r/nosleep

Children can often be cruel. A kid picks up a toy, and suddenly her hair is being pulled. She accidentally chose the ‘wrong’ toy, one which was already ‘claimed’ by someone else. In a sense they’re very territorial little critters. Some researchers theorize that it’s an evolutionary trait; figure out where you belong in the pecking order, early. I don’t know exactly how a green toy tractor would be beneficial for one’s survival, even if it is a perfect replica of a John Deere. Something about projecting parts of yourself onto inanimate objects and therefore extending your survival to that of the object, I guess.

I have a fair amount of experience in this department. I grew up in a world without sound. Even if my condition was invisible to the naked eye, draping me like a ghost made out of thick blankets, the other kids knew. Of course they did. This made me a very easy target.

Early, my parents made sure to give me all the tools I would need to take on the world. Sadly, it wasn’t really enough. One would think being deaf is a shield from the words of others, but words are never the worst part. Disgusted looks after I miss a cue during P.E. Being omitted from band class even though I loved the feeling of guitar strings against my fingertips. Teachers not bothering putting subtitles on during movie time. Those were the worst parts.

The day I met Anton was cold. I remember dragging my feet towards school. Brown puddles were scattered on the pavement and my, previously white, shoes soaked up the water a little too well to be made out of leather. As I arrived, the bell rang. Walking slowly, dreading another day of ableism, I noticed a red haired boy sitting by his lonesome under the bleachers next to the football pitch. Something about him gave me an impression of inherent kindness. I don’t know what gave me the courage to actually be the conversational instigator. Probably the freckles.

“I’m Sara.”

He gently mouthed something back.

After that we spent a lot of time together. At the start, we would wait for the other kids to finish playing their games before swooping in afterwards when no one was around. Two silent, stealthy ninjas on their quest for world domination through hopscotch and basketball.

Anton picked up sign language quickly and suddenly I had someone who wasn’t of my blood to talk to. However, so did my tormentors. 

Apparently teenagers are cruel, too. And they’re more determined. 

Soon I had heard (pun intended) every insult in the book. But when the words got vile, I would follow the advice Anton gave me.

“Close your eyes. That’s your superpower,” he would sign.

Now, I think I’ve made it clear how much this person means to me, and why it hurts so fucking much to think about his fate. Fuck.

In university we both picked up hiking together. The scenery in Sweden is absolutely breathtaking, if you know where to look. Anton’s favorite part about nature were the sounds, mine the smells. 

I remember that morning in vivid detail. We woke up in the same tent just before the gilded rays of the sun pierced the trees of the coppice. Small particles of pine aroma made their way to my nose, yelling at me, no screaming that they were ready to reproduce. 

“Get of your phone,” I had to repeat the signs three times before I got his attention.

“Fine. Not many gay dudes on Tinder in homophobe-city anyways,” he replied, referring to the near backwater town were we stayed.

We did what we usually did: started wandering the forest aimlessly, enjoying the many impressions the forest offered. Everytime a squirrel scuttered up an oak tree or we spotted a plant we’d never seen before, we stopped. I could mistake these small moments for anomalies in the space-time continuum, they seemed to last just a little bit longer than all the unpleasant ones. 

I was inspecting a particularly cool rock, probably some kind of granite, when I noticed Anton stop moving on the spot. This was indicative of something I could never experience. He was listening for, or to, something. It kind of looked like he was in a trance of some sort. I made it a game to try to guess what bird had him that enchanted. I made a noise to get his attention, but it was futile. In the end I just walked up right in front of him.

“Is it a blackbird?”

“It is a violin.”

At first I thought it was a nickname I didn’t recognize for one of the local species, so I made him clarify.

“No, someone is playing the violin,” his hands told me.

Eventually, he was moving towards the sound. Or so I assumed. I kept asking him questions, but he wouldn’t stop, answering in few words. ‘Magnificent’, ‘stunning’, ‘almost magical’.

We entered a small grove. A tiny lake, placed in the middle, was the centerpiece. And on the water, there was a rock. On that rock sat a man, hunched over, completely naked with a violin and bow. There was something… off about the way he was positioned, almost like he had been waiting for a long time. As if he, or it, could hear my thoughts, he stood up and straightened himself. I’m not going to lie to you, he was beautiful. Long, blonde hair falling down his chiseled body, which was almost glistening in the sun. I would call him the epitome of beauty, but his smile was crooked.

Something wasn’t right. 

Anton had stopped to take in the scene, but was soon on his way towards the man. I began to calmly ask him to stop, walking backwards in front of him. Soon my gestures were getting more, and more frantical as I realized he wouldn’t slow down. He had stopped responding to me, and seemed completely enthralled with the music the man on the lake was playing. Anton was much stronger than me, so I could never physically stop him in normal circumstances if he set his mind to something, but now I couldn’t even slow him down. It was as if he turned into a machine, dead-set on reaching his destination. I started shouting, I think. He would just glance at me with content eyes. 

Not even when he set his foot in the water would he flinch.

I started screaming at the man to stop the music, but he just looked at me with dead eyes. He wasn’t so pretty anymore. A subtle desperation had entered his expression and as Anton moved further into the pond, he licked his lips. I felt this awful feeling, like that thing carried a hunger so intense it could only be described as starvation. 

I let go of Anton’s arm and started crying. The man would just look at me, then back at my friend, brandishing an awful smile. I didn’t stop crying until Anton’s shoulders disappeared, then his head. 

The pond was deeper than I thought possible, and soon I could barely make out the shadow of the submerged Anton. I tried going after him, but he was determined to keep sinking. Soon I got lightheaded and swam back upwards. Before I breached the surface I looked down, and the last I saw of him was his kind eyes and gentle smile. 

I feel like he wanted to tell me something.

“Just close your eyes.”

I gasped for breath. I started making my way back to the shore. Dripping wet I sat down in the warm grass. 

The man on the rock looked at me with a certain confusion.

I started screaming at him. I don’t think I used any discernible words. Angry sounds. Primal sounds. 

He just looked at me. The confusion was gone, now he just looked smug. 

And he started to change. The color of his skin started draining. Soon the perfectly bronze skin was more akin to the grays of boiled chicken. His limbs started elongating to lengths deeply unnatural. His smile grew from something lightly wicked, to something nightmarish. Weirdly, I couldn’t see the increments of the transformation, yet he transformed nonetheless. The end result was… fucking terrifying. I couldn’t move.

