coocoo333

  Follower

  Miles checks his phone, 10:36 AM the time reads. His leg shakes up and down as the bus comes to a stop. He gets up and dashes out the door, only giving enough time to shout a quick thank you to the driver before running toward the college. His first physics css is today at 10:30 AM, making him currently 6—no, scratch that. The clock on his phone reads 10:37 AM, 7 minutes te. Miles hates being te, unfortunately, it’s a common experience. Either way, it will take at least 2 minutes to make it to css, making him 9 minutes te, and 9 might as well be 10. Not a great first impression he wants to leave the b instructor with. He sprints up the stairs leading into the college.

  The college is an old building, built in the early 20th century. Pine Ridge College reads the engraving on the arch that surrounds the door. The name matches the town the college is in. True middle of nowhere Washington. The architecture of the building looks stereotypical for a college; the paint is fading a bit now. But there’s no time to admire the old college, Miles has a b to catch. He bursts through the entrance way and stops to catch his breath. The clock on the wall now reads 10:38 AM. Miles checks his phone to make sure he gets the room correct and walks toward the b.

  The b is on the second floor of the building, Miles already out of breath huffs up the stairs and finds the cssroom. The b instructor appears to be covering the schedule of the bs as Miles enters the room. All but one of the chairs in the back of the room is taken. Miles, attempting to be as non-disruptive as possible, heads to the back of the room. Unfortunately, as he makes his way to the back, he walks in front of a projector projecting the course schedule onto a screen behind the teacher. For a brief moment, his shadow blots out the document. This disruption prompts the b instructor to announce:

  “Punctuality will be very important in this css, it is important you give yourself the most amount of time possible to complete the bs, and being te is unfair to your b partner.”

  Miles blushes and takes a seat. He notices the girl sitting just to the right of him. She has long red hair and pale skin. She wears an unzipped grey hoodie with a dark blue blouse underneath along with bck skinny jeans. There’s also something about her he can’t put his finger on. But she seems different from all the other girls he sees on a regur basis. His attention is snapped back to the front of the room by the b instructor.

  "Your b partners for the rest of the semester will be the person you're sitting next to right now," he says. "It's best to exchange contact information with them—during our break, of course, not right now."

  Miles's attention shifts back to the redheaded girl just as she turns to examine him with mild disinterest. Her green eyes scan him from head to toe; Miles detects a hint of skepticism behind them. She turns her head back to the front. Miles does the same, not wanting to weird her out.

  The b instructor starts talking about physics and the various bs they’ll perform, afterward the css gets a five-minute break.

  The girl beside Miles takes out her phone and looks at it. Her hair droops down, covering her face. He turns to her and introduces himself.

  “Hi, I’m Miles,” he says.

  She looks up from her phone. Her green eyes study him for a moment. “Emily,” she replies.

  “I guess we’re going to be b partners,” Miles says.

  “Yup.” Her attention turns back to her phone.

  Miles searches for something to say but comes up empty—anything he thinks of feels too awkward. He settles into silence and skims the b schedule on his table. Before long, the instructor calls the css to attention, gives a brief lecture on significant figures and uncertainty, then hands out a worksheet for them to work on for the rest of the period.

  Miles, who is in school for engineering, is familiar with significant figures, so he breezes through the first few questions. As he nears the end of the booklet, Emily asks him a question.

  “Do you know how to do this?” she asks. “It’s… been a while since high school.” Emily looks embarrassed asking the question.

  “Sure,” he replies. “Basically, a sig fig is just a non-zero number, or any zero that’s sandwiched between two numbers, like the one in question two.” Emily’s eyes scan over the page, and she nods in understanding.

  “And when you’re adding?” she asks.

  “Just round to make sure your sum has the same number of sig figs as the number in the addition with the least amount of sig figs.”

  “Ah… thanks,” she says. And returns to her paper.

  “No problem,” Miles replies.

  After finishing the worksheet, css is over. Emily hasn’t finished hers, but she pces it into her binder.

  “Do you have an Instagram?” Emily asks Miles.

  “Yeah, but I use Discord more often,” he replies.

  “Actually same, but do you want to exchange both?”

  “Sure,”

  As Miles gets out his phone to add Emily to his Discord, he asks, “What are you studying here?”

  “Computer Science,” Emily replies.

  “Oh, I’ve got a friend doing that,” Miles says.

  “Cool,” Emily replies. “Welp, if I’ve got any questions about the b prep, I’ll send them your way.”

  “Cool,” Miles replies. “Hope to see you next week?”

  “Sure,” Emily says, a hint of a smile forming on her lips as she turns and walks away.

  Miles then realizes that he and Emily are walking out of the school in the same direction. Instead of making it awkward, especially since they had just parted ways and Emily has put in her earbuds, he decides to straggle behind her a bit so she won’t notice him.

  But he isn’t alone.

  As Miles walks down the stairs and out the door, he becomes aware of a woman following him. The unsettling thing is, she has no face. He turns to look at her, but she passes by without acknowledging him. Her focus is entirely on someone else—her faceless head fixed on Emily, who is now leaving the building.

  The odd thing is that the faceless woman has red hair, wears a grey hoodie, a blue blouse, bck skinny jeans, and ankle boots—an exact copy of Emily, except for the fact that her hands, instead of fingers, have a set of five protruding bdes, one for each finger.

  Miles is used to seeing apparitions—he is, after all, a descendant of “ghost hunters” (as he calls them) and thus born with the ability to see ghosts. Most ghosts are harmless spirits wandering some spiritual pne or something. Miles doesn’t really care too much about the specifics. His parents have told him he is destined to be a Ghost Hunter—or, as they call it, a “Guardian.” This would involve banishing ghosts from our realm if they pose a threat to humans and keeping the bance of the psychic pne intact, or whatever. Again, Miles doesn’t really care to know the specifics.

  Miles doesn’t want to be a Ghost Hunter. His father used to drag him along on some hunts when he was “coming of age,” but he hated it enough that his father eventually gave up trying to train him. He refuses to train—he isn’t going to end up like his sister.

  But whatever the fuck is following Emily looks dangerous. Miles feels he has a bit of a responsibility here—he can see the ghost; Emily can’t.

  “Fucking seriously,” he mutters under his breath.

  So, he follows the spirit—and the spirit follows Emily to a bus stop, where it stands ten feet behind her. It is motionless. It is watching her.

  At Miles’ apartment, he has a book that documents spirits. His parents insisted he bring it, and he hopes this spirit is listed inside. But he doesn’t want to lose sight of Emily—or the spirit following her.

  He walks past the spirit and up to the bus stop, where Emily is obliviously sitting, scrolling through social media on her phone.

  When he approaches her, he nervously blurts out, “Oh, you… you take this bus too?”

  She takes out her earbuds.

  “Which one?” she asks.

  “145?” Miles stammers, hoping they will take the same bus home.

  “Oh, no—I take the 147,” Emily replies.

  “Oh.” He doesn’t know what to say now. She would think he’s crazy if he tries to expin the situation she’s in. Miles turns his head to look at the spirit. It’s closer to Emily now. Who knows when it will strike... or what it will do...

  Emily puts her earbuds back on.

  The sound of an engine roars behind Miles as the 145 bus pulls up to the stop. Emily looks at Miles, expecting him to take the bus, and gives him a wave.

  She’s not going to understand, Miles thinks to himself. He needs a good excuse to ride the 147 bus with Emily—and he needs that excuse right now.

  “Oh, I actually am taking the 147 bus today,” Miles says.

  Emily removes an earbud. “Sorry?”

  “I’m taking the 147… today,” he repeats.

  “Oh, didn’t you say you take the 145?” she asks.

  “Yeah, that drops me off near my apartment,” Miles replies.

  “So why are you taking the 147?” Emily presses.

  “Because…” Miles tries to answer but draws a bnk. He doesn’t know what to say. And even worse, he’s almost sure now that the spirit has moved even closer to Emily. What can he tell her? He needs to think of something quickly.

  “I have… uh… a friend… yeah, I have a friend,” Miles answers, hoping Emily will buy it. Unfortunately, the look on her face tells him she does not.

  “Look, dude, we just met... and I’ve got... got a girlfriend,” she says coldly, her smile fading into a tight, humorless expression. Her eyes narrow with suspicion, and her posture shifts—arms crossing defensively as she straightens. As she speaks, the 145 bus rolls away.

