My first encounter with otherworldly things that I recall, was when I was about 9 years old. We lived close to an old woman who lived in a run down old house. The plants and bushes in the garden were overgrown and the ivy creep vines looked like it was swallowing her house. She had a bunch of odd looking plants, they didn't look like any of the other stuff you'd find around the neighbourhood. We always joked that it was marijuana growing in her garden.

The elderly woman that lived there had long grey dreadlocks adorned by beads. She dressed like the stereotypical hippie, wearing lots of rings and bangles and beads. She would never interact with anyone when she left her house. Never greet or make idle conversation, not even a smile. She kept to herself and her house. The house was eery. Our parents would warn us not to go near her home, but obviously, as kids, it was fun to do the opposite of what adults told us. We would dare each other to sneak into her yard, playing make believe that she or some other monster would eat us if we were caught. It was scary, thrilling and fun.

I was never able to get past the front gate of her yard. Always chickening-out at the last minute. Something about that place was just … wrong. Whenever I would stand in front of the gate, in the walk way, my chest would start feeling constricted, breathing shallow. It felt like the beginning of a panic attach. For days after my friends would make fun of me for being too scared to go into her yard.

One day we were all playing in the street as usual. The normal scene of events passed and we eventually got to our game of daring each other of sneaking around the 'haunted' house. I was young and dumb and wanted to prove to my friends that I wasn't a baby, that I wasn't scared. So, once again, I was dared to enter her premise. The same thing happened when I got to the gate. Heart pounding, chest constricted, breathing shallow. The usual. I glanced back at my friends from across the street. They were watching me, making chicken sounds to mock me 'cause I was never able to actually do it. I pouted. I'll show them. I thought. I'm not scared. I slowly pushed open the gate. Softly so it doesn't make too much noise. Every fibre in my being yelled at me to not go forward. But with the taunting from my friends and my naive will to prove I'm not a little kid anymore even though I quite literally was, I pressed on.

Past the gate, past the first few overgrown bushes. I was inside. (The garden but still). I just stood there for a few seconds, taking in my surroundings. It was quiet. I stood frozen, eyes scanning the place. There was a walked-out path leading around the house to the back. I'm in, might as well look around. I slowly made my way on the path, every step was like it physically hurt me. I was so scared yet filled with so much adrenaline. I wanted to know what was hiding here. Under the plants and bushes, at the base there were palm sized flat stones with markings on them. Markings made in different colours, some green, some blue, others red. It was weird. I didn't really know what to think of it at the time. I stopped at the edge of the house.

There was a faint sound. I strained my ears to try and hear it. It sounded like voices, lowly chanting something. But it didn't sound … normal. It sounded hollow and scattered. I couldn't figure out whether it came from inside the house, somewhere in the distance or right behind me. It confused and terrified me at the same time. But I was intrigued, bewitchingly so. Like the voices were beckoning me closer. I stepped forward, making my way to the first window at the back. I pulled on the windowsill to peek inside. The window was much too high for a 9 year old boy but I managed to pull myself up just enough to see inside. All the lights were out except for some candle lights in the other room. And there she was, in a different room from the one I peered into but through the archway I could see the edge of the table and the old woman sitting with her back toward me. She was swaying lightly from side to side. Besides the other voices, I could hear her murmuring something. Her voice was the only one that seemed to have an origin. Like caught in a trance, I was unable to pull myself away from that window. A cold sweat spread out over my skin. I could hear my breathing become harsher and laboured. The chanting voices got louder and clearer, and so did the woman. There was an odd beat to it that seemed to also get louder as the chanting repeated itself. My umber skin was prickling, eyes burning, I was struggling to breath, the world around me was spinning. The ritual was coming to its climax. There was a snap and her head whipped around a full 180 degrees and she shouted a violent 'NO'. The skin on her face looked dead and rotting and what looked like blood was trickling out of her eyes. The movement made me lose my footing and grip from the side of the house and I fell to the ground. I bolted out of that yard as fast as was humanly possible. And judging from my friends' faces, I was probably screaming and crying when I came out.

I don't really remember the events that unfolded after that, just that my mother beat my ass for not listening to her. I had nightmares for weeks. Constantly replaying the events in my head. My small, underdeveloped, child brain tried to make sense of what I had witnessed. Everything felt so surreal. As the years went by, I had convinced myself that I was just delirious from fear that I had imagined the whole thing. Still, it felt so real. A small part of me knows what I saw was real, but it was just easier to bury my memories of it just so I could move on.

Now, at almost 17, that event is but a distant memory. And now I am potentially entering what could be an equally traumatizing experience.

"Sydney, it's only as bad as you make it," my dad's gravelly voice interrupts my thoughts.

"-don't let this whole black and white thing cloud your ability to make friends"

"Uhh, it's not about that Dad." I groan in annoyance.

"Baby, I know you're gonna miss your friends, but this is a necessary change for us." my mother interjects.

"Besides, it's not like we're moving countries, just a different part of town, you can still see your other friends on weekends." she finishes.

My father works in finance and last year the company announced that the branch in our hometown would be relocating to a different area. The time for this relocation has come and since my father is considered an integral part of the company, we are relocating as well. The part of all this that bothers me is that we are moving to a 'white' neighbourhood. 'Bother' is maybe not the right word to use, more like 'dread' and the fear that people might treat me negatively because we have a culture difference. Or possible racist encounters. Or just the fact that I have 2 years of high school left, it would have been nice to graduate at the same place I started. Now I have to start all over again, make new friends, get used to new teachers.

At the end, I can't complain too much as my father makes good money in his current position, so much so that we can live comfortably. We're not rich but at least middle class. To which I am obviously grateful.

We moved into the new house on Friday, giving us the weekend to settle in. And today, Monday, is my first day at the new high school. It's the start of the first semester so at least I won't be the only completely new student here. It's not a rich school so it comes to no surprise that the exterior is bland and somewhat dirty. A big, weathered sign reading 'Riverview High School' adorns the main entrance. I've been inside this school once before, when we were applying last year. The principal showed me around somewhat but it was during the holiday so there were no other students. At the start of this year we were mailed all the necessary info, like where my classes would be and what after school activities would be available and when their try-outs would be.

The school was in the shape of an 'H', where the first section was two levels, connecting in the middle through a ramp to the second section, which was only one level. Each corridor was named from A to C, and each classroom had its own number. My recess room was A4, on the ground level.

"Good morning class, I admire your enthusiasm, but you will not be choosing where you sit, I will. So please, everyone outside." The teacher says blandly.

We're all shooed outside, into the hallway. Going alphabetically with the students last names, he calls us back in and assigns our seats. I'm sat next to a guy with golden blonde hair that looks like he doesn't spend much time brushing it.

"Hi, I'm Gael. You're new right? I don't think I've seen you before." A big grin is plastered on his face, and I get the impression that he has way too much energy for his own good.

"Yeah, just moved to the area. I'm Sydney."

"Great, you're not…?" He gestures something with his hand I don't understand.

"What?"

"Nevermind…" He laughs nervously but immediately recovers and rambles on.

"Can't imagine starting your second last year at a new school can be very exciting but, hey, let's make the best of this year and the next." He offers a warm smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

Recess continues as the teacher just goes over general school rules, expectations and other school things. Upon hearing the bell ring, signalling the first period, Gael turns to me.

"Hey, I can't imagine you've already made friends so why not join us for lunch?"

"Uhh…sure." I reply.

"Awesome, just outside the cafeteria, there is a grass field with benches, we'll be there."