It stared at me with large, oval black eyes. Earlier I mused on the fact that pleasant moments seemed to last longer than unpleasant ones, but this was different. It felt like forever.

Then it slowly raised a thin, sickly arm and waved a slow goodbye. The audacity of this fucking thing. It crouched and started climbing down the rock at the pace of a sloth, never breaking eye contact with me. 

When it broke the surface of the pond it did so quietly, I could tell. The water barely moved and then it was gone. Along with Anton.

In the aftermath, I never looked at this as a horror story. For me, it was always a tragedy. I miss him so much, still, after all this time. I had to get this off my chest. And now people will know where I went.

for the monsters and instead you get me talking about my relationships. If you can’t handle it, just skip down about halfway.

Otherwise, it’s time for everyone’s favorite drama: dAtInG dRaMa but also we’re talking about our lives together after graduation and there’s some really serious family problems mixed in too.

I’m bad at replying, but I do read the comments and think about the advice you’re giving me. I know I should be making my own decisions here instead of relying on all of you, because I’m my own person and this is my life to live. Right? But I’m not sure how much of me I can trust.

Because I didn’t ask Grayson about his dad. I didn’t even remember what happened with his dad until I went to post this and was checking up on where I left off with the last post. I’ve since texted Grayson we need to have another talk, about both his dad and another issue that’s come up, but I wanted to type all this out in case talking to Grayson is the trigger that causes the Forgetter (shut up I’m naming it because idgaf) to go after me. I’m pretty sure that’s what happened, because that’s the most obvious entity that makes people straight up forget things around here.

I’m trying not to dwell on the whole ‘forgetting parts of my life’ thing. Cassie seems to be handling it well. I’m sure I’ll be juuuust fine when I finally decide to come to terms with this. Either way, it’s a problem for Future Ashley. She can deal with it along with all the other problems I’ve decided she can handle.

Future Ashley is going to be so pissed at me.

Anyway, opinions on what to do with Grayson were mixed. I am similarly just as confused. I can’t trust him, but also he needs support and help at this time. Both of those are true, really. Talking this out with Cassie and Maria wasn’t much help, either. Cassie is firmly set on I need a bit of distance until I figure out what’s happening, and I suspect some of that is based in her own feelings towards the inhuman. She doesn’t remember her former roommate, but she remembers all the fear and uncertainty she felt the previous year and it has affected her. She’s afraid of losing someone else and is worried something will happen to me if I’m close to Grayson.

I’m not inferring, she straight up told me this.

Maria is well, Maria. While she’s a lot more careful this year, she still has a bit of that naive invincibility lingering around and thinks that we can handle whatever is happening with Grayson’s dad. She thinks that not only should I continue to support him but I should also bring her and Cassie into it so that all three of us can help him deal with these problems. We’ve been working through things pretty well already, haven’t we?

I didn’t have the heart to tell her all the shit I’ve gotten myself into without them.

She also said that if I wasn’t sure about a romantic relationship right now, considering how serious of a problem we’re facing, then maybe just focus on building the friendship and re-evaluate later. Maria is very much of the mindset that she has all the time in the world to find someone and get married, which is kind of weird for me to watch, considering I come from a town where most people marry their highschool sweethearts, often directly after highschool.

In the end, I decided to just tell Grayson everything about how I was feeling and maybe we could figure out what we wanted our relationship to be or if we needed to take a step back for a little bit and deal with bigger problems. The conversation started normally enough. We were both dealing with some pretty serious shit, I said, with him graduating and now knowing what to do afterwards and me dealing with - and here I paused.

What was I dealing with?

Everything that happened last year, it turned out. And I finally crumbled.

Listen. I’m not strong. I’m not the competent and confident person I need to be. I’ve been putting on a good front for a while now but honestly so much of this is an act, so much of this has just been pretend because maybe if I pretend hard enough I’ll become that person. But I’m not. It’s not working. I’m not okay.

I regret killing the flickering man.

Campus is falling apart. I’m falling apart. Blah blah blah I’m not responsible for other people but the things I am responsible for feel like too much. I killed the flickering man. I did that. I’m the reason everything is spiraling out of control on campus and why the creatures are acting weird and why there’s roots everywhere. And what’s more, I can’t even say I did it for the right reason. At least when I went after the eyeball I was righting a wrong. This was… I just…

I felt like I had to be this person I’m not.

And I’m collapsing under the pressure.

I feel like such an ass now. I dumped all of this on Grayson when this conversation was supposed to be about what was happening with his dad and how we could deal with that and support him. Instead, he ended up having to comfort me and my seemingly endless litany of problems because I apparently can’t get my life together. I’m not entirely certain what all was said after that. I was pretty emotional. But I do remember the conversation at the end, when we kinda-sorta-broke up?

“I’m not very good at relationships,” he said. “I care about you, I want you in my life - but if this is hurting you -”

“Do you think we need to break up?” I sniveled.

He hesitated.

“Do we really need a dating relationship?” he finally said. “Like - boyfriend and girlfriend and all those expectations that come with it? Sometimes I feel like I’m putting on an act. And… sometimes I feel you’re putting on an act too. Can’t we just… be together without that?”

It’s weird. I think we just mutually agreed to be friends but I feel so relieved. I just thought that, I don’t know, Grayson was kind to me and it just felt like this was how it was supposed to go. We were dating because that was the obvious, expected next step. It’s like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders now that I don’t have to worry about whether I’m being a good girlfriend or not. I don’t think I know what it means to be a good girlfriend. But I’m getting the hang of being a good friend, so that’s what I’ll do for a while and then we’ll just see what happens.

If you skipped all that to get to this part, I don’t blame you. I’m finding it exhausting and I’m the one living it.

To that end, after the talk with Grayson I was spending some time holed up in my room, desperately trying to ignore everything going on around me and focus on my schoolwork. That’s at least nice and predictable. Cassie wasn’t home, which meant when the door to my bedroom flew open, I was entirely not expecting it.

Naturally, I leapt into action, and by that I mean I fell out of my chair and lay on the floor, frozen in shock, staring up in mute disbelief and confusion at the devil.