  “No! that’s not what this is about. I uh… I-,”

  “Save the groveling for someone who actually cares,” Emily interrupts, her voice sharp and final. “Otherwise, leave me alone. I’ve dealt with enough creeps like you.”

  Miles doesn’t know what to say. Emily stands up, walks over to the bus stop pole, and leans on it. He’s almost certain now—if he doesn’t intervene somehow, Emily is going to die soon. But she called him a creep. He isn’t a creep. Was he?

  The uncanny doppelganger spirit is still there, and it isn’t going anywhere. Miles needs to think fast. He could get on the bus with Emily, who isn’t in the mood to listen to him right now, or he could head home, grab the book, and figure out how to warn her. He could reach out to her through social media and tell her about her spirit stalker.

  As Miles stands frozen in pce, the 147 bus pulls up to the curb. Its doors open, and Emily steps inside.

  If Miles wants to save her, he needs to get on that bus. He needs to move his legs. But… she called him a creep. Miles stands frozen as the bus pulls away from the curb.

  Immediately, the spirit quickly follows the bus. Miles needs to warn her. He opens Instagram and types up a message quickly.

  h3y Emilky I know I sound crazy but yoi have to believe me. You are in grabe danger. Someone is following you and they are going to hurt you

  Three dots appear at the bottom of the screen, indicating Emily is typing. In the meantime, Miles follows the spirit. His phone vibrates.

  Emily has responded.

  IDK what’s wrong with you. Leave me Alone Don’t Follow me.

  His phone buzzes again.

  You Have Been Blocked by this User

  “Welp she thinks I’m fucking crazy now,” Miles mutters to himself. Then he gets an idea. He can still see the spirit; he only really needs to keep track of it and figure out a way to stop it. Which means that someone else would need to read the book at his apartment.

  As Miles picks up his pace to follow the spirit, he frantically searches through his contacts on his phone. He finds the contact for his friend Zach and presses the phone button. The phone rings.

  The spirit walks into the middle of a busy road. Cars zoom past; their drivers oblivious to what they’re driving through.

  How is Miles supposed to follow it now? He sprints up the street to the nearest crosswalk.

  “Hello,” a voice comes through the phone.

  “Hi, Zach, could you do me a huge favor?” Miles asks.

  “Sure, what do you need?” Zach responds.

  “I need you to go to my apartment and grab a book, and then I’m going to need you to research something for me,” Miles expins.

  “When do you need me to do this?” Zach asks.

  “Like… right now. It’s really important.”

  “Dude, look,” Zach sighs. “I’m pying League right now.”

  “Really?”

  “Look, can this just wait like an hour or two?” Zach asks.

  “Zach, this is important!” Miles shouts.

  He reaches the crosswalk and presses the pedestrian button five times. Gasping for breath, he tries to steady himself. Emily’s doppelganger is already across the street, disappearing into an alleyway.

  “Jeez, dude, you sound out of breath. Is everything alright?” Zach asks.

  “It will be if you get me the book!” Miles demands.

  “What is this for? Like… a school thing?”

  “Not exactly…” Miles replies.

  “Then how important could it be?” Zach asks.

  “I carried you through AP Calculus st year!” Miles excims angrily. “You owe me!”

  The white figure on the crosswalk light flips on, followed by the familiar beep-boop signaling that it’s safe to cross. Miles takes off, sprinting toward the alleyway where he st saw the spirit.

  “All right dude, I’ll do it,” Zach says. “But can you tell me what’s so important?”

  “Someone could die,” Miles replies.

  “Jesus, What? Who?” Zach asks.

  “I have no time to expin. Call me when you get the book. It’s called something stupid like The Spirit’s Tomb,” Miles says.

  “And it’s in your apartment?” Zach asks.

  “Yes. Call me. Bye,” Miles hangs up, then sprints down the alleyway.

  He spots the spirit at the other end, turning right into the street. Unfortunately, in the middle of the alley is a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Miles mutters to himself. But if he doesn’t act quickly, he’ll lose the spirit. He runs down the alleyway and scales the chain-link fence. Once at the top, he only needs to get over the barbed wire.

  Careful not to touch it, Miles reaches one hand over the wire and grabs onto a support pole. He lifts his right foot as high as he can. Suddenly, his left foot slips out of the hole in the fence. He fils, trying to grab something more secure. In his panic, his left hand accidentally grabs the barbed wire.

  Miles grits his teeth as the wire catches his fall. Sharp, searing pain shoots through his hand as the barbs dig into his skin. Looking up, he sees blood running down his left hand.

  “FUCK!” Miles shouts.

  He quickly regains his footing on the fence, using his left hand to pull himself over. Once on the other side, he carefully removes two barbs from his hand, revealing deep punctures in his flesh. He jumps down from the top of the fence, nding hard on the ground.

  Ignoring the pain in his hand, Miles quickly stands, keeping his left hand out of use, and sprints down the alley.

  Miles turns right onto the street and looks around frantically for the spirit. The area is busy with pedestrians, so the figure could easily blend in. He jogs down the street in the direction he saw it go, then spots it across the road walking down the sidewalk.

  Miles quickly crosses the street, narrowly avoiding a car that screeches to a halt and bres its horn. He has no time to worry about traffic or pedestrian ws. He sprints down the street, finally catching up to the spirit.

  The spirit doesn’t seem to notice him—yet. From Miles' experience, spirits usually can tell if a mortal can see them. Maybe this one knows he’s been following it, or maybe it doesn’t care. Either way, it unmistakably resembles Emily, and it’s still heading in her direction.

  Now that he’s close enough, Miles sees the bdes protruding from the spirit’s hands in pce of fingers. They appear to be sewn in, as if the fingers were cut off and repced with these sharp bdes. His legs feel weak at the thought, so he quickly looks away from its hands. His own left hand continues to ache, now covered in blood. This is exactly why he never wanted to be a ghost hunter. Someone always gets hurt. Usually, it’s him. He’d much rather be at home right now, but an innocent life is at risk. On top of that, Emily thinks he’s a creep now. Ghost hunting is truly a thankless job.

  The spirit reaches an intersection and turns sharply left, disappearing behind some buildings on a perpendicur street. Miles quickly follows, rounding the corner, but the street is empty. Where the hell did the spirit go?

  Miles' phone rings. He gnces at it. Seeing Zach pop up on the caller ID, he answers quickly.

  “Hello? Zach, do you have the book?” Miles questions quickly, his brain moving a thousand miles a minute.

  “No… uh,” Zach stammers.

  “What’s taking so long?” Miles demands, starting to jog down the street, scanning for the spirit.

  “How exactly were you pnning on getting me access to your apartment? You live alone, right?” Zach asks.

  “Oh shit, right, you don’t have a key…” Miles pauses, then remembers. “The sliding gss door on the balcony should be unlocked.”

  “You want me to climb?” Zach asks exasperated.

  “Can you?” Miles presses.

  “I can try… I don’t think this is going to work, do you really need this book?” Zach asks.

  “Yes, I need it!” Miles nearly loses it at the thought that Zach might bail on him. “Now call me back when you’re inside, alright?”

  “Alright,” Zach replies, his tone dim. “But you better have a good expnation for all this.”

  “Good, got to go, bye!” Miles blurts out and hangs up. He scans the street one more time. “Where the fuck did it go?” he mutters. His stomach sinks as he realizes he’s lost the spirit.

  “FUCK!” Miles shouts, spping his uninjured hand against a nearby building in frustration. But then, a thought hits him. He quickly pulls up the 147-bus route on his phone, loading a map from the town’s transit website. The route shows it continues down the street just one block over from him, traveling straight for a while. Miles figures that if he follows the bus route, he might be able to track down the spirit.

  Without wasting another second, Miles sprints across the street and races down the sidewalk. Suddenly, a strong, painful grip wraps around his arm, forcing him to a halt.

  “Let go of me!” Miles yells, completely caught off guard.

  The woman grabbing him was a brunette with brown eyes, looking slightly older than Miles—maybe in her early thirties. But one thing was clear: she was stronger than he was. To make matters worse, instead of fingers, five sharp bdes were extending from her hands, wrapping around his arm and cutting deep cerations into his skin. Miles could feel the blood oozing from the wounds as the bdes dug deeper, sending a shock of pain through his whole body.

