Zach
It's not like I always had the ability to see ghosts.
It all started the day I found my mother's golden chain. Along with a note next to it with strange words on it. That's when things started to change. For the better.
She used to wear it all the time. The delicate links glinted in the sunlight whenever she leaned down to ruffle my hair or hugged me tight. After she died, I found it tucked away in a small box among her things—just another piece of her left behind, like the faint traces of her perfume on her old sweaters or the handwritten notes she used to leave around the house.
Maybe I just wanted to feel close to her again. Maybe I thought, stupidly, that if I wore it, I wouldn't feel so alone.
And then I saw my first ghost.
At first, I thought it was my grief playing tricks on me. But the more I paid attention, the clearer they became—figures lingering at the edges of the world, watching, whispering. Strangely, I didn't mind them. They never scared me. If anything, they helped me. I'd sit on the roof of my house, staring up at the stars, and talk to them. Even if the side effects were me craving human meat, I managed to satiate that by turning to animal meat. It wasn't a big deal to me.
Through the ghosts presence, I learned something important. There are some things in life we have no control over. Death is inevitable. But none of that means we should stop moving forward in life.
The roses in my mother's garden, ones she'd carefully planted, seemed to bloom even more in her absence, as if they were determined to keep her memory alive. There was something about that—things moving on, pushing forward—without needing to be forced. It made me feel like I could do the same, in my own way.
Like the plants, I was growing, too. Life was going great.
I had good friends and family. People I could trust, people who made life worth living. And of course… there was Stephanie. My childhood friend. Whose presence has always been like a warm burning fire in my life. One I can't get too close to and can't stay away from.
That is, until I saw the news.
Three bodies found. A failed robbery. No survivors.
Axel and Eve. Keith's siblings.
I still wish I had ignored it. We were never even that close. He was just a friend of my classmate.
But I called him.
His voice was hoarse, like he'd been screaming. I needed to know what happened, and perhaps with my connections, I could help him. He told me it wasn't supposed to happen like that. They hadn't meant to kill her. He kept asking what he should do with the gems. I told him to sell or get rid of them.
And then I heard it. A woman's voice. A soft chuckle cut through the silence.
I stiffened. "Who's that?"
Keith hesitated. "Who?"
"The woman. I just heard her."
A long, confused silence. "Umm… I'm alone."
The woman and I came to the realization at the same time.
"Oh." she murmured. "You can hear me."
Keith was still talking, his voice droning on, oblivious, but I barely heard him. She was crying for help, choking on the words like she was drowning. There was something awful about it, something that made me feel like if I listened too closely, I'd be pulled under with her.
I wanted to ignore her. I should have. But I couldn't.
I had recommended Keith sell it out to someone. And when he chose a black market to do that, I found myself trailing him as he made the sale. Making sure to hide my identity. The black market dealers were two brothers, one looking eager about the jewels while the other had his brows knit in concern.
The ghost woman was there with them. With long black hair sleeked back from a gentle face and a sage green midi dress that fluttered as she hovered or walked.
She must have felt my gaze because, suddenly, she turned. Her dark eyes locked onto mine. There was something in them—recognition.
She knew me. Not by face, maybe, but from the phone.
I opened my mouth to ask what was troubling her, but she spoke first. Her voice was quiet, but the words hit me like a hammer.
"That chain. It belonged to Evangelina."
My mother's name. The shock hit me like a fist, cold and disorienting. I didn't know this woman, but she had known my mother. Knew her well enough to recognize a chain she had worn.
I forced my voice to stay even. "How do you know her?"
Instead of answering, she tilted her head slightly, studying me with an air of quiet amusement, like she was deciding how much to reveal. Her gentle looks didn't match her personality at all. "Buy the gems. Do what I say, and I'll tell you."
Over the phone, she had sounded desperate. Someone in need of help. But standing in front of me now, she was composed. Cunning. Every word she spoke was calculated. All of this had been carefully planned for one purpose—to get me here, to make me listen. And I hated that it had worked.
I shook my head. "Why would I do that?"
The corner of her lips twitched like she had expected that answer. Then she said something that made my blood run cold.
"If you do. I'll tell you the truth about your mother's death."
I remember how the world around me faded—the murmurs of the market, the shifting figures—none of it existed anymore.
I refused to believe her. It was a lie. Nothing more than bait on a hook. My mother died in an accident. That was the truth. That had always been the truth. And yet, the way she looked at me, the way she spoke with such quiet confidence, made something shift in my chest. But I couldn't let it.
So, I turned away.
Back home. Back to my good, peaceful life. The one where strangers in dark markets couldn't plant doubts in my mind like seeds waiting to grow.
And that's the thing. Doubt is like a weed. It starts small, barely noticeable, just a stray thought pushing its way through the cracks of your certainty. But once it takes root, it doesn't stop. It spreads, winding around everything you thought was solid, warping it, twisting it, making you question what was real in the first place.