Yes. Him. Standing there in my doorway, one hand on the door which he’d dramatically flung open, posing proudly with the self-importance of someone here to deliberately ruin my entire day.

If I’m being logical about it, I suppose I’m lucky I got the trickster stand-in version of the devil. It’s… not much fun for me, though, which is kind of how it goes with the tricksters.

“I don’t recall giving you permission to enter my room at any time,” I finally said, once my heart rate was back down to something more reasonable.

I want to add that he hadn’t moved in that entire time. He was still standing there with one hand on the door, as if frozen in time until I recovered from my shock enough to appreciate his entrance. He finally let go of the door and leaned on the frame instead, crossing his lanky arms and hooking his thumbs in his suspenders.

“It was in the contract you signed,” he replied smugly.

“I didn’t sign anything!”

“Exactly.”

I just… what? Does that make any sense to anyone else, because it sure sounds like a load of bullshit to me.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I’m just here to tell you that Maria is on her way here to ask a favor of you that you’re not going to like. I am 99.9repeating% certain that you’re going to accept because you haven’t gotten over feeling like everything is your responsibility, but I just want to add that last infinite decimal point of certainty to the equation.”

“I-I don’t know if that’s how repeating decimal point math works.”

“I don’t know either. But if you do it, I’ll give you a reward.”

There was an evil glint to his eye and one corner of his mouth crooked up in a smile.

“Honestly this makes me less willing to do it,” I said. “Nothing you involve me in goes well.”

“I’m offended! I’ve been such a good ally. Didn’t I punch someone for you?”

“Can we not talk about that?”

His eyes narrowed and the other side of his mouth quirked up to complete the thin, sinister smile.

“Oh right,” he murmured. “Trauma. But I’m glad you realize my gifts have an edge to them. You’re still going to do this. And then you’re going to take what I have to give you.”

There was a knock at the door. Maria was here. I scrambled to my feet, but the devil was way ahead of me. He reached the door before I even made it out of the bedroom and opened the door for her.

Sort of. Her hand was on the doorknob as if she was opening it herself, but he gently eased it open in time with her to step through the doorway. Then he tucked himself behind the open door and smiled at me as she waltzed right past him, oblivious to the fact that someone else had acted on the door and that anyone other than me was in the room. He slipped outside behind her and eased the door shut, waving at me in the last second before the door shut behind him.

Maria had no idea any of this happened. She was already launching into the problem the devil was so keen on me solving.

“The thing in the hallway,” Maria said breathlessly. “It ate someone. One of the Folklore Society members saw it happen.”

It felt like I’d been punched in the gut. It was hard to register what Maria was saying. They were talking about it in their meeting - which was still going on. They were panicking. She’d told them that she’d go get someone that might be able to help.

Me.

“They were looking at your list of rules,” she said. “I think you can calm them down.”

I was shaking my head frantically. Hadn’t I done enough for them? Why was everyone on all sides pushing me into this again?

“I don’t want to do this,” I said, my chest tightening. “I don’t want to get involved with them again.”

“I don’t either!” she yelled. Then she took a deep breath and visibly tried to calm down. “I’m sorry. I get it. I don’t want to be there either - I feel responsible for what happened too. But they’re freaking out and I think they’re going to do something reckless. One of them was, uh, talking about driving home and getting a gun out of their parent’s gun case.”

“That… that’s probably not going to work.”

“I know!” She stared at me, her eyes wide and I realized that she was as scared as I was. “Please. Just come talk with them for a little bit.”

Just talk to them. So deceptively simple. If I was naive, maybe I could convince myself that this was the favor that the devil was referring to. That I’d just go and share my wisdom and experience and that would be all.

Hah. We all know that’s not how it works. If I went, I’d be involved.

“Fine,” I said quietly. “Let me get my umbrella. Just in case it rains.”

The Folklore Society members were sitting around in morose silence when we arrived. They’d tried calling campus security while Maria was gone, with predictable results. It was like the person they’d talked to couldn’t comprehend the words the caller was saying. Like they were having two completely different conversations. After relating this, they all turned their attention to me. It was a small group, at least. Only five people. I’m not sure if they were all present in the graveyard, because I’m not great with faces. I did recognize the club president, at least.

“Is there anyone we can go to for help?” he asked, once we were done rehashing what happened.

I could think of a few people. Grayson. The devil. I wasn’t going to share any of these names with the club, however.

“The school isn’t going to help us,” I said. “They’re okay with the status quo. That’s why we created a list of rules.”

“Except the thing in the hallway wasn’t following them,” one of the other students said in a soft voice.

She was the one that saw it happen. It occurred yesterday morning. She tried to talk to the other students in the class, but when she realized that they had no idea that anything had happened or that they were missing a classmate, she began to wonder if perhaps it was her that was seeing things. Then she went to the folklore society meeting, said something about a creature in the hallway, and someone pulled out my list of rules.

And it all came apart after that. She told them everything. They believed her. And then Maria felt compelled to stay behind with the small group that was trying to figure out what to do.

I hadn’t been given all of the details yet, however. When she’d said that she was in the classroom and someone was taken by the thing in the hallway, I figured it happened exactly the same as what I saw. Except… it hadn’t.

It had reached into the classroom, she said. She heard it sliding down the corridor and then the door creaked open and a single claw like a scythe had reached inside and… impaled the closest student. Dragged him out. He was screaming, clawing at the floor, the doorframe, and no one seemed to hear him.

“There was a trail of blood leading out into the hallway!” she sobbed. “I don’t know why no one else noticed.”

Okay. This was new. My stomach was twisting itself into knots. It was obvious what was happening here. With the flickering man gone, the thing in the hallway was going to help itself to a little snacky-snack whenever it felt like. I wanted to throw up.

“I kind of wonder if the bloodstains got cleaned up,” Maria said.

That was all it took. I mouthed ‘not helping’ at her, but it was far too late. Everyone else wanted to see if the bloodstains were gone too, because if they weren’t, then it was confirmation that everything had happened as described. And if they were, then it was confirmation that the campus was covering all of this up. The girl that saw the student get taken refused to come with us. It was bad enough that she was going to have to keep going to that class, she said. But the rest of the small group was willing to go look.

“It’s dangerous if that thing isn’t following the rules,” I said. I felt obligated to point it out.