  “So… a little guardian thinks he can save the day?” The woman asks.

  Miles looks at her dumbfounded.

  “What? Cat got your tongue?” she mocks, her lips curling into a smirk.

  “You’re a spirit!” Miles blurts out.

  “I’m NOT!” she screams, her bde-like fingers suddenly stabbing deep into his right thigh. Miles gasps in agony as the bdes tear through flesh and tendon. He screams, the pain blinding him.

  The woman leans in, a twisted satisfaction on her face. “Well, I wasn’t going to let anything interrupt Emily’s rebirth day. The real Emily, of course, not the imposter in her body!” she yells, her voice filled with vicious triumph. “And well! Looks like the job is done!”

  The woman releases her grip on Miles, and he colpses to the ground, his body shaking with pain. Blood pours from his thigh and arm, pooling on the pavement beneath him. His vision blurs, and he feels a cold sweat break out on his skin. He suspects that a major artery in his thigh has been severed.

  “HELP!” Miles screams, his voice cracking. “HELP ME! I need to get to a hospital!” But the street is eerily empty. The woman is gone, and not a single car is in sight. A sinking feeling settles in his stomach.

  A thick fog obscures everything surrounding Miles. It wasn’t there a minute ago; it had appeared out of nowhere. Miles couldn’t even see the other side of the street. It was as if everything had disappeared into a grey mist. Miles had heard that some spirits could manipute fog like this, and the only spirits capable of such things were malevolent.

  This is very bad. Miles is in way over his head now. He’s going to die. He’s bleeding out. He can’t stand, can’t walk. And he’s alone. Fuck, what was he thinking? He wasn’t cut out to be a guardian or ghost hunter. He’s supposed to be a college student, that’s it. That’s what he wanted. Miles hadn’t wanted this responsibility. Why is he trying to save Emily? It’s not like he knew her. His involvement has only gotten him killed while he failed to save her.

  Suddenly, his ringtone bres from his phone. Miles jumps in surprise, quickly pulling his phone from his pocket to see Zach calling. He answers.

  “ZACH!” Miles nearly shouts in desperation.

  “Hey, Miles?” Zach asks but is immediately cut off.

  “Do you have the book!” Miles blurts out.

  “No, there’s a problem,” Zach says. “Your balcony door is locked.”

  “FUCK!” Miles shouts.

  “Look, I’m sorry buddy—” Zach starts but is interrupted.

  “ZACH, IF I DON’T GET THAT BOOK, I’M GOING TO BLEED OUT AND DIE!” Miles yells into the phone. “Now, there should be a metal patio chair on the balcony. Do you see it?”

  Zach takes a moment, but he responds simply with, “Yes.”

  “Take it and smash through the gss door!” Miles demands.

  “Really? Are you sure?” Zach asks.

  “Yes, DO IT!” Miles demands.

  “Hold on, I’m putting you on speaker,” Zach says. This is followed by sounds of rustling before Zach finally asks, “Can you hear me?”

  “Yes! I can hear you! Can you hurry?” Miles shouts, his voice strained.

  Miles’s demands are met shortly as he hears a series of gss thuds. They grow with increasing volume. Thud, Thud, THUD! THUD!

  Miles looks down to see that he’s now lying in a pool of his own blood. He surely won’t st much longer.

  “Dude, it’s not breaking,” Zach reports.

  “I don’t know… Hit it HARDER!” Miles yells into the phone.

  “I’m hitting it as hard as I can, I guess windows are a lot stronger than they are in the movies,” Zach says.

  “FUCK! Try again!” Miles urges, barely able to keep his composure.

  “Are you sure I can’t just call 911?” Zach asks worriedly. “Or you call 911, where are you?”

  “No one would be able to find me,” Miles gasps, gritting his teeth as a sharp pain surges through his leg. “Something to do with the fog,” he expins.

  “This isn’t making sense! Expin to me what’s happening!” Zach demands.

  “THERE IS NO TIME, I’M DYING!” Miles shouts.

  “I’m not doubting that. It just seems like we should be calling emergency services rather than trying to get me to break and enter into your apartment!” Zach yells back into the phone.

  “Look, I’m bleeding out, dude, because a spirit fucking cut my leg with bdes protruding from its hands, and I need that book to know how to do a healing spell!” Miles shouts, his voice strained and weak from pain.

  A long pause follows, stretching into uncomfortable silence. Zach knew that ghosts existed—he’d known since Miles saved him from one in 8th grade. Why the hell isn’t he answering?

  “Zach? Hello?” Miles asks into the phone, his voice trembling from pain.

  “Your… ghost hunting?” Zach responds, stunned. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

  “YES! NOW GET ME THE FUCKING BOOK!” Miles shouts.

  There is a brief pause before the sharp piercing sound of Miles’s apartment balcony door shattering into pieces erupts out of the phone’s speakers.

  “You owe me one after this, dude,” Zach says. “Where’s the book?”

  “On my bookshelf somewhere, I’m pretty sure,” Miles replies, dazed. He can feel himself getting lightheaded, losing too much blood.

  “Okay, I’ve got it,” Zach says. “You’re looking for, like… a healing spell?”

  “Yes,” Miles answers, his vision beginning to blur.

  “Where in the book would that be?” Zach asks.

  “I don’t know,” Miles says faintly. He hears the rustling of pages as Zach flips through the book on the other end of the phone. Each agonizing second feels like his st breath.

  Oh God, he was so stupid. Why did he do this? He thought he could fight a ghost with no training. He had to have his self-important hero moment—trying to be the smart, strong guy who saves the girl. And now, he’d gotten himself killed.

  His vision starts to darken, and Miles closes his eyes.

  “Found it. Uh, I think you’re going to need something called a power center?” Zach says. “I’m not sure what that is.”

  Miles didn’t have a power center set up. It was over, this was how he died. Doing the thing he hated most. But what the hell, it was worth trying the spell anyway. Maybe someone else had set one up nearby. It was a long shot—wishful thinking. It wouldn’t work.

  For a moment, Miles says nothing, ready to give in. But he wills himself to speak.

  “It doesn’t matter. How do I perform the spell?” he asks.

  “Okay, for temporary healing—one hour—just follow these instructions,” Zach says, rushing through the words. “Hold your hands in a triangle shape over your heart, hold your breath for sixty seconds, then say, ‘Healing X-713’...”

  Zach pauses. “You’d think this magic stuff would be more mystical, you know?”

  Miles forces his weak hands onto his chest above his heart and puts them into a triangle shape. He takes a long deep breath, one that truly feels like his st, and he holds his breath.

  For sixty agonizing seconds, Miles waits, counting.

  At twenty seconds, he feels like he’s going to pass out.

  At thirty, he almost does.

  But he knows—if he passes out, he’s not coming back.

  He thinks about how pointless this is. It’s not going to work. There won’t be a power center nearby to recognize his magic.

  Magic, of course, is an artificial construct. Developed on the spirit pne by old guardians. Each spell’s code is created somehow and stored inside power centers that any guardian can tap into and execute. But without one in range, the magic won’t work.

  Forty seconds.

  Miles feels his lungs start to burn. Parts of his body go numb. The outside world fades. Miles drifts into a bck void. A quiet, peaceful void of nothing.

  Fifty seconds.

  It would be so easy to let the bck void embrace him, after all none of this would matter when he died. He’s gd to know that dying is at least peaceful and not some horrible excruciating moment before your life is over.

  Fifty-five seconds.

  But he’s close.

  Death will meet him soon—Miles is sure of that—but he needs to give this one more shot. One st try.

  Fifty-eight seconds.

  Fifty-nine seconds.

  Sixty seconds.

  With barely a whisper, Miles manages to speak: “healingx713.”

  Now he could embrace the bckness. He let himself into the bckness. Now it was consuming him.

  Miles’s eyes shoot open. He takes a huge gasp of air and sits up.

  He is on the street. Pedestrians are walking around him, some giving him worried looks.

  A woman stops beside him.

  “Oh my god! Are you ok?” she asks.

  “Someone call 911,” another person says.

  “Jesus, that’s a lot of blood,” a man mutters somewhere nearby.

  “What?” Miles asks, dazed and confused.

  The woman pces a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, you need to lie down, it looks like you’re hurt really bad,” she says.

