Ethan Pierce had learned early in life that nothing ever went his way.
As an orphan, he was invisible to most people, an afterthought at best. Blackwood High was no different. He was just the quiet, awkward kid who was always in the wrong place at the wrong time.
And right now, he was in the hallway, trying to recover his scattered books after being shoved into the lockers.
"Oops." Logan Carter, the school's reigning bully, smirked as his friends laughed behind him. They'd knocked Ethan over again—nothing new. Logan grabbed the books from the floor, tossing them around like they were worth nothing.
"Better watch where you're going, freak," Logan sneered, tossing one more taunting glance before walking away with his crew.
Ethan didn't respond. He never did. He just grabbed his things and shoved them back into his bag. The quicker he could get out of the hallway, the better. Logan and his friends had no power over him unless he let them.
He didn't have to react to them. He knew this. He just wanted to be left alone.
But that was the problem.They never left him alone.
---
The Library
The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Ethan found himself in his usual spot—the school library. The one place where he could find peace. The only place where no one judged him, no one hurt him. Just books.
He wandered through the aisles of towering shelves, letting his fingers brush over the spines of the dusty volumes. Most of the books were old and forgotten, just like him. They didn't need anyone. They just existed.
That's when he saw it.
A book.
It wasn't part of the usual collection. This one stood out—dark, heavy, and bound in black leather. The spine was completely blank. No title. No author. Just a strange, subtle gleam to it as if it were waiting for someone to notice.
Ethan stared at it for a moment. His fingers itched to touch it.
No one would notice. No one was here. And besides, it was probably just a weird old book, right?
But as his hand hovered over it, he felt an electric jolt race through his fingers. His heart skipped.
It wasn't just a book. There was something more.
His breathing quickened as he pulled it from the shelf. The book felt heavier than it should, almost like it was trying to stay where it was. But it came free.
He cracked it open.
The first few pages were blank, but then, as if drawn from some invisible ink, words appeared.
"Create a game, or perish."
Ethan blinked, convinced he was seeing things. He flipped the page.
"You have one month. If you fail, you die. If you throw away this book, you die."
His stomach dropped.
This couldn't be real. It had to be a prank—someone's idea of a sick joke. But it felt too real. Too dangerous. He slammed the book shut, feeling the air around him turn cold.
A chill ran down his spine, and the sound of pages flipping echoed in the silence.
The book opened again.
And the words appeared once more.
"You must create a game based on real-world issues. Bullying, crime, domestic violence... The choice is yours."
His mind raced. What kind of game was this? Who would want to play something like this? Was it part of some twisted test? He closed the book quickly, dropping it back onto the shelf. He wasn't going to let this freak him out.
It was just a stupid trick.
But as he turned to leave, he heard the faintest whisper—not from anyone nearby, but from somewhere deeper in the shadows.
He froze, feeling his heart race. He turned around, but no one was there.
The book, however, was gone.
It had disappeared from the shelf.
---
Home Alone
Ethan barely remembered walking home. His thoughts were consumed by the strange book. He couldn't get its words out of his mind.
He sat down in his room and tried to shake the thoughts away. The book was a prank, he told himself. Just a trick to mess with him.
But when he walked into his room, his breath caught.
There, sitting on his desk, was the same black book.
Impossible.
He could have sworn he left it behind.
No one had been in here.
He approached it cautiously. The room felt unnervingly cold as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. The book lay there, innocent-looking. "Waiting".
Ethan didn't want to touch it. He told himself it was just some elaborate setup by Logan and his gang, trying to get a reaction. He didn't need to play along. He just had to ignore it.
But as he stood there, the book flipped open by itself.
A cold breeze swept through the room. The whispers from before seemed to return, closer now, as if they were right beside him.
Ethan gritted his teeth and reached for the book, slamming it shut again. He needed to ignore it.
But as his hand brushed the cover, he felt that electric jolt again, and a sharp, sudden pain ran through his arm.
Ethan pulled back in shock. When he looked down, there was a fresh cut on his forearm, blood slowly trickling down his skin.
He hadn't felt it happen. He hadn't even touched anything sharp. The cut was clean, precise, like something—someone—had marked him.
A sick feeling churned in his stomach as he slowly opened the book once more.
"Warnings will not be given twice."
He dropped the book. His hands were shaking. The room felt colder. The shadows seemed to stretch, darken, and then—a whisper in his ear.
A voice, soft but unmistakable, as if it were right behind him.
"You are not alone."
Ethan spun around, but the room was still. Empty.
But he couldn't shake the feeling that something was there, watching him.
He looked down at the book, the page still open. And now, the name of the game began to form on the page.
"The Game of Ghosts."
Ethan's heart hammered in his chest. The whispers seemed to grow louder, the room colder. There was no more denying it—this was real. Whatever this book was, whatever this Ghost King was, Ethan was in far deeper than he had ever imagined.
And now, there was no way.