Young Writers Society

Each of the character's stories are told differently, just a heads-up since Lace and Quincy have such different narratives.

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I really don’t know why they want me to write down what happened to me back then, and honestly? I’m not going to argue. You don’t argue with them. Trust me on that. Still though, even if I can’t argue, I’m still not going to make it easy on them. So I’ll make it so they wish they didn’t have to read this. Get ready, you’re about to experience some true Quincy-ness.

So let’s get this rolling shall we? I’m certainly not getting any younger, dunno about you though. I’ve seen some weird crap.

Hi, my name is Quincy Thomas, back when all this started I was a sixteen year old eleventh-grade girl. Normal enough on the surface, I had brown bobbed hair like Miranda in Scott Pilgrim vs. The World and blue eyes. I was 5’ 8’’ and athletic. I had recently moved to Toronto from Cleaveland, Ohio. I wasn’t born in Cleveland, of course, I think that would be the final nail in a coffin I don’t want built if I was. Instead, I was born in Seattle, Washington. Lived there for half my life, moved to Cleaveland for the next eight, and now I was in Toronto, Canada.

Not your average childhood to say the least.

There are three things you need to know about me back then if we’re going to get along. Considering the person reading this is one of the jerks who made me write it in the first place, I don’t think we will. But just in case:

1: I was(and still am) probably the most antisocial person you would ever meet. I’m not kidding, I hate interacting with other people, the mere thought of it gives me a headache.

2: I love fantasy. Back then, I would’ve loved nothing more in the world to wake up one day and find out my pathetically normal life was some magic-induced dileria and find out that I have a world to save or something. I wasn’t picky. I still like fantasy, but having it happen to me made it lose some of its charm.

And 3: I hate boredom. This, also, still applies to me today. You could probably tell I hate boredom by #2. After all, if I liked reality, why would I wish for fantasy so much? Yeah, well, I don’t like reality. Reality is boring and normal and so annoying.

So instead of accepting reality and ending up in some dead-end soul-sucking job like any other schmuck out there, my genius younger self instead decided to dedicate the rest of my/her life to finding the extraordinary. That meant that back then my idea of a good time was tailing anyone who happened to look the least bit like they would be interesting and investigating the unusual.

No, I’ve never been arrested. Thanks for asking.

I can jump ahead in the story, to the part where I met Ghost or when I was almost killed by Silive and Shy, or maybe even start with Mateo, but I enjoy stories too much to do that. So lets rewind the clock a bit before all this started to happen. Let’s say...just before the encounter that changed my life forever.

On that particular Saturday evening in July, I was sitting on a park bench, hopelessly lost because that’s the best way to find something, and bored out of my skull. I was desperately hoping something interesting would happen before my father called me home for dinner and I had to use Google to find my way back home.

I scanned the park one more time. Nothing out of the ordinary. There was a guy and a girl walking on the opposite side of the small grassy hill that separated the concrete path I was sitting on and their concrete path. A small child was playing with a dog, a mother was telling her child to be careful on the slightly rusty, brightly colored playground equipment.

The usual. In Quincy-terms, however: so mind numbingly boring I was tempted to grab the mace I kept in my boot and start macing people for fun.

I would never actually do that, of course. Because, despite appearances, I did have morals. I liked helping people and, aside from some violent impulses, didn’t really wish harm to the majority of my fellow man. Of course, there were always the scumbags that deserved it...but I digress. Back to the tale-

I wanted to mace people, badly. So I did what any normal person would do if they were me: I took out one of the library books I had stuffed into my bag when I had run out the door that morning and began reading.

I loved reading. And books in general. I especially loved fantasy, because when I was reading, the world didn’t seem that ordinary. What was really the best was that when I came out of a really good book, it felt like anything was possible. That maybe reality wasn’t as boring as I thought it was.

Quickly, I lost myself in the magical world of text and paper, I was so into it I almost jumped out of my skin when my phone buzzed in my back pocket.

I fumbled with my book and, with mongoose-esq reflexes, caught it before it hit the ground. I let out a sigh of relief and pulled my phone out. One glance at the screen had me swiping to get to the maps app. Google Maps, mankind’s gift to the directionally challenged.

One hour till dinner and I had no idea how long it would take me to get home. I was in a totally unexplored part of a new city with only my phone and my wits to get me back to safe territory. This is the kind of stuff that I did back then. I would have it no other way.

Welcome to the Black Parade pulsed through my earbuds as I waited for Google to find me. Soon, it had me. A half-hour walk back to my house. Wow, that was a lot closer to here than I thought it was. Lucky me.

With a grin, I stuffed my phone back into my pocket and sauntered off. Siri’s voice in my ear interrupted MCR’s lyrics every so often, prompting me to ‘turn right in 3 feet’ and ‘cross onto Sullivan Boulevard in 5.3 feet’. I followed her directions to the letter, trusting her wholly to get me home in one piece.

Looking back, I suppose if I didn’t want a drink of water just then, then my life would have stayed perfectly ordinary forever. I would have wasted my life following false leads and rumors. What a boring existence, right? Though I’m sure you guys reading this would’ve liked me to have kept walking.

I am so very glad that my throat picked that moment to ache.

I stopped in my tracks, reached behind me for the water bottle in my bag, and froze.

Because there was something in the alley beside me. Something white and shimmering, and not-quite solid. It looked like something was there and not-there at the same time. An impossible something hovering a few feet above the dirty concrete of a big-city alley.

My heartbeat picked up, and my breath caught. This was the kind of thing that happened in fantasy. It was something most definitely not normal.

I needed to see what it was. Taking a fortifying breath to try and keep my heart from pounding out of my chest from excitement, I stepped closer to the ally. Slowly, I drew my hand up to the cords of my earbuds and popped them out of my ear and stuffed them into my jean short pockets.