  Miles scans his surroundings. His phone lies on the concrete, and he can faintly hear Zach’s worried voice coming through it.

  Nearby, another woman is on her phone, eyes locked on him in concern. “Yes, there’s a young man, he’s bleeding really badly—45th and 12th,” she tells the dispatcher.

  A small crowd has now gathered around him. Miles reaches for his phone and tries to stand, but several people rush to stop him.

  “Hey, kid,” a man says. “You’re not well enough to be standing right now.”

  “I’m okay...” Miles mutters, pushing people off as he slowly stands.

  He is okay. It worked!

  The spell worked at the st minute!

  Miles hadn’t set up a Power Centre… there was already one in town. But by who? Is there another ghost hunter here?

  The crowd watches, stunned, as Miles walks away. He picks up his phone and brings it back to his ear. Zach’s frantic voice comes through.

  “Miles! Miles, are you there? Are you OK? Someone stabbed you?” Zach’s voice shakes with panic, pleading for a response.

  “I’m fine. And someone else’s life is on the line—that’s where our focus needs to be,” Miles says, walking quickly toward the bus route he originally pnned to follow. “And it wasn’t a someone. It was a something that stabbed me.”

  “What was it?” Zach asks.

  “That’s your job to figure out,” Miles says firmly. “It’s a spirit. It picks a target, copies their exact appearance, and then follows them around. Oh—and instead of fingers, it has bdes. And no face. I need you to go through that book and find any spirit that matches that description.”

  There’s a long pause on the other end.

  “Hello? Did you get all that?” Miles asks.

  “So, to crify—it's a doppelganger spirit with no face and bdes for hands?” Zach asks. “Why is it after you?”

  “Yes,” Miles says. “And no, it’s after someone else. I need you to help me save them.”

  “Why? Isn’t there usually another ghost hunter around to handle that?” Zach asks.

  Miles hesitates. “Because... fuck, you’re right. The existence of the Power Centre implies another ghost hunter is already here.”

  He pauses, suddenly unsure. Why is he doing this? If another ghost hunter is in town, surely they’ve already been on the case. Why does he need to save some girl who probably thinks he’s insane? He barely even knows her. He could’ve just walked away, gone home, stayed out of harm’s way. No blood, no chaos, none of this bullshit.

  “Fuck, I don’t know why. I should go home, man. The other ghost hunter will figure it out. I’m wasting my time.”

  “That’s fair,” Zach says. “Who was it you were trying to save, anyway?” There’s a wave of relief in his voice. Miles notices. It’s kind of nice, knowing Zach was genuinely worried.

  “Some girl I met in my physics b today. We were b partners,” Miles mutters, turning around and starting the walk home.

  “Is she hot?” Zach asks.

  “Oh, shut up,” Miles snaps. “That’s not why I did this. I did it because I can see ghosts and she can’t. That gives me a responsibility to fight these things.”

  “How many people have you thought about saving and didn’t?” Zach asks. “I’m guessing this isn’t something you do often.”

  “My parents always had it covered, man. And it’s not like there’s some dangerous spirit every day—maybe five times a year,” Miles expins.

  “But you wanted to save this girl?” Zach presses.

  “Yes! Because my parents aren’t here. They’re several hours away,” Miles says, frustration mounting.

  “So, who’s the other ghost hunter you’re trusting with the safety of this girl you definitely don’t like?” Zach asks.

  “I don’t know,” Miles admits. “And I don’t like her. She has a girlfriend anyway! God, you’re such an asshole sometimes!”

  “Well,” Zach says with a soft chuckle, “I’m gd you’re safe.”

  And then Miles stops in his tracks. A cold shiver runs down his spine.

  He doesn’t know what will happen to Emily if he leaves her in the hands of someone he doesn’t even know. What if they can’t save her? What if they don’t even know she’s being stalked right now? His parents couldn’t always save everyone...

  He knew about the ghost…

  She didn’t…

  Miles’s mind fshes back to that night—his 13th birthday, when Zach had slept over. That horrible night. His parents couldn’t have saved Zach.

  He did.

  “Welp, I trust you know what’s best,” Zach says, breaking the silence. “Damn, I always wanted a lesbian friend. It’s like, a girl you can talk to about other girls! That’s awesome. She’d have, like, secret insider knowledge or something!”

  “Zach, I need that spirit now,” Miles says, urgency returning to his voice. “I’ve changed my mind. I need to save her.”

  He spins around and starts walking back toward the bus route.

  “You sure about this, dude? I hope you know what you’re doing,” Zach says.

  “I have no idea what I’m doing,” Miles admits. “And I’m not sure. But what other choice do I have? What if I show up to school next Friday and she’s not there... because she’s dead?”

  But even as he says it, a darker thought creeps into his mind.

  What if he comes to school... and his b partner is there—except it’s that thing wearing her face?

  “Look, when you find the spirit, call me back,” Miles says quickly, and hangs up before Zach can respond.

  It occurs to Miles that he might need advice from his parents. He quickly calls his dad—it goes to voicemail. He tries his mom. Voicemail again. Typical.

  They probably won’t check their phones until ter tonight. They’re always impossible to get a hold of when it matters.

  Miles lets out a frustrated sigh and sprints down the street, rounding a corner. He’s back on the bus route now. All he needs to do is find that damn-

  He stops dead in his tracks.

  Standing at the bus stop directly in front of him is Emily, a bag of groceries in her arms.

  And standing right behind her—silent, close, too close—is the spirit.

  Oh, God. What is he going to say? How is he going to convince her? He needs to think of something fast. Miles is lucky she hasn’t noticed him yet—the guy she’d probably think was stalking her, standing only 100 feet away. His palms are sweaty.

  Then his heart drops as he hears the familiar sound of the air brakes from a city bus coming to a stop. Miles turns his head to see the next bus, the one Emily is probably taking, stopped at a traffic light. And to make things worse, as he turns back to look at Emily, she’s looking straight at him. Her eyes pierce into him with burning rage.

  Miles wants to run. He doesn’t want to face the wrath of a woman who, under normal circumstances, would probably have every right to be mad at him. But he can’t. He needs to save her. He has to at least try.

  “What are you doing here?!” Emily yells, her voice trembling with barely contained rage. “I thought I told you not to follow me!”

  Just as she finishes, Miles’s ringtone goes off. He pulls out his phone to see Zach calling, and without thinking, he picks up.

  “Hello? Hey, dude… I think I found your ghost, but I’ve got a slight problem… The police are here. I think someone called in a break-and-enter.” Zach’s expnation is interrupted by a loud knock at the door, followed by a muffled shout.

  “POLICE! OPEN THIS DOOR AND PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!”

  “Tell me everything you know—quickly!” Miles nearly shouts into the phone.

  “Oh, nice try, wise guy! But you’re not getting out of this! I don’t know what you’re trying to do—py some sick joke on me or what—but I’m sick and tired of the world treating me like dogshit for being who I am! I’ve had it with bigoted pieces of shit like you who can’t leave me the fuck alone!” Emily yells, her rage bursting out of her.

  Miles is stunned. All he can do is stand there, frozen.

  “Ok so It’s called a mimic, it’s a spirit, that um… essentially, uh… takes the form of a targeted human, and… Like” Zach pauses, “it follows the target around, getting closer, and closer until it strikes. It uses its bdes to cut off the face of the target and then it puts it on its own face. This allows the spirit to rejoin the living world, assuming the identity of the target, this of course kills the target.” Zach’s voice reads incredulously.

  “Okay, how do I stop it?” Miles asks urgently.

  “Hey!, Hello, I’m talking to you, Marcus, Brandon, whatever your name was, who are you talking to creep!” Emily asks. “Whatever, I’m calling the police now!”

  Before Miles can respond, she pulls out her phone and dials 911.

  Just then, a woman rounds the corner.

  It’s her. The woman who stabbed Miles.

  “Oh, there you are!” she calls out. “Hey, you lost a lot of blood. You need to go to the hospital!”

  Miles staggers back, terrified.

  The traffic light turns green, and the bus’s engine roars into gear, driving towards the bus stop. Emily looks eager to seek refuge on the approaching bus.

  “Uh… bh, bh, bh,” Zach mutters over the phone, still talking, “The target needs to be an astral projector so it can interact with the spirit pne—”

  That’s it. Miles’s eyes widen. That’s what he senses the first time he sees her—what makes her different.

