repeated.

“Yes, yes.” He rubbed his hands together. “We’re having a celebration for the seniors, but it was put together last minute, and I could really use some help.”

I blinked. What I wanted to say was, I’m a senior, why should I decorate my own celebration? Another part thought, Was this the counselors idea? But instead, I only nodded.

“Okay, yeah. Sure.”

Giles led the way, and I followed him down the halls and into the gym. Despite the oncoming celebration, the gym was deserted.

“Everyone is sorting through boxes in the basement,” he explained, digging in his pockets.

I bobbed my head in a polite nod.

Apart from condolences, Giles had said more to me than any living human in the past two months. As long as he didn’t go into a long-winded spiel about grief or offer advice, I didn’t mind. Moving a few boxes around would be better than feeling the stares of my classmates on my back.

“Just through here.” Giles unlocked the basement door. For a moment, I thought his hand trembled, but I must have imagined it. “Everyone else is waiting below.”

Trailing after him, my mind bounced from one thought to another, and my heart fluttered unexpectedly in my chest.

Something wasn’t right. I didn't know why, but I could feel it tugging at me. Alarm bells rang in my head, faint and distant, but I pressed on. It was more likely that the dark basement had given me the creeps, and since I could see ghosts, I never knew what could be lurking around the corner. The thought made the staircase feel more long and narrow than before.

“Think there's room in the budget for better lighting?" I asked, trying to make him laugh or start conversation— something— but Giles didn't respond. He was fiddling with the basement keys, scraping them over his finger in a nervous rhythm. Sometimes, when someone asked a complicated question in Physics, he would do the same motion with his red pen, scraping his thumb over and over until there was a trail of red lines that looked thin papercuts.

The face of my Statistics teacher came into view at the bottom of the staircase. Mrs. Carver had short brown hair cut into a straight bob, and when she talked, it moved back and forth like pendulum blades.

“Oh, hi Indy. I'm so glad you could make it.” She looked genuinely relieved. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, she shoved Giles out of the way and grabbed my hand. "A little late today, weren't we? But don't worry, we'll have plenty of time to get everything done. And everything we need is right in this room."

She waved at Giles, and he scampered forward, trying and failing to open the next door.

Carver continued, "I heard you've been spending all your time at the cemetery."

"You can thank my parents for that," I huffed.

Mrs. Carver hesitated— then a surprised laugh bubbled from her chest. "You've always had such a way with words, even when you were little. It must have been so hard being orphaned like that. You poor thing— I can’t imagine.”

Despite the facade of composure that my parents drilled into me throughout childhood, my face scrunched at the word orphan. If this was some sort of punishment for skipping classes for the past two months, it was working. I would never miss a lecture again.

Getting annoyed, Carver finally yanked the keys from Giles. The smile plastered on her face grew larger as she inserted the key and opened the door. Blue light spilled over the basement floor. Giles whimpered, and I had a sudden realization: my professor wasn't trembling from nerves, though that certainly played a part.

He was afraid.

In the largest room in the basement, swirling in the center, was a blue orb. It was so bright that it made my breath catch. The outline of the sphere held a slight glimmer, like that of a ghost, but this was neither living or dead— it just was.

I was so distracted by the orb that it took me a moment to regain my bearings. Looking around, I noted five hooded figures standing in a large circle around the sphere. Instinct made me take a step back, but Carver grabbed my arm and dragged my forward. She tossed the keys back to Giles and my Physics teacher snapped the lock shut. My heart pounded as I looked between them in disbelief.

This had to be a prank— something put together by my classmates. Nothing else made sense.

“Locke.”

The voice filled the room. My body froze in place as I searched for the voice among the cloaked figures, but no one moved. Again, the voice repeated my last name. It happened again and again, in a slow, otherworldly cadence, until I realized that none of them were speaking. Chills ran down my arms, creeping down my back, as I slowly turned to the sphere.

“Child of Locke.”

"As you can see, Indigo Locke," said Carver, popping the cke in my last name for empahsis, "we have a bit of a situation on our hands."

Clearing his throat, Giles stepped forward. "I really don't want to do this."

I twisted around— but too late. All I saw was an apologetic look from Giles and then something collided with my head.

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My vision ebbed in and out. I blinked, but the room was a mess of shapes and colors that were impossible to make out. There was pounding in my head, but when I reached up to touch it, my arms wouldn't move. They were bound behind me.

"She's awake," Carver announced, clapping her hands together. "Pick her up."

Hooded figures surrounded me, their silhouettes looming against the blue light in a way that made Marcus Freeman look unimposing. For a moment, it felt like I was in a strange dream that I couldn't wake up from— but then they grabbed my arms and hauled me to my feet, and the ache in my head became too real to ignore.

"Staff members of Camus School District, and members of the Sacred Defense." Carver stood tall as she addressed the room, raising her chin high. "Today, we offer the Child of Locke to this unseen entity, in hopes that it will spare our city from tragedy."

I struggled against the bindings as another hooded figure moved forward to grip my arm. Looking at them, I wonder how many I knew. How many had taught me over the years.

Carver pointed to the blue sphere. "Mysterious visitor, we accept your terms. Take Indigo Locke and leave Camus High!"

The reality of the situation swept over me, twisting in my gut. This time, I fought those that held my arms, but more came forward and shoved me towards the light. There was tape over my mouth, and my screams came out in muffled cries— but that only made me more furious.

I stomped on someone's foot, and they let out a yelp. Before I could run, Carver snatched me by my jacket, still wet from the morning sleet, and dragged me forward. I shook my head in a silence plea.

My teacher gave one last sickening smile.

"It's for the good of the school, sweetie. I'm sure you understand."

She pushed me into the light.