Once my earbuds were out, I could hear something. It was muffled, a sound that was simultaneously inside my head, all around me, and nowhere at all. It sounded like crying.

I froze at the mouth of the ally. I was not prepared for the almost-thing to be crying, I don’t know what I thought it would be doing, but it wasn’t crying. Now that I was closer to the wispy ghost-like creature, I could make out something like its body. It looked human in a way, but its proportions were all wrong. Its torso was too lean, its limbs too long, more like a spider’s than a human’s, and there was something like wings on its back. Only they were more like too-thin bones that were-once wings. It still looked only partially here, like it was caught between two worlds, I could see it, and yet I could also see the alley behind it like it wasn’t there at all. Everything in me shouted ‘not real’ when I looked at it, but I also knew it was real. If I hadn’t been so used to imagining things, I wouldn’t have been able to look at it head on. Despite that, my temples were pounding from looking at it too long, it was a strain to keep my gaze centered on it and not away from it.

This thing, whatever it was, it was impossible. Something that should not have existed. A half-formed creature, an almost-thing. It was beautiful. It was horrible. I wanted to stare at it. I wanted to run away from it forever.

“H-hello,” instead of doing either of those things, I spoke.

Honestly, looking back? That was a truly stupid thing to do. I could have been killed, sliced, diced, minced, dissected, bitten, and/or set on fire. The options really are endless I’ve come to realize. But luckily for me(and unluckily for you), I wasn’t.

The almost-thing stopped crying. Its head, or what I assumed was its head, turned to me. The almost-thing’s wings clattered together like the bones of the dead. The almost-thing stared at me. It didn’t have a face, but I knew it was looking at me. I could feel it's impossible gaze boring into me, looking at every part of me. I felt like it could see everything about me. My skin crawled with the feeling, but I couldn't move. I was frozen to the spot, hoping it would be over soon.

And then it was. And the thing’s gaze stopped being so invasive and instead became softer.

You...see me? The almost-thing asked me in a soft voice. Its voice, just like its cry was all around me, in me, and nowhere around me all at once. Just like with its form, it hurt a little to hear, but, since it was getting easier to look at it, maybe its voice would get easier.

Spoiler: it did.

“Yes, I can see you,” I said softly. The almost-thing seemed so fragile all of a sudden, like a little spun-glass bird. It was suddenly less scary and more sad. I didn’t want to break it.

You are the only one who can see me. The thing said to me, it sounded confused, and hopeful. I think it was the hope in its voice that truly prompted me to say what I did next.

“What can I say? I’m just special,” the sarcastic reply came to my lips before I knew what I was doing. I clapped a hand to my lips, I hadn’t wanted to be anything but polite to the almost-thing, but two sentences in and I had already reverted back to sarcasm.

To my shock, instead of losing interest in me or becoming insulted, the almost-thing laughed. And unlike its appearance or voice, its laugh was pleasant, like feathers falling from the heavens.

I found myself cracking a grin back at it, I lost a bit of my nerves and decided to talk with the almost-thing like I would a person. “So, erm… if you don’t mind me asking, how did you come to be here?” I mentally added, and what are you?

The almost-thing stilled, its wings trembled and it said, softly, I do not know. I don’t know why I’m here or what I am. All I can remember is warmth being stolen from me by something dark.

My heart broke for it. I may talk a big game, but I really was a softie. I didn’t want this lonely thing to be lonely anymore.

“Hey,” I said, the thing looked up at me, “What if you came with me?” I suggested. “I could try to figure out what happened to you. If you’d like.”

Why would you do that? It asked, tilting its faceless head to the side.

“Because you seem nice, and I love magic and mystery. I want to know what happened to you and I want to help you,” I said honestly. I still felt like it could read my mind if it wanted to, so I wanted to be perfectly candid. I really didn’t have any deeper motivations than that, despite what the witches would accuse me of later. I just was caught up in the moment. I wanted to help it, and I’m glad I did.

The almost-thing was still for a few moments, as if thinking it over. Then, it finally came to a decision. I will come with you.

“Excellent,” I smiled, and stuck my hand out to it, “I’m Quincy, what’s your name?”

The almost-thing appraised my hand and then looked back at me, I do not have a name.

I pulled my hand back sharply. Curses, I should have realized it. I might have offended it or something! Dang it, I was so careless and stupid. I looked away from the thing, embarrassed and ashamed. I felt the heat rushing to my cheeks, I hadn’t meant to be so rude.

If you’re wondering, I cringe just thinking about doing that, even now.

Would you...give me a name? The thing’s voice broke through the embarrassment. I whipped my head back to stare at it, not believing my ears.

“You want me to what!?” I demanded, flabbergasted. Did this almost-thing want me to name it!? Or had I succumbed to some sort of auditory hallucination brought on by acute embarrassment.

I wish to have a name. You want to help me. You can help me by giving me a name, the almost-thing said simply.

I gaped at it like a dying fish for a few more seconds before getting control of my vocal chords again. “O-okay. A name. Uh…” I managed to stutter out. I was so panicked I just blurted the first thing I thought of, “Ghost!”

Ghost? The thing said, I could basically see it turning the name over in its head. I cringed. Leave it to me to botch the opportunity to name a real-live magical creature. I like it. Then my name will be Ghost. Or maybe I hadn’t botched it at all. One point for Quincy.

Looking back, I definitely should have come up with something cooler. Although Ghost seemed to like it…

I grinned, the action pulling at my face until I had no choice but obey. I stuck my hand back out again. “Nice to meet you, then, Ghost.”

Ghost looked at me and then extended its own hand. The same to you, Quincy. Ghost replied.

It’s hand felt like holding cold smoke.