  “Sir, you need to get to a hospital,” the woman says again, stepping closer. She reaches out and pces a hand on his shoulder.

  Miles looks at the hand on his shoulder.

  Five long bdes protrude from her fingers.

  Miles jerks the hand away and quickly approaches Emily, who backs away from him.

  “Stay away from me!” she screams, stepping backward—nearly bumping into her mimic. It doesn’t react. Its head remains tilted toward her, still and eerily focused.

  “Emily,” Miles pleads, breathless, “when you dream—do you leave your body? Do you see yourself floating? Do you go pces, see people—people who are dead? Visions of the future? Weird, impossible stuff—voodoo crap, whatever you want to call it!”

  Emily freezes. Her face goes pale.

  “Dude, hello?” Zach’s voice says in Miles’s ear. “I don’t have much time—they’re gonna break the door down!”

  “SIR! YOU NEED TO COME WITH ME RIGHT NOW!” the woman screams, charging forward. A twisted smile stretches across her face, unnatural and wide. Blood drips down her neck, seeping through the seam where the face has been sewn on.

  “DO YOU?!” Miles shouts, locking eyes with Emily.

  The bus pulls up and hisses to a stop. The doors swing open.

  “YOU’RE GOING TO RUIN EMILY’S BIG DAY!” the woman shrieks, her voice cracking, yered with something inhuman.

  Emily blinks. “How do you know that?” she asks, barely above a whisper.

  “Can I expin on the bus?” Miles asks, quickly.

  Emily gnces at the woman rapidly approaching and nods. Without another word, she grabs Miles’s arm and pulls him onto the bus.

  The Mimic follows.

  It steps on just behind them, moving with mechanical grace.

  Emily drags Miles down the aisle. Passengers stare as they rush past, murmuring, shifting uncomfortably. Behind them, the woman-thing climbs aboard. As she steps forward, Miles watches the skin of her stolen face begin to sag. It’s flesh peeling away from the seams.

  “HELLO, DUDE! You wanted to know how to defeat it?” Zach yells into the phone, his voice frantic and desperate.

  “Oh—SHIT, yes! How?” Miles shouts back.

  “You need to possess the target with a different spirit! The mimic will lose interest. Basically, from what I’m reading…”

  “WHAT THE FUCK?” Miles practically screams into the phone. “Is there another way?!”

  But if there was, Miles doesn’t get to hear it. Right then, there’s a bang on the other end of the call, followed by a muffled crash as a door is kicked open.

  “DROP YOUR WEAPON!” a cop bellows.

  “My phone?” Zach says, confused.

  “I SAID DROP YOUR WEAPON!”

  Clunk. The line goes dead.

  “Fuck,” Miles mumbles to himself.

  Emily drags him into a seat near the back of the bus. She looks pale, shaken, her grip on his arm vice-tight. Her mimic—the faceless doppelganger—sits beside her without a word. Miles gnces down the aisle. The woman is coming closer.

  Had that woman gotten bigger?

  “EMILY FERRIS!” the thing bellows in a voice that makes the air shake. “I TOLD YOU NOT TO SEE THAT BOY AGAIN! HE’S A BAD INFLUENCE! COME WITH YOUR MOTHER. NOW!”

  Miles stares in horror. The fp of stolen skin sewn onto the woman’s face is boiling—literally bubbling, swelling. Her flesh pulses beneath it, grotesque and stretched. Her clothes strain and tear at the seams as her body inftes, like something crawling out from underneath human skin.

  Still clutching Miles’s arm, Emily whispers, trembling: “That’s not my mother.”

  The bus lurches forward, pulling away from the stop. Around them, no one reacts. The other passengers sit quietly, staring out windows, tapping their phones—oblivious to what is going on beside them.

  Emily fumbles for her phone and dials. “Yes, hello?” she says, voice shaking. “I’m in danger. There’s a woman stalking me… She’s pretending to be my mother. I’m on the 147-bus.”

  Miles’s heart hammers in his chest. He needs to do something. But what? He doubts he could survive another stab wound.

  “EMILY!” the inhuman voice bellows. “COME WITH YOUR MOTHER RIGHT NOW!”

  The stitches on her stolen face snap one by one with tiny, wet pops. Blood pours down her neck in sheets. Her jaw stretches open, splitting at the corners. A slimy yellow liquid leaks out of it.

  Miles feels frozen.

  Emily’s arms that were wrapped around Miles’s left arm tighten. She is petrified.

  Miles has to do something. He pries himself from Emily’s grip, leaving her alone for now with the doppelganger, who at the moment seems content to just observe Emily.

  People on the bus are staring now. Staring at Miles. At the woman. But… did they actually see what was happening to her?

  Miles doesn’t think so. Even Emily—sitting right next to him—might not be seeing it the same way he is.

  Miles doesn’t know what to do.

  “BOY!” the inhuman voice bellows. “YOU’RE A BAD INFLUENCE ON MY DAUGHTER! GET OUT OF MY WAY!”

  The woman brandishes the 10 sharp bdes protruding from her hands at him. Threatening to add to the collection of cerations and stab wounds he has accumuted that day so far.

  Miles mulls over what Zach has read from the book: these things seek after people who can astral project because they can physically interact with them from the spiritual pne.

  This gives Miles an idea.

  But executing it would take significant bravery Miles does not have. Every bone in his body tells him to run off this bus as fast as possible, to abandon Emily and save himself.

  But all day long, for the first time since that night—since the night he saved Zach—Miles has been ignoring that instinct.

  Now isn’t the time to stop.

  Not when it matters most.

  He takes a breath. His legs shake. His voice breaks. But he stands up anyway, stepping between the creature and Emily.

  “If… if you want her…” Miles says, eyes wide, voice trembling, “You’re g-going to h-have to go through me.”

  The woman ughs—if you could call it that. The sound isn’t human. It’s something deeper. Wrong. Guttural.

  She takes a step toward Miles and swings.

  Miles lunges forward, just barely dodging the bdes as they slice through the air where his head had been a second before. He crashes face-first into her chest. Her body is soft and unyielding, like smming into a wall of wet cy. She doesn’t budge. Not even an inch.

  Miles reaches up—she’s towering over him now, easily seven feet tall—and scrapes his fingers under the loose fp of stitched-on skin that covers her face. His nails dig in. They sink into something slick and warm. Blood pours over his hands, mingled with some weird yellow fluid that smells like rot.

  He grits his teeth and yanks.

  The woman screams—shrill, animal, furious.

  Several stitches snap. The fp peels upward, releasing a flood of blood and yellow slime that soaks him. He’s momentarily blinded, choking on the yellow substance, just as her arm sms into him with brutal force.

  He goes flying.

  His back sms into a pole halfway down the bus aisle. The impact twists him midair, flipping him completely around before he crashes face-first into the window.

  Crack.

  His nose breaks.

  He colpses to the floor in a daze, ears ringing, vision doubled. Blood drips onto the rubber flooring beneath him.

  The woman shrieks—a sound of pure rage and agony—as blood and yellow fluid begin to gush violently from her face. It sprays across the bus like a ruptured pipe, coating the seats, windows, and floor in a grotesque mess.

  The bus driver, who had smmed the brakes just moments earlier, is now shouting over the chaos. “Get off my bus!” he yells, pointing at the woman.

  The other passengers are already gone. They might not have seen the monstrous truth beneath the woman’s skin, but what they did see was more than enough. Screaming, panicked, they had shoved past each other to get out—leaving Miles, Emily, and the bleeding horror behind.

  Emily quickly stands up and picks up Miles, resting him on her shoulder. Emily’s mimic is close behind her. Miles gnces back at it and sees it reaching its bdes toward Emily’s head pyfully. The two of them hobble toward the bus’s exit, although it’s still mostly blocked by the woman. Luckily, she is quite distracted. She tries to hold the fps of skin—that stolen face—down, but it’s no use; it only makes cerations that tear it to shreds.The other passengers are already gone. They might not have seen the monstrous truth beneath the woman’s skin, but what they did see was more than enough. Screaming, panicked, they had shoved past each other to get out—leaving Miles, Emily, and the bleeding horror behind.