“It’s dangerous for everyone right now, it seems like,” the president countered. “If we can get a photo of those bloodstains, then maybe we can force the administration to do something.”

It felt more like he was unconvinced of the story and wanted the evidence in front of his face. Regardless, I could see where this was going. They were going to go investigate no matter what I said. Reluctantly, I agreed to go with them. I wanted to keep an eye on Maria. Besides, I rationalized as we walked over as a group to the English building, the creature didn’t have to feed that often. I found that out last year. If it’d just eaten, then we would hopefully be safe.

The classroom in question was on the second floor. There weren’t many classes in session at the moment, so the hallway was quiet save for a distant murmur of a voice speaking from behind a windowed wall. We clustered around the classroom door, staring at the floor. While not exactly clean, it was still devoid of bloodstains.

“Maybe we got the room wrong,” someone suggested.

I was quietly standing a short distance apart from the group. Or maybe the bloodstains only showed up when someone was in that halfway between space. It felt like I was moving in slow motion. I raised my head and stared off through the frosted windows of another classroom. I could smell the rain in the air. I tasted it in my mouth, sucking the moisture between my teeth with every breath.

It was starting to rain. Of course. Like it knew the absolute worst time for us.

The lights flickered. Somewhere in the building, a door banged open with enough force to rattle the windows. Everyone’s head shot up and they stared down the long corridor. I could see in how their faces turned pale that they finally saw what I was seeing.

Bloodstains. Layer upon layer of dried blood, built up over the years down the length of the hallway, like a rust-red river underneath our feet.

“We need to get out of here,” I said evenly.

Run? No. The door that opened sounded like it was between us and the exit, as someone quickly pointed out. The club president grabbed the classroom door handle, clearly intending to have us hide in there until it passed.

“No!,” Maria snapped. “Somewhere without windows! Let’s try that. It won’t know we’re there.”

It seemed like a reasonable enough plan to our panic-addled brains. As a group, we ran down the hallway to the most obvious windowless room in the building.

The bathroom.

And because Maria was in the lead and picked on instinct, we all wound up in the ladies restroom. She threw the door open and we all tumbled through, heading for the far wall as Maria quietly eased the door shut, letting it fall closed without a sound. Then we huddled in a corner of the bathroom, as far away from the door as we could get. None of us looked at each other. We stared either at the door at the floor, our hands clasped over our mouths, each of us lost in our own private terror. For on the other side of the door, we could hear the sliding, rasping sound of the creature making its ponderous way past our hiding spot.

There was another sound that I didn’t immediately recognize. One that I hadn’t heard in my previous encounters with the thing in the hallway… at least, one I didn’t hear with its approach. A sharp, intermittent cracking noise.

The sound dwindled. Overhead, the lights stabilized. After a long moment of silence, the president volunteered to check the hallway and make sure it was safe to leave.

“D-did anyone get a photo of the bloodstains?” someone asked.

Friends, I think you know what the answer to that is. Of course no one did. They all know beyond a doubt that the thing in the hallway is real, but no one has any evidence to compel the administration to do something about it. The president made a half-hearted suggestion that they could look through the library’s resources and see what they could find about a creature like this, but I already knew they wouldn’t find anything. The things that live here on campus aren’t creatures found in folklore.

But it would keep them busy for a little while, so I didn’t say anything. I think if I’d told them everything I’d noticed while we were hiding in that bathroom they wouldn’t be content with merely researching the creature. They would do something reckless. I know they would.

That noise. The wet smacking of something chewing and the crunching and cracking of bones breaking.

And the whimpering. The whimpering that didn’t come from any of us. The whimpering that came from beyond the bathroom door. That wet, helpless noise of someone dying with no hope of salvation.

Either the thing in the hallway has found a new victim already… or it’s still chewing on .

When I was a little girl, a bad man did bad things to the kids in my town.

I am (or was) a product of that man's experiments.

Which influenced my April Fools prank.

Imagine spending your afterlife stuck in high school.

Luke was watching me again. I wondered if he was waiting for me to pass on.

I had my reasons for staying behind.

Death means peacefully sleeping, but I don't think I deserve it.

It's not even that.

I can't pass on, even if I wanted to.

Four years ago, I became a victim of my own April Fools prank, and managed to take half of my school with me.

I won't say I killed them.

Killing would have been merciful.

Still though, it's not like what happened to our school is on anyone's radar.

The disaster was covered up, and a brand new academy was built on the skeleton of what I destroyed.

Luke was one of my victims. I was pretending not to see him, though he was pretty obvious, sitting on the wall outside the main entrance with his feet dangling. It took me two and a half years to actually talk to him, and he still keeps his distance. When I'm not looking though, I can sense his eyes digging holes into the back of my head.

I have told him multiple times it wasn't technically me who killed him, but try explaining that to a nineteen year old ghost with serious trust issues.

The guy was glaring at me, sandy blonde hair tucked under his hood.

It was a daily occurrence, I had gotten used to it.

He was brighter than usual, the blue and gold of his letterman jacket catching my eye. It was pretty, until I noticed he was too bright. Under the early morning sun, Lucas Aisling looked almost ethereal, bleeding streaks of light catching his hair. The guy was practically a beacon. There were live students walking around, and the veil between life and whatever we are is getting thinner every year.

Two years ago, a girl saw me.

She thought I was a senior, talking to me like we were friends. I should be turning 20 years old in September.

Still. I'll take the compliment.

The problem was, though, nobody else could see me.

The poor kid was called a freak for weeks until she stopped coming to school.

According to whispers, a junior girl had been hit and killed by a drunk driver.

So, people teetering on the edge of death can see us.

If Luke wasn't careful, someone closer to death was going to glimpse him.

There was a lot more ghost activity, I noticed.

It made sense.

Even those who have passed on tend to leave footprints, especially near anniversary days.

Sitting in my usual spot under the shade, I offered Luke a smile. I loved sunny mornings. When I was alive, I never got to see the sun. I was always trapped inside Dr. Mycroft’s basement.

Clinical white walls that are suffocating.

Needles in my arm, in my neck, in the backs of my legs.

I had to sit on an observation table every day and prick my finger on a needle.

Does it hurt?” he would ask me with beady eyes.

Yes.

But hurt didn't mean hurting in my mind.

According to Dr. Mycroft, I had a severe neurological condition.

