Everyone is scared of the wind when it blows against them.
After my visit to the Necromancer, my ghostly problems seemed to be resolving, yes, seemed. Everything was making progress... except for one thing. Simon. The little ghost had developed this odd obsession with reminding me every single moment of my sacred mission to save them. Even now, as I stirred the soup, he sat deathly still on the chair next to the kitchen table, casually reading news on my phone.
For a while, I'd wondered just how he managed to solidify his essence to this extent. But I didn't ask him—hoping, with childish optimism, that if I ignored him long enough, he'd just vanish. Of course, that plan had failed spectacularly. So, I decided to ask.
"How is it possible that you don't fall through the chair, Simon?"
The ghost barely even glanced up from the phone, but gave me that bored, dismissive look. It was the kind of look that told me, without a word, that I was to shut up and wait until he was finished reading, at which point he might consider answering me.
I snorted and continued stirring the soup, not really paying attention to his theatrics.
No, the world hadn't ended yet. And no, I wasn't sick. I could cook, but I had never been the type to want to. I preferred to be the one served, not the one who served. But when the doctor said Alex needed rest, it seemed like the least I could do. After all, despite his external injuries healing well, the poor wolf wasn't going to recover overnight from being treated like lunch. The doctor warned he might feel dizzy or faint for a while, so I'd grounded him.
I heard the soft sound of Simon putting down my phone. He laid it neatly next to the vase, and finally, he looked at me, treating me, for the first time in a while, like I was actually standing in front of him.
"So?" I raised an eyebrow, waiting.
Simon's lips curled into a slight, mischievous grin. "Well, I might have borrowed a little more life force from you."
I stared at him, letting the words sink in. "Really? I'm starting to think death has had a rather questionable effect on your personality," I said, my voice dry.
It was hard not to feel a little irritated, especially knowing that the ghost clinging to me could literally suck the life out of me if he wanted to.
He snickered, completely unbothered. "Oh, come on. You're not going to die from that much..."
"And what if I do?" I shot back, "Then who will avenge your death?"
The grin slipped from his face like a shadow, and just like that, Simon was gone. The silence hung in the air for a moment, and I couldn't help but sigh, rubbing my temples.
Frankly, my flat had started to feel less like a home and more like a haunted house. I mean, what if another ghost decided to just pop in for a visit? Was that going to be the new normal? At this rate, I wouldn't even be surprised.
One night, as I was making my way to the toilet, minding my own business... when a ghost materialized right out of the wall! The kid was hovering about two inches off the ground, his body hunched unnaturally, with his hands hanging limp at his sides.
His gaze—cold and empty—was locked on me, his eyes heavy with dark circles that only made his sickly, pallid face all the more grotesque. When he drifted a little closer, I saw it—his head was barely hanging on, the skin of his neck hanging by a thin, twisted thread. The vampires had nearly bitten right through his throat. He didn't even flinch. With eerie calm, he turned away from me and drifted back into the wall, vanishing as suddenly as he appeared.
That was far from the only charming encounter. Another time, I found a ghost rising from the ground on my doormat, barely a foot in front of me. His eyes—just as dead—stared at me with an eerie intensity. "Got any socks?" he asked, his voice rasping like old paper. "I'm missing a pair. Only have half."
I barely suppressed a scream, slamming the door shut with a speed that made me think I might've broken the handle. The bell rang for what felt like an eternity. Eventually, I grabbed one of my socks, practically tossing it at him in utter horror. It was a moment I couldn't explain to Inez later, especially when the bell kept ringing for half an hour straight.
And then there was that time I was brushing my teeth in peace, thinking surely nothing could be worse than Berry barging in to lecture me about letting him out of the mirror. I was wrong. Far worse things could happen.
I was mid-brush when, out of nowhere, a ghost's head popped out of the mirror. Well, not popped exactly—more like half of her head emerged, the other side of her face just... gone. Her left cheek was a hollow, blood-slicked mess, the wound so deep I could see into her mouth, the blood still oozing like it was fresh. Her left eyelid was dark, sagging, and completely hollow, leaking blood as if she were alive, and her lips twisted into a grotesque smile.