  Emily quickly stands up and picks up Miles, resting him on her shoulder. Emily’s mimic is close behind her. Miles gnces back at it and sees it reaching its bdes toward Emily’s head pyfully. The two of them hobble toward the bus’s exit, although it’s still mostly blocked by the woman. Luckily, she is quite distracted. She tries to hold the fps of skin—that stolen face—down, but it’s no use; it only makes cerations that tear it to shreds.

  It’s working. Miles has figured that if she loses her face, the spirit will lose access to the physical world.

  Emily sees an opportunity as the woman, writhing in agony, turns around and creates a small opening. She drags Miles through it, and they stumble out of the bus’s door.

  As they pass, Miles gnces into the face of the woman to see what’s behind it. He sees a hole where the yellow stuff gushes out. It’s a deep hole that goes too far—impossibly far.

  Somewhere back there, he sees what looks like a flickering light.

  He looks away.

  The woman, giving up hope, turns around and stares at the bus driver, who is still trying to reason with her.

  Miles and Emily stumble away, picking up the pace—both of them desperate to get as far away as possible.

  Miles looks back and sees yellow liquid spewing from the hole where the woman’s face used to be. The bus driver is covered in it.

  He starts screaming.

  “We have to hurry,” Miles urges Emily, his voice muffled from his broken nose.

  “I’m trying!” Emily shouts. She pulls them around a corner onto a smaller, empty side street. She stops, gasping for breath.

  Miles pces a hand on his nose and snaps it back into pce with a sharp motion. He screams in pain but then takes a deep breath through his now-relocated nose. The pain is still enormous, but at least he can breathe again.

  “Jesus Christ, dude! Are you good?” Emily asks, wide-eyed.

  “I’ll have to be,” Miles replies warily.

  “Expin to me what the fuck is going on?” Emily demands. Miles can see tears welling up in her eyes.

  “There’s no time,” Miles says. He gnces at Emily’s mimic, still standing just behind her. “As long as I’m here, I don’t think the thing behind you is going to strike.”

  Emily whirls around. “What thing?”

  “You can’t see it,” Miles expins. “But—”

  He’s cut off by a scream.

  The bus driver comes sprinting around the corner after them, his eyes, nose, and mouth oozing yellow slime.

  “RUN!” Miles yells.

  He and Emily take off, thankfully leaving the mimic behind, still walking after them. But the bus driver is in hot pursuit.

  They reach an intersection, and this time, Miles grabs Emily and pulls her right, heading toward an approaching police car with its sirens bring. Both Miles and Emily wave frantically, and the car screeches to a stop. A policeman quickly opens the passenger door.

  “Miss, are you the one who called? Are you in danger?” the police officer asks Emily.

  Before Emily can respond, the bus driver, still screaming, turns the corner and charges toward them at full speed. The police officer pulls his pistol and aims it directly at the bus driver, who is barreling toward them.

  “FREEZE!” the police officer yells.

  Of course, the possessed bus driver continues barreling toward them. The officer fires two rounds in quick succession. The first round hits the bus driver’s head, causing it to explode in a burst of yellow liquid and slime, along with his brains. The second round strikes the bus driver’s chest, knocking him to the ground where his brains leak out onto the asphalt.

  “Oh my god!” Emily gasps, covering her mouth with her hand.

  “Goddammit,” Miles mutters. He can’t think about this now, but he knows he’s going to bme himself for that death ter tonight. Right now, he needs to focus on making sure it’s just one.

  “You could’ve restrained him!” Emily yells at the cop.

  The cop ignores her, rushing over to the body. “SHOTS FIRED! SHOTS FIRED!” he yells into his radio.

  Miles grabs Emily’s arm. “Come on, we have to go!” he says.

  Emily looks at him warily, tears streaming down her cheeks. “But…”

  “Look, it’s the police. I’m not sure what you were expecting.” Miles says, thinking back to his parents’ rants about cops messing up their hunts. ‘Cops always make a situation worse,’ his father used to tell him. What was he thinking fgging one down? The cops had already arrested Zach.

  Miles is clearly in over his head here, but he can’t quit now.

  He looks back at Emily. “You’re still in danger. Do you live near here?” he asks.

  “My apartment’s about a block away,” Emily replies.

  “Take us there,” Miles demands. “I’ll expin on the way. We won’t have much time!”

  Emily nods and leads him south towards her apartment.

  “Do you live with your girlfriend?” Miles asks.

  Emily looks at him confused. “I don’t… Oh… Sorry, I don’t have a girlfriend. I used to. We broke up about six months ago, but I still tell guys I have a girlfriend. Because…”

  “I get it,” Miles replies. “Thanks for saving my ass on the bus.”

  Emily blushes as she wipes tears from her eyes. “Oh, I… You’re welcome. Now, can you tell me what’s going on?”

  Miles takes a deep breath, thinking about how to best expin this, but then he tastes something sour. He quickly moves his hand up to his mouth to wipe off some of the yellow slime.

  “Oh no…” Miles says, staring at the slime.

  “What?” Emily asks, concern creeping into her voice.

  “I ingested that…” Miles says, horrified.

  “What is it?” Emily asks, the anxiety in her voice unmistakable.

  “Ectopsm,” Miles says with a shaky ugh. “It’s a real thing, and if you ingest it… the ghost who secreted it can possess you.”

  “You mean that thing on the bus?” Emily asks, her face draining of color.

  “Yes,” Miles replies grimly. “I’m not sure how much time we have. You’re going to have to listen to me very closely.”

  Emily takes a step back, her eyes wide with fear. “You’re going to… to… be like the bus driver?!”

  “Yes, but it’s fixable! Please, Emily, listen to me. There’s a much bigger threat to you!” Miles pleads.

  “What?” Emily’s voice trembles, fresh tears welling up in her eyes.

  “Remember how in your dreams you leave your body?” Miles presses, trying to steady her. Emily nods. “Those dreams are real. Emily, you can astral project yourself!”

  Emily’s eyes widen in disbelief. “No! You’re lying!”

  “How could I be?” Miles excims, his frustration mounting. “Has anything else made sense? Has any of this obeyed the ws of physics?”

  Emily shakes her head, still trying to process it all. “I-I can astral project myself?”

  “Yes!” Miles says urgently. “And that makes you a target for malevolent spirits—spirits that want to rejoin the living!”

  “That woman is after me?” Emily asks, her voice breaking.

  “No,” Miles replies, his tone grave. “But there’s something after you. I saw it when we were leaving your physics css. It’s been stalking you, watching you for a while now.”

  “You… you can see ghosts?” Emily asks, piecing it together.

  “Precisely!” Miles responds. “That ghost, it’s transformed itself into a complete duplicate of you. If it gets you, it’ll kill you and take your pce. You’ll end up like that woman!”

  Emily gasps, her face going pale. “How do we stop it?” she asks, her voice shaking with fear.

  “We’re going to need a lot of salt,” Miles responds.

  As it turns out, Emily’s apartment didn’t have enough salt to do the job, but since it was January, some guy had left a bag of road salt to melt his walkway. Miles, deciding it would work as a substitute, confidently reassured Emily that it would be fine. However, he wasn’t entirely sure himself. Either way, they didn’t have the time to buy more. The spirit was only five minutes behind them.

  Emily’s apartment was a small one-bedroom that her parents had moved her into for college—almost the same situation Miles had found himself in. But there wasn’t much time for small talk. They cleared a rug, creating a rge open space in the living room.

  Miles started dumping the salt in a circle. That’s when he heard it—a familiar, horrifying voice echoing in his head. “I’m coming for you!” it rang out. The woman was closing in, hunting for his body.

  “Miles, what’s wrong?” Emily asked, her voice tinged with worry.

  “Nothing,” Miles replied, shaking his head. He realized he had frozen in pce and quickly finished the circle. He started pouring salt in the shape of a five-point star. By the time he was done, he had drawn a salt pentagram in the center of Emily’s living room.

  “This symbol actually does shit?” Emily asked.

  “Uh, yeah, it’s a summoning circle,” Miles expined. “Although most people don’t actually know how to use them…”

  “I’m almost here!” The woman’s voice echoed in Miles’s head. He shuddered, then quickly instructed Emily to stand in the middle of the pentagram. She nodded and carefully stepped into the circle.

  “Have you done this before?” Emily asked.