That was his excuse to fuck with my brain, and my Mom was none the wiser.

“Luke!” I mimed at the boy to get out of the sunlight before someone saw him.

Sometimes, if I look too closely, I can see what I did to him, especially when he's sitting right under the sun's rays.

Initially, he was just a shadow bent over himself kicking his legs.

Closer.

I started to see him shift, reality taking over. I am a firm believer of the afterlife editing away your injuries, your scars, what killed you. I'm still too scared to look into a mirror in fear of what I look like. I want to. I know what I used to look like. I had dark blonde hair and pale skin. My eyes were a little too far apart, and I hated my nose.

I saw Luke's eyes first, hollow sockets carved into him, dark and empty and wrong.

Luke turned to me, and I glimpsed thick black tendrils still streaked across his face where the virus polluted his bloodstream.

I know it's dead. I know the virus is no longer hurting him, but I can see what it has done to him, poisoning his veins and blood, a vicious streak snaking around his skull. His mouth split into a scowl, and I glimpsed stringy pieces of flesh hanging from his teeth. There were chunks taken out of his cheeks where he had ripped at his own skin, tearing flesh from bone, a cavern at the back of his head where his brain burst from his skull. The virus was gone.

What he had done to himself while under my influence, however, was still there.

When the boy turned to me, shuffling back into the shadow, he was back to being an outline. I still didn't understand why he was yet to pass on.

Luke shot me the bird, a small smile curving on his lips.

I couldn't tell if he was being an asshole.

He probably was.

Slowly, I lowered my arm, my stomach twisting.

I mean, I did kill him.

So, he had every right to be pissed.

I remember Luke’s death in too much detail. I remember every death. Every infection. Every student who lost their minds, and gave into my influence.

Even post life, this thing still won't let go of my mind. When we were kids, our town doctor diagnosed a group of us with the exact same brain condition, successfully gaslighting our parents into believing we would need weekly check ups. Luke was one of those kids.

I've tried to talk to him about it, but he's not interested. I ask him if he remembers the experiments and headaches, the pills that tasted like barf, and the memory loss.

I just got a weird look in return.

“Okay, so you don't remember group therapy when we were kids?” I asked him one day, the two of us sitting inside Blackwood’s cafeteria. The new academy was a step up from the old one. It was a pity I was dead, or I would definitely try the cheesy mashed potatoes.

Luke was cross legged in front of me on the table itself, his gaze on some kid’s raspberry pudding. Ghosts get hungry too.

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” he muttered, his gaze following the kids spoon. I could tell he was avoiding me.

“Dr. Mycroft.” I said, louder. The sound in the cafeteria was deafening, I could barely hear myself speak.

“You don't remember him giving us weird candy that wiped our memories?”

Luke lazily met my eye. “Isn't that the point of memory loss pills?”

“No,” I said, “I mean–”

“Why are you speaking to me?”

His words stung.

I swallowed down a petty retort, holding my tongue. “I'm just bored, I guess?”

“You killed me, Aurora,” he said, for maybe the thousandth time that week.

He had eternity to forgive me, and I had a feeling Luke Aisling wasn't planning on offering a truce for at least a hundred years. “Why does it matter?”

Luke scoffed. “You keep talking to me about experiments and mind control and evil doctor's, but that doesn't change the fact that you fucking killed me, dude. Your shitty prank destroyed our school.”

He laughed, and it felt like knives sticking into my spine.

“Even better, you made me want to die! You made me want to mutilate myself, and you're sitting here trying to fucking apologise? Do you even understand what you did? You turned our school into that, played with our minds like we were your dolls, and… made me do this?” he pulled up his letterman sleeve, and I could see where he'd carved layers of flesh from the bone. I remember him shrieking with laughter, revelling in every slice, the blade going deeper and deeper into his skin.

Something sour squirmed up my throat.

Luke pulled down his sleeve violently, his eyes searching mine, frantic, terrified of me.

“Do you even care?” he leaned forward, icy breath in my face.

“Because I'm yet to hear a fucking apology.”

I jumped when he stood up. I could see it in his eyes. He had been talking to others, who called me a psychopath.

They probably got off on telling him I enjoyed what I did. Hannah, who haunts the school gym, and Levi, another of Mycroft’s old experiments.

They were the usual suspects. Luke was getting emotional, his voice breaking. He was trying to speak, tripping over his words. The poor guy was getting red in the cheeks, eyes filling with tears.

“You don't care.” Luke said, his voice breaking into a sob. The lights in the cafeteria bathed him in a sickly golden glow, and once again, I could see his infected self bleeding through. I saw his skeletal grin, bright red oozing down his chin. The bulbs flickered above him.

“You're a fucking psycho.”

Ouch.

But he was half right.

Part of me knew what he was going to say.

Luke was still in agony.

Death didn't take that away. It didn't take away the mental turmoil of being possessed by a mutant virus tearing into his skull. I had no idea how to make it better for him. Sorry isn't strong enough, and he's already fucking dead.

What does he expect me to say?

I didn't need that speech. If I heard it, I would break and allow myself to be selfish.

I was in agony too. And not just mine. My friend’s.

Their thoughts, their memories and sensations.

I can feel all of them. And they never stop.

Luke didn't deserve me being selfish.

So, I offered him a smile and walked away.

I've been trying to find a way to tell Luke it wasn't my fault.

But every time I sit down and ask if we can talk, I end up spewing useless excuses.

Luke didn't remember being part of Mycroft’s experiments.

What he did remember, however, was his brutal death.

Luke Aisling was right.

I did make him want to die, to rip himself apart and cannibalise himself.

I forced him to stab at his flesh until he was writhing in pain, pleasure, that satisfied that parasite inside his brain. If he actually listened to me, he'd know that it wasn't me who killed him. Instead, someone was trying to save him.

There was a student among the infected, hiding inside a classroom.

Still conscious and aware of himself, this student attempted to save an infected Luke.

The virus didn't like that, so it destroyed Luke’s brain, killing him instantly.

His death was a warning. If they tried to save an infected person again, it would kill the host.

I don't know how to tell Luke that.

I’m responsible for him being in that state.

Why he was tied down to a desk, giggling through a mouthful of blood.

Telling the student to kill him, to hurt him.

Begging.

