Young Writers Society

I wandered through the night, people-watching again. I highly doubt I will ever tire of it. At one point, around nine o’clock, I sat down in someone’s living room and watched all of the Spider Man movies. I also went to the bookstore, where I discovered that I could pick up the books. Unfortunately, someone saw the book floating in midair, which gave them quite a fright.

I meander around a bit after that, before finally deciding to stop by the arts and crafts store, where I pick up two packs of artist’s pencils and two sketchbooks. I drop one of each off in Derek’s room. His chest rises and falls with his breaths and his eyes twitch underneath his eyelids. Eventually, bored with watching him, I go across the hall to Lizzie’s room, where I stay the rest of the night, observing her in fascination. At one point, I think I hear the creak of a door opening, but I dismiss it quickly.

The next morning, when she wakes up, her eyes fasten onto me, where her eyebrows crinkle together in confusion momentarily before finally focusing on some spot behind me. I feel odd, but then I realize that the reason I do is because my heart isn’t beating. Normally, it would be pounding against my ribcage in an attempt to escape.

I leave the room.

Once I reach the kitchen, I notice Derek sitting at the table, his head down. Reaching out a pale hand, I try to pat him on the shoulder. There is a bit of resistance at first, which gives after a firm push, and I’m able to touch him. He inhales sharply and looks at me. What I see on his face shocks me. There is a bruise covering his eye- a black eye-, which is swollen near shut.

“What happened?” I demand.

“Got in a fight last night.” He mumbles.

“Why? What on earth possessed your mind to convince you to fight someone?!”

“They were making fun of Lizzie. They were saying she wouldn’t even make it to middle school.” Derek stares at me furiously, daring me to argue that he didn’t make the right decision.

“Well, next time they do that, why don’t you tell me? I could probably scare them, you won’t get hurt, and I won’t either.”

“No!” He growls, “Lizzie is my sister- not yours!” I take a step back, frightened at his sudden outburst. Deciding that Derek might need some alone time, I leave the house.

I walk back to the place I woke up in, feeling that this might be the only thing that can make any sense to me. But as I make my way through the spongy grass and mixture of tropical and normal trees, a sense of dread begins to grow.

When I reach the spot, I discover that I’m not alone.

There is a man standing there, probably in his mid-twenties. He’s wearing a white shirt and jeans- no shoes. As I approach, he looks up. Dark, haunted eyes watch me as I grow closer. And what I had assumed was a symbol on his starched white shirt, is a stain. A blood stain. This man is obviously dead.

I back up a step, only to have the strange man come closer. His lips curve in a ghastly smile and the pure feeling of evil radiates off of him.

“Well, well…” He drawls out, “What do we have here? A new ghost, eh? And a pretty one at that.” He reaches out to touch me, but I slap his hand away. He chuckles menacingly, “Spirited, too. I think I’ll have her.”

Have me? What was that supposed to mean? Nothing good. I turn to run, but he grabs the back of my dress and yanks me back to him. I gasp. Evidently ghosts can hurt each other, because I’m definitely feeling pain.

“Such color…” The man murmurs.

He curls a piece of my hair between his fingers. I watch in horror as the color drains out, seemingly into my captor. As color continues to bleed out, I grow weaker, my view of the world dimming. I struggle feebly. Luckily, the man is so busy sucking up my energy, he isn’t holding on tight enough. I break free, stumbling away. As I glance, terrified, behind me, I see the man still standing there, a satisfied smile on his face.

I’m so weak and tired, I have no idea how I make it back to Derek’s house. Finally, fed up with its abuse, my ethereal body collapses in the hallway, just outside of Derek’s room. I must make some noise, because the door opens, Derek’s face peering out. When he sees me on the ground, unable to move, he pales visibly underneath his golden tan. After checking to make sure nobody is around. He manages to scoop me up- which confuses me, since nobody else can- and carry me into his room.

“What’s wrong?” He demands. I open my mouth to answer.

“Was going to… place I woke up in… Man there… took me… and… energy…” I hold up a strand of my white hair. “See? No color…”

Derek’s face is worried. He sets me down on his bed and then brings over his laptop. He types in ‘ghost energy’ and watches as the results pop up. He randomly opens sites, skimming them before deciding they won’t help him.

At one point, though, he doesn’t exit the page. He scrolls through it, eyebrows furrowing as he reads. Finally, he speaks up. “This site says that ghosts rely on energy to live. Some they wake up with, but if that is taken, they have to take life energy from other things.” He scrolls down some more. “Let’s see... There’s a list of things that you can take energy from. Plants, animals, other ghosts, blood, people, and psychics. Huh, there’s a section of text on psychics.”

He reads it aloud. “Psychics are people who are able to see and communicate with the dead. The majority of psychics are people who have come close to death. But the rarer and more powerful psychics are born able to see. Experts think that these people were gifted with much more life energy than the average person, therefore guaranteeing them access to the supernatural world.” Derek sits back. “Huh.” He pauses. “How do you take energy, Linnette?”

I shrug my shoulders. He thinks. “You said that ghost took yours from your hair, right?” I nod. “Well, try taking it from mine.”

Derek lies down, his back facing me. Hesitantly, I reach up and curl my fingers through his hair. At first I feel nothing. But then, I detect energy, hiding just underneath the surface. I reach for it, poking a hole in the thin layer of protection hiding it. Immediately, energy rushes to the surface. I sigh happily. But I keep an eye out for the tell-tale signs of no energy. I can sense his limit, and stop right before I hit it.

“Ah.” I sigh, rolling onto my back, “That was good.”

Derek sits up, his ebony hair mussed and his stormy gray eyes shining feverishly. “Better?” He asks.

A smile of contentment curves my lips. “Much.” I inspect my hair, pleased to see that it is now a brilliant red as opposed to the orange it was recently. “Thank you.” I tell Derek solemnly.

“Anytime.” He says.