I nearly lost it. If I hadn't been gripping the sink so tightly, I would've bolted straight to the toilet. I barely managed to keep it together, but there was no stopping the wave of nausea that hit me right after.
To sum it all up—being haunted by vengeful spirits is about as much fun as it sounds.
Alex stumbled into the kitchen, sniffing the air as if he'd just walked into a foreign land.
"What is that?" he asked, wrinkling his nose.
"Creamy carrot soup," I replied, without missing a beat.
"What?"
"I said, creamy carrot soup," I repeated, slowly, as though the words themselves needed translation. "I couldn't find anything decent to cook, just carrots and potatoes. So today's lunch is creamy carrot soup... and fries."
He blinked, clearly weighing the situation. "Shall I go shopping?" he offered, his voice polite but a little too hopeful. I gave him a sharp look, and he immediately shot up from his chair, startled.
"That's not the issue," I said, turning off the gas with a sigh. "We don't have any money."
Alex gave me that look—the one that makes me want to kick him in the ankle. But I held back, reminding myself in a mantra-like chant that my dear, mentally-challenged flatmate was injured.
"I'm off to work later, so you don't have to worry," I added, trying to ease the tension. "Now, get yourself a plate."
I served him the soup, and he sat down at the table, looking like he hadn't eaten in days. Actually, considering I hadn't started cooking until late, it was more like dinner than lunch, but I knew Alex was probably starving.
The moment he settled into his seat, however, he froze, eyes wide, his whole body shaking violently. With a low, unsettling groan, Simon appeared, materializing right in front of us, his frown sharp and pointed like a blade.
Alex's face drained of color. I couldn't help but notice the eerie resemblance between him and the ghost. Both pale, both haunted, in their own ways.
"It's rude to sit on a ghost!" Simon chastised him, voice like velvet laced with ice.
Alex, clearly rattled, muttered what was probably a string of every prayer and religious saying he knew, stumbling over his words. "Sorry..."
He'll never get used to a dead person's spirit hanging around, let alone speaking in that eerie, otherworldly tone that seems to freeze the blood in your veins. It's not something you get used to. You endure it—grudgingly, silently, always on edge—but it never becomes normal.
Simon gave him a nod, almost like he was appeased, before casually walking through the cupboards, vanishing through the walls with the same casualness you might expect from someone walking out of a room.
After the visit to the Necromancer, the ghosts began to make their presence known to everyone. Des was the first to notice one—by walking through it. From that point on, if he spotted a ghost, he'd either run straight through it, leap after it, or even jump on it. I'd always suspected my brother was a little off, but now I had undeniable proof. As if shattering a vase and two glasses wasn't enough, he also ruined my bed. Now, every time I turned over in the middle of the night, it let out an ear-piercing squeak.
When I confronted him about turning my house into a war zone, his only response was that it was a "fun" feeling when he passed through a ghost. Sure, Des, whatever you say. I've had my share of accidental ghost encounters, but "fun" wasn't the word I'd use. It was more like a creepy mix of cold shock and electric jolt.
Next came Alice, who, out of all of us, probably handled it the best. Of course, he didn't run into the one-eyed girl (I would've paid good money to see his reaction to her), but he did meet Simon, who—surprise—he already knew from his Russian class.
Then there was Alex, the last to wake up one morning, only to turn over and find himself face-to-face with another ghost. That day, I had the pleasure of explaining to Inez why Alex was screaming like a man being murdered before sunrise. Needless to say, he hasn't exactly warmed to the spirit world since then.
One day, I heard subtle tapping noises coming from the window, and I swear I muttered a quick prayer that it wasn't another ghost, or I might just drown myself in a spoonful of water to escape the madness. Thankfully, it wasn't a ghost. In my surprise, I almost called out to the bird, but then I remembered Alex was still in the kitchen.
It's not that I didn't trust him—it's just with monsters, the less people know, the better. That's a rule we all follow. So I tried to wait patiently for him to finish his lunch without glancing too frequently at the window. But that letter… it was calling to me!
"Want me to leave?" Alex asked, his tone neutral, though I couldn't help but feel a little guilty. Alex wasn't dumb—sometimes, I wished he were, but no such luck.
"No," I said, shaking my head. "You don't have to."