There's not a lot of ways to say, I'm sorry I turned into into a braindead freak. without coming across as insensitive.

There's not much to do when you're dead except miss the days you're alive.

Except being alive to me was waking up every day as a test subject. I won't go into too much detail, I don't deserve or want sympathy. I want to tell Luke that my state of mind wasn't even mine. It was twisted and contorted. I realized something was wrong with me when I was seven years old and stabbed myself with a pen. Mom asked if it hurt, and I said yes. But it didn't hurt. It felt good.

I killed my best friend’s cat with my favorite book.

When I was asked why I did such a thing, I said I didn't want it to be sick anymore.

Another lie.

I told Dr. Mycroft that it made me happy, so to him, I was considered a success.

Slowly, I started to get weird thoughts.

I imagined what my third grade teacher's brain looked like, fantasising cutting open her head and peeking inside. Mom bought me a bunny for my birthday, and I watched it get mauled by a dog. Dr. Mycroft told me pain was a good feeling, and I wanted to test it out.

I tried it on myself.

Eleven years old, I stabbed myself in the knee with a kitchen knife.

I did feel pain, bad enough to make me cry.

But they were happy tears.

I did it again.

Then I killed my mother.

Dr. Mycroft said Mom would like it. It was the best thing I could ever give her.

I wasn't the only one who killed my parents. All of us had been carefully moulded and groomed into murdering our Mom’s and Dad’s, with Mycroft and the town covering it up. He even brought his own son into the experiment. Mycroft wanted to create a whole new state of mind, and we were bis guinea pigs. My best friend quickly fell victim to his brainwashing.

She became a different person, unaware that she was being puppeteered and had killed not just her mother, but her closest friend in freshman year.

Mycroft used her like a toy, forcing her to remember and then forget, contorting her mind into his.

She ended up like a shell. Mara still looked like my best friend, but there was something hollow carving her inside out. The other kids were the same. Connor in the school newspaper club. Joey, Luke, Levi and Ben in junior varsity. Mycroft had moulded their brains since they were kids, making them kill on command, murdering loved ones and being forced to forget.

They came to school and acted like themselves, but with one single word, or a flick of a button, Mycroft could send them into a manic daze, happily tearing people apart for the thrill of it.

Revelling in pain.

That's what they were. Mindless zombies that thrived on their own agony.

It's weird. I think I was the only one awake.

Mycroft didn't need to erase my memory, because killing didn't faze me.

Mycroft’s son, however, was the opposite.

While we had been turned into mini sociopaths, Mycroft’s son, who had his mind fucked with so many times he was both completely oblivious and chronically narcoleptic, would be the light who would lead us out of the dark.

According to Daddy Mycroft.

This psycho saw the other kids as nothing more than mice inside a maze.

And I was the cat.

April 1st 2021, I was excited to prank the whole school.

Yes, I was a psychopath. Mycroft insisted on sessions with me after school.

Sometimes they were in his office, while others were at home.

I met his son multiple times, though the boy was usually too out of it to even notice me, sliding downstairs with his blankets wrapped around his head.

“Daaaad?” he would grumble, immediately sticking his head in the refrigerator. “How long was I sleeping?”

“Two days,” His father would reply, offering his son apple juice. He downed the whole glass. Mycroft gestured to me. “Say hello to my patient, Aurora.”

The boy’s half lidded eyes raked me up and down. “Hi.” he said, through a mouthful of chips. This kid really had zero idea his father was an evil mastermind turning the town’s kids into murderers.

Not me. At least, I was still aware of myself.

My April Fools prank was completely innocent. Initially, I was just going to put shaving cream in everyone's lockers. It was cute and funny, and I planned to film the whole thing.

I got a text the day before from an anonymous number which simply said, “April Fools prank? I can help you.”

Who is this? I texted back, intrigued.

“Call me J.” the text said, If you want to prank the school, meet me in the IT room tomorrow before class. Bring a memory drive or I can't do it.

Okay, but what is it?” I asked.

Instead of answering, he sent me a link to a website where you could purchase viruses. It looked pretty legit. The description simply said, A fifteen second video of your choice which will send your loved ones to sleep! Perfect for celebrations, or April Fools Day!

Mara was sceptical when I told her on the way to school.

“It sounds shady,” she mumbled, her gaze stuck to the ground.

Mara wasn't acting herself, though it's not like I was surprised.

Sometimes, I caught her staring down at her hands.

Like she could see her mother’s blood staining her fingernails.

I had witnessed my best friend remember killing her mother already.

It tore her apart into tiny pieces, pain that was so hopeless, twisting Mara into a monster I couldn't wake up.

If I told her about the blood on her hands, it would trigger her to wake up.

As Mycroft’s perfect killer.

So, I held my tongue and smiled, wrapping my arms around her.

When I got to school, I headed to the IT room.

Mara was following Connor around, which was cute.

The two have known each other since they were kids, and yet had their memories wiped of every meeting.

Mara was the first person he came out to, the first person he trusted.

I think the two of them had emotional memories, binding them together.

Somehow, even without memories, they were still friends.

I watched my friend join Connor Marlow’s side, the two of them already comfortable with each other. Mara had been gushing over the boy for months, and I had no idea how to tell her he was gay, and crushing on Joey Summer’s.

Mara did know.

Like I said, Connor came out to her in freshman year.

But Mycroft screwed with her memories, turning Mara into a shell of herself.

The whole school knew, and she was completely (stupidly) oblivious.

Before I could watch her embarrass herself (again), I slipped into the IT room.

It was empty, so I slumped down at a PC and downed my morning coffee. It tasted bitter.

“You're early.”

Twisting around, a shadow stood at the door.

I blinked. The shadow waved awkwardly, and I realized who had been texting me. Mycroft’s son entered the room, swaying a little. I could tell he’d had one of his episodes. He fell asleep a lot, sometimes even standing up. The boy offered me a small smile.

When he wasn't high on medication or his father’s obvious brainwashing, Mycroft’s son looked good. His hair was a mess of light brown curls, a beanie fitted over the top. The kid dropped his backpack before falling into a chair next to me, almost toppling over. His eyes were a little too dilated.

“Did you bring your, uh, stick thingamabob?” he snapped his fingers, frowning, “Memory drive. That's what I mean.”

I couldn't stop myself. “You're J?”

