The ghost of a boy long-dead popped out from behind Jonas Lutey's locker. "Where's my mom?" The dead boy asked in a whisper like he thought everyone else in the hallway could hear. But no, only Jonas heard, though he really wished he didn't.
Jonas, who was taller than most kids his age, had been ignoring the pestering ghosts forever. He was already thirteen and a senior in grade eight, so he had lots of practice in the ignoring department. Although other kids who ignored him because they thought he was weird, he was just as good ignoring them, the dead ones too.
He ignored the dead boy at his locker by slowly closing it, making no sudden movements and avoiding eye contact when he turned around and walked away, all very nonchalant. He was really good at pretending they weren't there. But lately, the dead were everywhere.
"Come on, I know you can hear me, you have the mark," the dead boy urged. His ghostly eyes darted around and quickly swung back to Jonas, seeking answers.
Jonas had no idea what the mark was. It made him think he wore a sign on his back that said: "haunt me." He didn't really know anything for sure, except that if he didn't talk to these ghosts, they would go away.
He often wondered what they were; ghosts or ghouls, maybe even zombies. They sure did look like the zombies from the movies. He tried his best not to even look at them, but sometimes he couldn't help it, like when his mom watched a really scary movie and covered her eyes, but still peeked through her fingers not to miss anything. So Jonas peeked here and there when he thought the dead weren't looking. He had his reasons why he didn't want to miss anything.
He glanced once or twice at the dead boy following him now. The ghost looked to be around his own age, maybe a bit younger and he sure looked horrible. Jonas tried his best to keep his head forward while he walked to class, the phantom following behind him like a lost puppy. He'd haunt Jonas for at least the next few hours, it really depended on how much he was ignored, until silently vanishing for good.
When Jonas was younger it was different, he didn't quite understand his unique ability. He thought the ghosts who came to visit him were just really weird looking people, not ghosts. And he was taught not to stare and always be polite. So he used to greet them and talk to them, but he always ended up in trouble because he would follow them out of the house and into the city and he didn't know his way around the city, he was only five years old! He would wander off with them and get distracted enough to forget his way back home. He got lost so many times back then that the San Francisco police put his picture up in their vehicles and warned his parents to keep a close eye on him or he may have to go live in a special home for boys who didn't behave.
That's when his parents began to teach him how to handle his visitors. They told him it was his imagination and if he ignored these 'special friends', they'd go away. But they never really did. Sure, they'd fade into nothingness after the silent treatment, but new ones always came back. So when his parents noticed him get spooked, or smile at nothing, they reminded Jonas what to do. "Don't speak to them, or anyone else about them, you don't want to get taken away from us, do you Jonas?" his mother had pleaded.
Of course, he didn't want to get taken away, that scared Jonas more than the ghosts. So from then on, he tried his best. It was pretty easy too because back then, most of the ghosts weren't very scary at all, just very pale, sometimes he could even see right through them.
Though in sixth grade, when Jonas was only eleven, a new type of ghost came to him. A very gruesome and very ugly ghost. It was at the breakfast table. She walked in wearing a white blouse covered in blood with dripping cuts on her face. Jonas actually screamed!
Since then, that's how they always came to him; ugly and horrible, with slashes, gashes, or broken bones, sometimes they were even missing whole body parts. Jonas didn't realize it, but by screaming that day, the ghosts learned that the more gruesome they looked, the more attention he gave them.
Like the dead boy who followed Jonas now. He was missing half his face. Jonas couldn't help but look back at his gruesome details. He quickly looked away, but his eyes kept wandering back to the dead boy's hanging cheek flesh and crooked nose. It was just too much.
"Ejected from a vehicle." Jonas declared, pointing to the boy, wincing because he probably added an hour to how long he'd be haunted. Though it made the most sense, how else would his cheek get scraped off his face like that? The ghosts never told Jonas how they died, but sometimes he couldn't help but blurt out his guess.
"Do you know where my sister is?" The dead boy responded, picking up the pace, excited that he may be getting through to Jonas.
Jonas rolled his green eyes. "How the heck would I know!?" He threw his hands up in the air, shook his head, sick of all the questions.
