The Boy Who Stood Alone
Morgan Carter was an unusual child, and everyone at Lincoln Elementary knew it.
From the very first day of school, he was different. He didn't talk much. He didn't laugh with the other kids. He didn't join in when they played tag or traded snacks at lunch. While the other first graders ran across the playground, their laughter echoing in the air, Morgan sat alone on the swings, his storm-gray eyes fixed on the ground as if he were listening to something no one else could hear.
The teachers noticed.
At first, they assumed he was just shy. New kids sometimes struggled to fit in, after all. But Morgan wasn't just quiet—he was distant.
If another child tried to talk to him, he would stare at them for a few seconds too long before answering. His words were careful, as if he was measuring them. And sometimes, he would say things that made the other kids uneasy.
Like the time in second grade when a boy named Kyle Murphy was bragging about his new puppy.
Morgan, who had been drawing in his notebook, looked up and said, "Don't get too attached."
Kyle frowned. "Why?"
Morgan just blinked. "Because he won't be here next week."
No one thought much of it. But the next Monday, Kyle came to school crying. His puppy had gotten out of the house, run into the street, and been hit by a car.
After that, kids started avoiding Morgan.
A Shadow in the Halls
By the time he was in fourth grade, Morgan had earned a reputation.
He wasn't bullied exactly—he was never pushed into lockers or tripped in the hall—but no one wanted to be near him. There was just something off about him.
If the classroom lights flickered, someone would whisper, "It's him."
If a cold draft swept through the room on a perfectly warm day, kids would shudder and glance at Morgan, who sat calmly at his desk.
Even the teachers were uneasy.
Mrs. O'Donnell, his homeroom teacher, once said his name while taking attendance, and for a moment, she forgot where she was. She stood there, blinking, lost in thought, before finally shaking her head and continuing.
Morgan had that effect on people.
It was as if standing too close to him made you forget what you were supposed to be doing.
Lunchroom Ghost
Lunchtime was the worst.
The cafeteria at Lincoln Elementary was loud, full of energy—kids laughing, trading fruit cups, sneaking extra desserts.
Morgan sat alone. Always.
At first, the lunch monitors tried to encourage other kids to sit with him. They nudged shy students toward his table, hoping he would make a friend.
But something always happened.
One time, a girl named Emily Reed sat down across from him with her tray. She didn't even get a chance to take a bite before her juice box exploded, covering her in sticky apple juice.
Another time, a boy named Derek Watson sat next to Morgan for exactly two minutes before standing up suddenly, his face pale.
"What's wrong?" a teacher asked.
Derek shook his head. "I… I don't know. I just felt really… weird."
After that, no one tried to sit with Morgan again.
The Drawing
Morgan didn't seem to care.
He spent most of his time drawing.
While other kids played kickball at recess, Morgan sat on the steps of the school, his notebook balanced on his knees, sketching. His drawings were always detailed, intricate—too advanced for his age.
And they were strange.
A deep crack in the earth, like a pothole leading to somewhere dark.
A figure standing on the edge of it, looking down, while something reached up from below.
A pair of gray eyes, like his own, staring from the shadows.
Mrs. O'Donnell once peeked over his shoulder and felt an immediate chill.
"You have a very strong imagination, Morgan," she said, forcing a smile.
Morgan didn't look up. "It's not imagination."
She didn't ask what he meant.
Always Watching
By the time Morgan reached middle school, he had accepted his loneliness.
He didn't try to join conversations. He didn't raise his hand in class unless absolutely necessary.
But he watched.
He noticed things other kids didn't.
He saw how Mr. Jacobs, the math teacher, always checked the hallway twice before locking his classroom.
He saw how Principal Sanders kept his office door slightly open when speaking to parents, as if afraid to be alone with them.
And he saw how, every time he passed by a certain spot near the pothole outside Lincoln High School, the air felt different—heavier.
Morgan wasn't just avoiding people.