The boy cocked his head. “Jasper.” he said, “I thought that was obvious.”

He blinked at me, rubbing his eyes.

“Wait.” Jasper’s lips broke out into a grin. “Aren't you that weird girl who hangs out with my dad?”

“Aurora.” I handed him my memory drive, and he slid it into the back of the PC.

“Huh.” he shrugged. “Small world.”

I nodded. “So, what does this thing do?”

Jasper cracked his knuckles, playing with the mouse. I watched his gaze frantically flit from file to file.

“Nothing serious. It'll just send the whole school to sleep for like, fifteen seconds. They'll have no idea.”

I was suddenly giddy with excitement.

“Really?!”

He shot me the side eye. “No, I'm joking.”

“What is it though?” I whispered, leaning closer. “How can this thing do something like that?”

“Dunno.” Jasper had major toothpaste breath, “I don't really understand it myself.”

He wafted at me to move back. “Personal space,” Mycroft’s son muttered, before jumping up. “There. Just click start and it'll be on everyone's phone. Happy April Fools.”

I frowned at the screen. All I could see was code. Hesitantly, I placed my hand on the the mouse.

“Where's start?”

“It's literally right there,” Jasper prodded the screen impatiently.

I saluted him. “Okay, so you're a computer nerd, I get it.”

“Thanks.”

This guy spoke fluent sarcasm.

I didn't click yet, my stomach in my throat. “What if it's, like, dangerous?”

Jasper folded his arms. “They're going to sleep for fifteen seconds at the most,” he rolled his eyes. “It's barely nothing.”

“And if it's not nothing?” I turned to him, “You'll know what to do?”

“Yes.” he curled his lip. “Maybe.” Jasper sighed, running his hand through his hair. “Okay, no. But this isn't a nuke, dude. It's an April Fools prank.”

I nodded, bracing myself.

Okay, sure, I thought, sweat trickling down my neck.

Barely nothing, right?

I clicked start and immediately backed away, hysterical giggles escaping my mouth.

“Fuck. I did it!”

Jasper was smiling, but only slightly. “You evil genius.”

Turning to the screen, I squinted to see some kind of change, but nothing happened.

I peered closer.

“Maybe it was a dud?”

My phone suddenly vibrated in my jeans, and so did Jasper’s.

Outside the door, I could hear ringers going off.

Pulling out my phone, there it was on my screen.

There it was…on my screen.

There it was… on my… screen..

The thought didn't stop. It was stuck, like a broken record.

I was aware I was still holding my phone, my eyes glued to the screen.

I couldn't look away.

“Aurora?”

Jasper’s voice faded, collapsing into white noise.

There was something creeping inside my head.

Slimy and tangled, a leech clinging on for dear life.

“Aurora!”

I blinked, and Jasper had pulled the phone out of my hand, stamping on the screen. It was still there, dancing between splinters, on every single screen, and it was getting harder to think straight. Words were tangled on my tongue, some of them mine, but most of them were garbled nothing, a string of letters and numbers jumbled together. Mycroft’s son was standing in front of me, except the boy didn't feel real. “Hey, what's going on? Dude, you're blanking!”

He was shaking me, and yet I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. I could still feel it, a sentient thing twisting itself around me, bleeding into my skull.

It was testing me, burrowing its way inside my brain to learn who I was. I screamed, barely aware of being on my knees, my fingers clawing at my eyes, blood already running down my face.

I touched my cheeks gingerly. Did I do that? Did I scratch and claw at my own face?

“Turn it off!” I managed to shriek, blinking rapidly. “Did you do this?”

“What are you talking about?” Jasper hissed.

“Your dad!” Squeezing my eyes shut, an array of colours were still there, blinding me. “Did your dad do this?”

“No!” he yelled back, “I mean… I…I may have gotten it from one of his guys, but he said it was just something that could send you to sleep!” Jasper was panicking. I could sense him pacing back and forth. “Fuck. What did I do? What did Dad do?”

Jasper pulled the plug, throwing the monitor on the floor. He started towards another monitor, stumbling back.

“What the fuck is that thing?!”

He tried to grasp the memory drive, but it was stuck.

“Fuck. It's not coming out!”

Outside, screams erupted, running footsteps thundering past the door.

It was in my head, feeding from me.

Burrowing deeper and deeper, until I was ripping my hair out.

It told me to spread it.

“Get out.” I managed to choke out.

“What?!”

Before I could reply, the door was swinging open.

Dark figures emerged, grabbing Jasper and yanking him back.

“Hey! What the fuck are you doing? Get off of me!”

His cries fell into a faded muffle cry. I saw the flash of a shot.

It was so quick, a prick of silver slicing into the back of his neck, the boy crumpling to the ground.

I watched them carefully place him on the floor.

Mycroft.

Whatever this was, the bastard was in control.

And his son was unknowingly part of it.

When the shadows twisted towards me, I stumbled back.

By now, the thing inside my head was in control.

The monitor was lifted back onto the table, switched on, and I found myself staring into oblivion, vivid explosions of color exploding in the backs of my eyes.

I think that is when this thing fully took over, learning from my already contorted mind.

Her name was Luna, and she was hungry.

She was fascinated by humans, and my thoughts in particular.

Luna wanted to copy herself inside every student’s head.

The virus wanted all of them to crave the urge to rip themselves apart.

The virus grew inside of me, mutating into a physical thing, spreading itself across school. It made me its Queen.

I was only aware of myself on two occasions.

The first, was when the virus spoke through me. When Mara was at my mercy inside my new playground.

She asked me why I did this, and I didn't have an answer for her except the truth.

It started as an April Fools prank. I never wanted to hurt anyone.

But. I couldn't deny the feeling of pleasure that came from seeing my best friend just like me. Mara was a puppet of mine for a whole year, destroying herself and others, mutilating her body and carving herself into pieces. It was exactly what I had been feeling like my whole life.

What Mycroft turned me into.

Now the whole school felt like that. They were part of me, one whole mind.

Jasper Mycroft tried to kill me, kill it so I took his mind too.

Right in front of Mara.

His father tore a lot away from him, traumatic memories of a childhood with experiments. When I dug inside his skull, splitting his brain in half and forcing those memories to the surface, he had no choice but to join me.

Embrace her.

Luna.