  Miles thought back to the night when he was 13… “Yeah, once,” he responded.

  Suddenly, a searing pain shot through him. He colpsed to his knees, screaming. It was here. It was in his head.

  Emily has been having a normal day until she meets Miles in her physics b. At first, he seems like just another student, but she’s always a bit skeptical of cisgender straight men. After enough bad experiences, she’s learned not to let her guard down easily. However, when he reminds her about significant figures during the b and doesn’t treat her any differently, she hopes he’s just a regur guy trying to get through the css like she is. He seems happy to lend a hand if she needs help.

  But hoping that men will be normal and treat you kindly is a hope that’s often crushed. Emily’s hope that Miles isn’t a creep is shattered when he nervously tries to get himself onto the same bus.

  As she’s heading home, it becomes clear to Emily what’s going on. A younger version of herself might have let him get on the bus with her, let him make her uncomfortable, because she’s too scared of confrontation to tell those men to fuck off. But she knows better now. She uses her “I have a girlfriend” line, and when that doesn’t work, she explodes in anger, calls him a creep, and gets onto the bus. That seems to do the trick. Miles stands there, speechless and frozen. Emily smirks. The horrified look on his face is golden. That shows him.

  She gets on the bus without paying much attention to Miles. She’ll worry about changing b partners ter. But given how Miles looks, she figures he probably won’t talk to her again. So, when she receives a message from him on Instagram, she’s surprised. She doesn’t bother reading the jumbled mess. Instead, she reiterates that she wants him to leave her alone and blocks him.

  And she focuses on something else. She knows that an interaction like that always shakes her a bit and she can feel the unpleasant emotions welling in her. Fuck, why do men have to be such assholes? It doesn’t matter. Emily just needs to put this behind her like all the other times. It will blow over; it almost always does.

  She focuses on something else. She knows that an interaction like that always shakes her a bit, and she can feel the unpleasant emotions welling up inside her. Fuck, why do men have to be such assholes? It doesn’t matter. Emily just needs to put this behind her, like all the other times. It will blow over; it almost always does.

  But now, everything is different. The world she thought she knew has turned upside down. She can astral project. Miles can see ghosts. There are multiple spirits after her. And suddenly, Miles isn’t a threat to her, but a lifeline. It makes sense why he’s been following her now. She’ll apologize ter, but in the chaos of it all, she hopes her reaction is understandable.

  Now, she’s standing in the middle of a pentagram drawn with salt, and the guy she thought was stalking her has kneeled over in pain, clutching his head. Emily, horrified, knows exactly what that means. He’s being possessed; he’s going to become like the bus driver. Emily fights every instinct in her body to run.

  “Emily!” Miles gasps, his voice shaky. “I don’t have much time! Listen to me very carefully.” Emily nods, her heart pounding in her chest.

  “You’re going to have to chant the following three times, and then… How do I expin this… open your mind to something trying to get in. But make sure it’s not the mimic!” Miles expins, his words spilling out in a frantic rush.

  “What the fuck do you mean open your mind!?” Emily asks, scared. “Could you be any clearer?”

  Miles pauses, pain fshing across his face before he's interrupted by a violent wave of agony. He colpses to the ground, holding his head in his hands.

  Emily steps toward him instinctively, her mind racing with the impulse to help, but she doesn't know how. She feels helpless, unsure of what to do.

  “NO! STAY IN THE MIDDLE!” Miles snaps, his voice filled with desperation. Emily recoils, stepping back into the center of the pentagram.

  “Sorry,” she mutters, her voice small as she stands frozen in pce.

  “Look, you’re going to have to figure it out!” Miles says, lying on the ground in agony.

  “Figure it out!?” Emily yells, her voice cracking. “How the fuck am I supposed to figure this out? I don’t know what’s happening!” Emily can feel tears running down her cheeks, her frustration and fear spilling out. “I can’t figure it-”

  “LISTEN TO ME!” Miles yells, cutting her off. Emily freezes, stunned by the intensity of his voice. “You are going to figure it out!” Miles pauses, taking a breath, trying to push through the pain. “You need to say this three times and open your mind. Let anything into me. You can repce ‘anything’ with a Latin word for the spirit type you're filtering for, but I don’t remember any of those!”

  “What the fuck? You mean any spirit will be able to walk into me?” Emily asks, her voice shaking with fear. “No, there must be a better way.”

  “There isn’t!” Miles shouts, his voice desperate. “Listen to me! I’m not done, since it seems I’m going to be losing myself here very quickly and I don’t have time to fix-” Miles screams in pain, his body wracked with another wave of agony, but he quickly regains his composure.

  “Once the spirit has lost interest in possessing you, you’re going to have to repossess your body yourself. This is something you should be able to do during astral projection.” Miles expins. “You’re also going to have to figure that one out.”

  “Oh, God. Miles, I’ve never done any of this before. How the fuck am I supposed to-”

  “FUCK!” Miles shouts, his body wracked with pain once again. He quickly regains his composure, his face contorting with determination as he looks up at Emily. “Good luck. I’ll see you when we’re out of the weeds. It’s all up to you now.”

  “But-” Emily tries to say, but it's too te. Miles’ eyes go dark, completely lifeless. His body spasms and twitches violently, a sickening, unnatural convulsion. Yellow liquid—the ectopsm he had warned her about—drips from his mouth, pooling on the floor.

  Emily holds her hands to her mouth in horror, warm tears streaming down her cheeks. And as suddenly as the violent spasms started, they stop.

  Miles lies motionless on the floor, yellow slime oozing from his mouth. His eyes are open—but lifeless.

  Is he dead?

  She has to fight every instinct in her body that’s screaming at her to bolt out the door. She has to be brave—braver than anyone else has to be. She repeats the mantra she’s used time and time again, and slowly manages to compose herself.

  Miles' body still lies lifeless on the ground. She has to figure this out on her own.

  Emily takes three deep breaths and almost starts following Miles' instructions—but freezes when she hears the familiar creak of the floorboards near the entrance to her apartment.

  It’s unmistakable.

  Footsteps. From the front door.

  She snaps her head toward it, but the door is still closed. No one is there.

  Another creak. Closer this time.

  Emily’s heart pounds—probably too fast. Something is in the room with her. The mimic, as Miles called it. It’s real. It’s here. And it’s fucking invisible.

  Another creak in the floorboards. It’s in the living room with her now.

  She needs to get out. Can’t she just run from this thing forever?

  No. She needs to do this.

  Quickly, Emily spits out the phrase three times.

  “Let anything into me! Let anything into me! Let anything into me!”

  She tries to open her mind—whatever that means.

  Come on, spirits, she thinks. Enter me. Right now.

  Nothing happens.

  Another footstep. Just outside the pentagram.

  Maybe the salt is wrong. Maybe, despite Miles’ confident reassurances, it isn’t a good enough substitute. He said all they needed was the sodium…

  Emily hears another footstep—right outside the pentagram now.

  Maybe the salt is wrong. Maybe, despite Miles’ insistence that it could work as a substitute, it isn’t good enough. He said all they needed was the sodium... but how could he be sure?

  Any minute now, Emily thinks.

  She tries again. “Let anything into me! Let anything into me! Let anything into me!”

  This time, she tries to clear her mind. She focuses on her heart pounding, straining to feel something, anything. But panic seeps in around the edges of her concentration.

  What if something worse takes me over? she thinks. What if I’m letting in something even worse than the mimic? She hadn’t had time to ask Miles that question. He hadn’t seemed to think it through either.

  Goddammit, my body is at stake here! And Miles—Miles is probably dead on her living room floor.

  Still, nothing happens.

  Except—another creak in the floorboards.

  Emily stares, horrified, as a single footprint appears in the salt forming the circle around her.

  It’s right there.

  She panics. “Let anything into me! Let anything into me! Let anything into me! My mind is open—please—somebody! Help me!”

  The tears come hard and fast now. Wasn’t there a better way than this? And it isn’t even working.

  Another step. The footprint crushes part of the star—one of the lines breaks.

  “LET ANYTHING INTO ME! SOMETHING PLEASE!” Emily screams, her voice cracking.

  Another step.

  It’s beside her now.

  She feels it—its breath on her neck. Hot. Wet. Close.

  It doesn’t care about staying hidden anymore. This thing, this thing, has been following her for weeks without her even noticing. Now it’s ready to strike.