It doesn't die just because you ignore it. It lingers. It festers. It waits.
I found myself back at the marketplace before I even fully decided to return. I searched for the brothers. I had followed Keith closely enough to get a name, and from there, it wasn't hard to track down an address. I didn't bother knocking, I used my chain to find some ghosts around.
One, very exhausted-looking one with a gaping bullet hole in his chest and an even more distracting mustache, that was haunting the brothers, informed me about them. And upon learning the younger brother ran away with them because he thought they were cursed, I got him to give me his number and called immediately.
Samuel was a very anxious man but easy to fool. I succeeded in telling him to pull over at the next gas station and hand over the gemstones to me. I didn't wait long before hitting the road, heading toward the gas station.
The situation took a frustrating turn when he called me back and informed me about how he messed up by handing them over to an antique seller out of panic. He sounded like he was on the verge of a breakdown, so I had to calmly ask for the store's details.
The address was clear in my mind as I drove in the city, but the closer I got, the heavier the air seemed to grow. The antique shop was nestled between two older buildings, its sign hanging crooked above the door.
The moment I entered, I spotted her.
Her lips curled upward. It was as if she'd known all along this was going to happen. "I knew you'd come back."
I had too many questions, too many things I needed to understand, and not nearly enough answers.
"It wasn't an accident." she said. It wasn't a question or an assumption. She said it like it was a fact, like it had always been this way, like I was the one who'd been living in the dark all these years.
The world seemed to blur around me as I processed her words. "What do you mean?"
"If you want to know the truth, you'll have to help me." She paused, letting the silence fill the space between us. "Help me with my goal. And I'll tell you everything. About your mother. About her death."
I didn't hesitate. Despite every instinct telling me to walk away, to ignore her, I didn't. The need for answers—real answers—was too strong. "What do you want from me?"
Her eyes gleamed as she spoke. "Bring the gems to Alister Wyatt. Or bring him to the gems."
The name hit me like a punch to the gut. Alister? My class representative? The coincidence made my head spin. He wasn't just some random person. He was someone who, no matter how much I tried to get along for Stephanie's sake and be friendly with, still disliked me.
I didn't know what she was playing at, but the connection was too strong to ignore. She refused to tell me why she wanted him. Only that I'd get what I want in the end.
I didn't trust her. But her words had already planted a seed. One I couldn't shake. And just like that, the deal was sealed.
What I hadn't expected, was that it was like pushing a snowball off a cliff. Small at first, but gathering speed, turning into something bigger, more dangerous with every passing second.
Leora needed a physical body to inhabit. She said something about regaining her powers, and then she'll leave Alister alone and transfer to another body.
I didn't realize how deep I was getting myself into. When I lured Alister to buy the gems. Or when Leora told me to kill Samuel to cover my tracks. I watched Alister be manipulated and tormented by her. And Clara...she was never part of the plan. He shouldn't have given her the other gem.
Watching them struggle, strive, and push forward made the guilt in my heart grow. At one point, I thought of stopping and telling them the truth.
But then came the book of artifacts, with its unique language, connection to mom, and that's all it took for me to continue and bury the guilt deep inside. I followed Leora's orders and directed them to Reeze, who I had never met before, helped them and supported them like the good and loyal friend I was.
Now, as I stand here, gun in hand, having killed two people, I stare at the kind girl who once idolized me.
Her wide eyes that are brimming with hurt and a thousand questions are different from the starry eyes that always bore through my back when in class or whenever I was around her in the past.
"Now." Alister's—no, Leora's—voice rings out.
Slowly, he rises to his feet, rolling his shoulders like shaking off years of tension. A smirk tugs at his lips—her lips—as he stretches his back, taking his time, relishing the freedom. "Ah… it feels so good to not fight for control anymore."
Clara hasn't moved. She doesn't blink, doesn't breathe too deeply, as though the moment she acknowledges what's happening, it will solidify into something real.
Then Leora turns to her fully, and the smirk deepens. "We meet again, Austin."
I can still feel Stephanie's eyes glued to me, staring daggers at me, in hopes I would just drop dead already. Her hands tremble at her sides, fingers twitching like she's restraining herself from grabbing something—grabbing me.
And I can't find the willpower to look at her.
Leora crackles. "I knew you'd make that face when everything unravels before you." Then, she lifts his hand. "First things first," she murmurs. "The curse."
We watch as she starts an incantation and the gems embedded in Clara and Alister's bodies glowing white. Pulsing like a second heartbeat.
Clara's shoulders tense. Her fingers curl inward, as though resisting the instinct to claw the thing out. Slowly, the gems leave their bodies. They hover between them, suspended in midair, as if resisting the inevitable pull toward each other. Strands of white light stretch and twist between the stones like threads being woven together by unseen hands. Leora guides the shards closer together. Joining them into one.