I watched him break, and it was beautiful.

The virus and I as one laughed at him rocking back and forth, such a steely mind coming apart at the seams. Jasper’s screams of agony morphed into euphoria, biting his fingers off one by one. I enjoyed the sensation, his sensation, of his teeth biting down, chomping through skin, muscle and bone. One memory in particular drove him more and more insane, until he was frothing at the mouth, clawing at his skin.

We made him tear off his own flesh, wearing us instead, a plant-like tendril which wrapped its way around his skull.

We forced Mycroft’s son to terrorise Mara, puppeteering his every move.

He did something bad when he was fourteen.

Under his father’s influence, slicing the throat of Mara’s best friend.

He never forgave himself, and that just made him easier to control.

Part of me wishes I never took the mind of Mycroft’s son.

Luna preferred him to me, growing bored of my mind. She started to retract, slowly, but I was too far gone.

She wanted a King instead of a Queen.

The second time I was aware of myself, was my death.

Yes, I died. Pretty brutally too.

Though maybe I deserved it.

Towards the end of Luna’s lifespan, my body gave up.

As a host, I broke apart, splintering into bloody mounds of festering flesh on the ground. Luna’s followers tore me apart, glueing and stitching pieces of me onto their own bodies. They were my disciples, my followers. Mycroft’s original subjects. There were two types of infection inside our school. The majority of our school became mindless, psychotic killers, while Mycroft’s subjects kept their consciousness.

Zombies, with coherent thought.

Mara did stop us in the end. Movie ending.

Explosions.

Well, controlled ones.

Luna was destroyed when the school was blown to pieces. Thankfully, no many casualties.

Just a lot of infected kids quietly being shoved into a white building.

Our town is out of the way, so it's not like anyones noticed.

And the remnants of her, of me burned.

She let me go, the physical and mental chains around my skull coming apart.

I could rest.

Well.

I can't call stuck on the campus rest.

Mycroft and his connections have been covering up Blackwood since.

You can't even find us on a Google search. We do not exist. Unless you look for the other academy we are now.

It's got a different name, though I still don't know what it is. It's in Latin.

So, here I am, stuck, no longer poisoned by Luna.

One day, I will find a way to tell all of this to Luke.

We were just a really unlucky group of kids under a mad man's microscope.

I don't think I'm ready to be forgiven yet though.

It takes time.

I went exploring around the new campus yesterday. Usually, I stay on the first floor where Luke likes to chill out.

They have a new English teacher.

I know he can see me. When I slinked inside the room and situated myself in a seat, his eyes snapped to me, recognition sparking in his expression.

He's older, maturer in the face, no longer hiding behind his beanie.

Everything about him screamed his father. The black suit moulding him into the perfect heir, his hair slicked back, a pair of raybans perched on top.

Jasper nodded at me, his lips twitching into a smirk.

I wondered why he was there, why he was teaching at only twenty years old.

Didn't college come before a job?

When he projected his laptop screen onto the wall, however, I realized I was staring at my April Fools video.

Now a series of bright colors and twisted shapes, it was the perfect trigger.

This thing had been modified, perfectly cut and edited to create the opposite of what I did. Instead of violently killing each other, these kids sat very still, their eyes glued to the screen. They might have looked fine, but I could sense Luna already clawing her way through them.

One boy's head jolted to the side, his hand slipping from where it was resting under his chin.

I noticed a blonde girl's eyes roll to the back of her head. She didn't fall or collapse, her body suspended on puppet strings.

The front row broke out into an eerie smiles.

I should have known Jasper Mycroft would be a product of his father. I just didn't want to believe it. The last time I saw him, he was both aware and not, in limbo between life and death. Mycroft’s son sacrificed himself to destroy me and Luna. I guess his Dad got to him.

Jasper spent two years clawing out of his manic father’s control, only to slip back under.

I barely recognised my old high school friend.

This man had that exact same glitter in his eyes I saw in his father when he was poking and prodding me in his office.

Jasper leaned against the wall with his arms folded, revelling in my fear.

“Fuck.”

Luke was standing behind me, his eyes wide.

“What's he doing to them?”

I met Jasper’s gaze, my stomach twisting into knots.

“Nothing good.”

Luke stepped into the classroom. “That's Jasper Mycroft, right?”

“Yep.”

“And he's…”

He trailed off, but I answered. Mycroft’s son was enjoying my clear discomfort, what was left of his mind poisoned, ripped apart by his own father. I wondered if this was his job now. Was he tasked with spreading Luna through schools?

Subtly creating not just soldiers, but a whole new state of mind craved pain.

“He is.”

No matter how much he fought to kill his father and end the experiments, they got into his head in the end, successfully grooming him into Mycroft’s successor. Jasper Mycroft didn't look healthy. His cheeks were pale, shadows under underlining his eyes. I could see the strain in his face, make-up hiding writhing tendrils spiderwebbing across his face. As if he was reading my mind, Jasper placed his sunglasses back on, turning to the screen.

Only those who can see us are close to death.

Mycroft’s son was struggling to stand. Luke pointed it out.

A thin line of red dripped from his nostril. Jasper swiped it away with his suit sleeve.

I stepped out of the classroom when Jasper gestured for me to, “Shoo.”

Luke followed, and for the first time in three years, this guy is actively talking to me.

“What do we do about Mycroft?” He joined me, sitting under an early sunset.

“I have no idea,” I told him truthfully.

Luke’s gaze fell on the sky, vivid yellows and oranges reflected in his iris.

“Should I talk to the others?” He said, “Maybe we can all try talking to him.”

I turned to him, noticing a scarlet blush spreading across his cheek. ”Others?”

Luke’s smile was sickly. “The others are avoiding you.” he paused, “But, I mean, you don't seem as psycho as I thought.”

“Wow.” I said. “What a compliment.”

Luke stayed with me for most of the night, the two of us sitting in comfortable, almost heavenly silence.

What do I do about Jasper Mycroft?

Maybe his host body is dying.

Which meant he’s either following orders, or planning to go out with a bang.

I'm terrified he's going to turn his class into what we were.

And history repeats itself.

You can stop him, Mara.

That’s why I'm writing through you.

You came back here at the right time, and I need you to know Mycroft’s son is going to try again. Please save these kids.

You CAN stop him, right?

Right?!