I opened the window, and a blue jay flew in effortlessly, landing on my outstretched index finger.
"Hallo, Herm," I greeted him, "Wie geht's?"
The bird chirped in reply, stretching its leg out towards me. Without missing a beat, I snatched the paper from its talon, and Hermes flitted up to my shoulder.
"What kind of bird is this?" Alex asked, eyes wide with curiosity.
"A blue jay," I said, glancing at the bird. "Isn't he beautiful?"
"Yes," Alex agreed, nodding. "Is it really a news bird?"
"Uh-huh," I responded, absentmindedly stroking the bird's head with one hand while unfurling the scroll with the other.
[Dear Shay,
I apologize for the delay in writing—between the relentless demands of the judges and my dear stepfather's obsession with checking my mail, I've barely had a moment to myself. This month has been a tough one. I spent three weeks tracking some black mages around Transylvania, and somehow, I ended up being invited to a Witches' Sabbath.
I have to say, they weren't the kind of witches I'd imagined. Once they discovered that Sir Michael Alisten Crowry wasn't only not the Sorcerer Lord's advisor, but didn't even exist, their hospitality dropped like a stone at their private gathering. Did you know she-wolf roast is a common dish at these things? They also insisted I try their liver pate... as if I didn't have enough problems already.
There's a lot going on in the Crosspherat. Something big is brewing. The judges have been meeting daily this week, and I can feel it—the air is thick with danger. Be careful, Shay. No one is safe anymore, whether they claim to be impartial or choose a side.
Mica]
Alex glanced over at me, his expression tense.
"What does it say?"
He must have read my face before I even said a word—he knew something was wrong. Mica's letters, even when they are lighthearted, are rare. He only writes at Christmas, once a year. So, when I saw the seriousness of his words, my stomach churned.
I swallowed hard and repeated the line, "The Crosspherat is on the move."
To reassure Alex, I added, "No serious trouble yet."
Alex didn't look convinced.
"Can you get me a pen and paper?" I asked, already scanning Mica's letter for the next step.
Less than a minute later, Alex returned, and I quickly scribbled a thank-you note, tying it to Hermes' leg with trembling hands.
"Wir sind die Jäger!" sang Hermes, and I froze.
I patted the bird gently. It had noticed my sudden shift in mood, and I could feel its tiny body vibrating with anxiety. Alex stared at me, wide-eyed.
"They can imitate any sound they hear," I explained quietly, my voice strained. "So, of course, they can mimic human voices too."
"Pass auf," I added, and Hermes flew out of the window in an instant.
"Did it understand what you said?" Alex asked, his voice uncertain.
"I don't know... probably," I replied, the heaviness in my chest growing. "Its owner speaks German, so it likely understood."
Alex looked down at the piece of paper on the table, the letters now seeming to weigh heavily between us.
"Mica is my cousin," I said, trying to steady my voice. "His mother is Hungarian, so he learned a bit of Hungarian growing up. When we were kids, we used to meet up often. He taught me German."
For a moment, I saw him relax, his stiff posture loosening for the first time in ages. Sometimes it felt good to be a bit open with your best friend.
"In any case, I have to get to work soon."
"In any case," I continued, standing up, "I have to get to work soon."
Alex nodded silently, and I gave him a quick wave as I moved toward the hall. But as soon as my back was turned, the smile fell from my face. A sick, nauseating feeling gripped my insides, as if the ground had slipped from beneath me.
War meant only one thing: death.
It meant the end of lives, families ripped apart, and nothing but sorrow left behind. There's nothing noble in such senseless conflict—no matter the cause.
I couldn't help but wish Alex, and all my friends, could be spared from the brutal truth of it. I couldn't bear the thought of them ever knowing what I've known—what I've escaped from. Let them live in blissful ignorance, untouched by the horrors I carry with me. Because the happiness of monsters is the rarest and most fleeting thing I know.
If you hold on to it too tightly, you crush it in your grip, if you continue to carry it on the palm of your hand, it will slip away. What can I do to make time stand still, to make sure that the bitter tomorrow never comes, and that this happiness remains?
I decided then that whatever my fate might hold, I would not fight. I would not involve myself or my friends in this foolishness. I would simply try to carry on as long as I could.