And I can't bring myself to care.
"It's your turn to keep your end of the deal." My voice cuts through the tense silence. I have waited too long for this. Done everything she ordered me to, even asking out Clara to keep her away from Alister. It wasn't my fault she rejected me.
"Why so impatient?" she finally says, irritation lacing her voice. I glare at her, and she stares for a second before sighing. "Your mom worked for the organization. Until she got disposed of. She's known as the organization's traitor, you see." She then smirks. "Like mother like son."
"Traitor?" I repeat. Everything she's saying...it feels like a made-up story. "What do—"
The gunshot rings out before she can finish.
The sound of something shattering.
Everyone freezes.
Tiny shards of gemstone rain down, scattering across the floor. Not two halves this time. No clean break.
Leora looks suddenly shocked.
"No..." she whispers.
Slowly, all eyes turn to the shooter.
Simon stands in the doorway, pistol still raised. A heavy bag of weapons sits at his feet. Did...he run back to the car to get them? When?
He breathes as if he ran a great distance, his arms slightly trembling from adrenaline. Then he blinks, glancing between the gun in his hand and the broken shards on the ground.
"I... I shot it," he says, almost in disbelief. A nervous laugh bubbles up. "I shot something. In real life."
Leora's rage can be felt throughout the room. The gun is yanked from his hands and hovers in the air, its barrel locked onto him, as if gripped by invisible hands. He stumbles back in horror. Hands twitching uselessly at his sides, unsure whether to reach for a weapon or flee.
Then, in a split second—
Two more gunshots ring out.
Leora screams, staggering backward as the floating gun clatters to the floor. Her hand moves to her thigh, blood already soaking through the fabric.
Simon, taking advantage of the commotion, snatches up the weapons bag and bolts from the doorway, barely dodging the grasping tendrils of Leora's magic as she snarls after him.
I whip my head towards Clara.
She's in the middle of pushing herself up from the floor. Her gun, which I didn't know was still strapped to her leg, remains pointed at Leora. There's something distant in her expression, as if she's still catching up with reality, but her body moves on instinct.
Her eyes flick toward Stephanie, urgency flashing beneath the daze. Get the book.
Stephanie doesn't hesitate.
"Shoot them!" Leora's voice snaps at me.
I raise the gun onto Stephanie as she moves swiftly, long black ponytail swaying with each step until she snatches the book from the table.
Our eyes meet. Her piercing hazel ones meeting mine. There's no warmth in her gaze. Or fear. Just pure, seething hatred. She's pissed. And she should be. After everything I've done. After everything I've torn apart.
Yet...I can't bring myself to pull the trigger.
Suddenly, a bullet pierces my arm, and the gun falls from my hand. I grunt, clutching my limb and glare at Clara, who returns the look.
I hesitated. And that gave them the chance to run out of the room.
Leora glares at me while clutching Alister's wounded leg like I'm an inconvenience. As if she's debating whether I'm even worth keeping alive.
"I should just kill you too."
I don't respond. Instead, my other hand reaches for the gun, and I point it straight at her.
"Tell me the truth. What did she do?"
She laughs. A cold, mocking sound that sends a shiver through my spine. "You think you can intimidate me?"
Her eyes glow red, a flicker of power surging in them, and for a moment, I think she might actually try to rip me apart right here.
I swallow, keeping my voice even. "With the gem broken, you can't switch bodies anymore." I nod toward her wound. "Not unless you make another one. And for that, you need the book. They shot you in the leg to slow you down. If you want me to stop them from destroying the only instructions left, I suggest you start taking our deal seriously."
Leora exhales sharply, the tension in her shoulders shifting from anger to reluctant calculation. Her fingers reach for the healer's goblet.
"She tried to steal something from them," she answers. "Something valuable."
My jaw clenches. "What?" I glance down at my chain. "Was this it?"
"No."
"Then what!? And who killed her?"
Leora doesn't answer. Instead, she squeezes her palm to let blood drip into the goblet. She's not going to say another word. Not until I do what she wants.
Damn it.
I lower the gun, and I fidget with my chain, feeling the familiar energy surge inside me.
"Karen." I whisper and she appears beside me. A middle schooler wearing an oversized grey sweatshirt. She yawns as she scratches her head, despite the dried blood staining it. An icky habit of hers, no matter how many times I've told her not to do it infront of me.
"Where are they?"
She points upwards. "Upstairs. Second room on the left."
"Stephanie is crying, you know." Gordan appears before me, arms folded, further stretching out his leather jacket as he shakes his head in disappointment. His black piercings on his ear and the chopped-off tip of the noose around his neck swaying back and forth. "You've really messed things up."
"Don't patronize me, guys." I sigh and stretch out my hand, asking for the goblet to heal my own wound.