"Hey, freak, talking to yourself again?" Jake Hudson taunted as he caught Jonas seemingly talking to himself.
Jonas flinched and mentally kicked himself, forgetting he was in the middle of the school hall. He did that a lot when the more gruesome ghosts spooked him. He kept his head down, his dark hair falling over his eyes and walked quickly to class.
"Is my mom still alive?" The half-faced boy followed Jonas down the hall. "Does she miss me terribly?" His voice was weak and ghastly.
Jonas moaned and sped up his stride to arrive at his classroom. He stopped abruptly, then walked through the door as subtlety as he could, ignoring the stares from his classmates and the giggle as he tripped over his long legs and into his seat. He feigned a smile to his one and only friend, Billy, who sat in the next row over. Billy kind of knew why Jonas was the way he was, but Jonas wasn't sure Billy truly believed in the ghosts at all, maybe he just figured he was crazy and didn't care.
The teacher soon began her lesson and droned on about the expansion of the Americas. Jonas couldn't concentrate on what she said, not with the dead boy walking up and down the aisles looking at all the students, stopping to ask Jonas more questions when he passed his desk. Since Jonas couldn't put his head down and cover his eyes in class, he pulled out his sketchbook and began to draw, pretending to take notes.
Jonas loved to draw. He was pretty good at it too. He mainly drew the dead, which was the reason he had so much trouble ignoring them lately, which didn't help his reputation at all. He figured he may as well use them for something while they kept coming around. So he drew them from memory and over the last couple years he had gotten really good at it.
A few months ago he made a website where he posted all his scanned work. He linked it to Tumblr and Twitter, so whenever he posted on his website, it would share them under his anonymous handle: iseedeadpeople. He had gained quite a following, always got tons of likes and re-posts every day, which made him feel good about himself for once. Posting online was the only place he felt he could be true to himself, even though no one knew who he was.
Jonas tuned out his teacher and drew the dead boy lying by the side of the road, splattered against the pavement. He included a mangled car in the background with a broken out windshield.
Suddenly the bell rang. Jonas looked up, realized he missed the entire lesson. But bonus! The dead boy was gone.
As his classmates started walking out of class, Jonas studied his drawing and smiled; it was a keeper. He packed up his pencils and sketchbook into his bag, stood up and started walking out to go to his next class.
"Jonas, stay a minute. Please." His teacher motioned for him to come to her desk.
Jonas sighed, knowing exactly how this was going to go: 'Jonas, you've got to concentrate on what's going on around you, take an interest, and get yourself involved in some extracurricular activities.'
He'd heard it all before and wished he could, but his teachers would never understand why he couldn't. They were always trying to get him to "come out of his shell" and participate more. Luckily, his parents understood, so he wasn't too worried about this encounter. Most likely it would have no impact on his day whatsoever. He kind of felt bad for his teacher, thinking she could help him.
"I won't bother asking to see what you drew today; I've seen your work. It's good."
Jonas shrugged. "Sorry, Miss."
"Jonas, I know you think History might be boring, but it could surprise you one day. I want you to research why there was an American Revolution. Can you do that for me?"
"Sure. Revolution. Got it."
"Have something for me by the end of the week. Please don't make me call your parents." She smiled at him from behind her desk, hands folded, meaning she was trying to be very serious.
"Thanks, Miss. You won't have to." Jonas gave an awkward wave and left. He was actually thankful to have this side assignment, he'd rather do the work on his own time anyway. He also wasn't too worried about his parents getting a call. They never gave him any hassle about trouble at school or posting online as long as he kept his grades up, which he did in his own way. They sympathized with his constant struggle to adapt to his unique situation, so he tended to get away with things. Surprisingly, Jonas never took advantage of them. He was just glad they even believed he saw the dead, though they called them spirits or ghosts. Plus, he never really meant to get in trouble, it just sort of happened to him, a lot. His parents were used to it. At least school had never threatened to take him away. They had always accepted that he was a little different.
Yet there was another reason why his parents were so lenient with him. Unbeknownst to Jonas, his parents knew exactly why he saw the ghosts and what it meant. They knew all about his abilities and where they had come from, yet were keeping it a secret in the hopes it would protect him from an unfortunate fate.