  Emily shrieks, “MY MIND IS OPEN!”

  Two strong arms wrap around Emily, and she feels something sharp graze her stomach.

  She gasps and tries to squirm, but the grip tightens. Her arms are pinned to her sides—she can’t move. It has her. And she still can’t even see it.

  “I LET SOMETHING IN! ANYTHING!” Emily screams.

  Nothing happens.

  And this time, she really means it. It’s supposed to be her only escape, the st thing she can do.

  But still—nothing.

  She feels something sharp graze her left cheek. Then another on the right. Another trace across her forehead. Another at her neck.

  What is it doing to her?

  “PLEASE!” Emily weeps. “HELP! NO! GET OFF OF ME!”

  Nothing. No one hears her.

  Miles lies motionless on the floor. The yellow ooze has now filled his mouth completely.

  Then it happens. Pain. A sudden, white-hot sting right in the center of her forehead. It’s cutting into her.

  Emily screams. She thrashes—anything to fight back—but the arms hold firm. Her body is locked in pce as the sharp things begin digging into her face.

  Her cheeks. Her neck. Her skin splits. Blood streams down her face, blinds her, fills her mouth. It tastes like metal and salt and horror.

  “NO!” she cries. “PLEASE—SOMEONE—MAKE IT STOP!”

  She can’t tell the difference between the blood and the tears now. Her whole face is wet, stinging, pulsing with pain. Every breath brings more of the warm, copper taste into her mouth.

  The sharp things keep carving, slicing deeper.

  “SOMEONE PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!” Emily wails.

  And then—

  Something hits her.

  Not physically, but like a jolt across a sense she’s never used before. A ripple in her soul. It's something human—and it’s scared.

  It’s not the thing hurting her.

  It’s something else.

  Someone.

  Help has come.

  And she lets it in.

  Although Miles loses consciousness, his spirit clings to his body with everything he has. He has to hold on—has to buy Emily as much time as possible. The thing is coming, and if it gets into him before she’s ready…

  He doesn’t want to think about that.

  He knows he can’t hold out forever. The pressure is mounting. The mimic presses against him, digging invisible cws into his soul, trying to root him out. He fights harder.

  He knows possession isn’t permanent. If he loses his body, he can get it back.

  But what is permanent is what the thing stalking Emily intends to do—kill her, take her pce, and wear her life like a mask.

  Miles grits his spectral teeth and clings harder.

  He doesn’t want to let go.

  But his grip falters.

  There’s a snap—a violent jolt—and he’s torn free, flung out of his body like a ragdoll into a void.

  Then—

  A voice.

  Emily’s voice.

  It echoes through the space between life and death, calling him, pulling him. She’s opened herself. She’s trying to let a spirit in.

  Miles sees her, glowing faintly in the void, like a lighthouse through fog. He also sees the others—spirits, circling her like vultures. Hungry. Patient.

  If one of them gets there first…

  No. It has to be him.

  His fear fuels him forward. He surges, racing through the void, faster than he ever thought he could move. The other spirits veer toward her, but they’re too slow.

  Miles reaches her first.

  He bursts into her body, feels her welcome him—her own soul loosening its grip just enough to make space. And then—

  He’s in.

  Miles opens his eyes in Emily’s body—and sees blood. Sharp, burning pain rips through him as he realizes the mimic is in the process of carving into her face.

  He writhes in its grip, trying to break free, but the spirit has her arms pinned tightly to her sides, its strength overwhelming. And then—suddenly—it stops. It lets go.

  It worked.

  Miles possessing Emily has confused the spirit. It hesitates, as if unsure what it's touching. Taking advantage of the moment, Miles wipes at Emily’s face, clearing the blood from her vision. He winces as his fingers graze several deep cerations across her cheeks, her forehead, and her neck.

  Once he can see clearly, Miles freezes. Standing directly in front of him is his own body, now upright and gring at him, ectopsm oozing from its eyes, nose, and mouth. Rage radiates off it.

  And beside it—

  The mimic.

  It’s already walking away—toward Emily.

  She’s here. She’s outside her body.

  “Emily, can you hear me?” Miles calls out.

  He expects her voice to come out of his mouth. Instead, a low, unfamiliar masculine voice echoes from her throat. It isn’t his. It isn’t hers either. It’s… something in between.

  Emily flinches at the sound, but she nods. Her spirit form hovers nearby, ghostly and silent. She can’t speak, but she looks at him, confused.

  “It’s me, Miles!” he says quickly. “I’m in your body!”

  Before he can expin further, he’s tackled by himself.

  “WHAT DID YOU DO?” his body howls, now puppeted by the spirit. It sms him—Emily’s body—into the floor. Miles tries to resist, but Emily’s frame is smaller, weaker. He’s at a disadvantage.

  “GET OUT OF EMILY’S BODY!” the spirit snarls in his voice, but it carries something inhuman behind it, warped and furious.

  “YOU get out of my body, asshole!” Miles screams back, struggling. The possessed version of himself grabs Emily’s head and sms it into the hardwood floor once. Twice. Again. Trying to knock her—him—unconscious.

  That would end the possession.

  That’s exactly what Miles has to do to his body.

  He thinks fast. Summoning everything Emily’s body has left, Miles lifts a knee and sms it into his own body’s groin.

  The spirit gasps, folding in on itself with a wheeze of shocked pain. Clearly, it had forgotten what pain feels like.

  Miles scrambles up just in time to see something worse—Emily and the mimic, now locked in a violent struggle. They're wrestling like two ghosts vying for the same grave.

  Miles realizes it too te.

  The mimic wasn’t confused. It was buying time.

  “EMILY!” Miles yells, panicked. “Don’t let it drag you back to your body!”

  He doesn’t know if she hears him. She doesn’t respond. Her spirit is too busy fighting for her life.

  The spirit in Miles’ body seizes the opportunity. It wraps its arms around Miles’ neck and yanks him down on top of it, locking him into a tight chokehold.

  Miles gasps—his air is gone.

  He cws at the arms wrapped around his throat, trying to pry them off, but it’s useless. Whether it’s that Emily’s body is too weak or his body is just too strong, the result is the same: he can’t break free. His vision begins to blur, darken around the edges. This is bad—really bad.

  If he loses consciousness, Emily will be dragged back into her body—and she’ll be unconscious. That means the mimic could finish what it started with no one to stop it.

  He can’t let that happen.

  Miles makes a split-second decision and sms his thumb into his body’s eye.

  The spirit lets out a shriek—a mixture of rage and pain—and releases him, clutching at the damaged eye. Blood and ectopsm pour out, thick and dark.

  Miles stumbles back, gasping for air. He scrambles to his feet and puts as much distance as he can between Emily’s body and his own. He spots a stool nearby, grabs it, and without hesitation swings it down on his body’s head with all the force he can muster.

  The spirit doesn't even have time to react—it crumples, Miles’ body going limp and unconscious.

  Miles takes a shaky breath.

  But it’s not over.

  He turns—and sees the mimic. It’s dragging Emily’s spirit back toward her body.

  His stomach drops.

  Mimics can’t harm physical bodies unless the spirit is inside. That’s why it wants her back in hers.

  What a stupid solution, Miles thinks. Why does this ghost-hunting crap always have to be so dumb?

  But then he notices something—he can see through the mimic. It’s transparent. Faded. Weakened.

  His heart lifts.

  He still has his power—his inherited ability to see spirits. That means he can still banish them.

  And he remembers the line his dad drilled into him since he was old enough to speak:

  “SPIRIT, I BANISH YOU FROM THIS REALM!” Miles yells, voice ringing out with force and certainty.

  The mimic stops.

  It turns to face him—really face him—for the first time. It doesn’t have a face, not exactly, but Miles can feel it. The fear.

  And then—it’s gone.

  Flung backward with a force beyond this world, it bsts through the apartment door and vanishes, ripped from this pne like a paper caught in the wind.

  Miles lets out a long breath.

  They won.

  He turns to Emily, smiling. “We won,” he says.

  Relief floods her face. Her spirit glows, radiant and shimmering—stunning, really. She looks like an angel, and Miles suddenly feels small standing in her light.

  “You can have your body back now,” he says. “I’m done with it. Doesn’t really suit me anyway.”

  Emily steps forward silently, and as she reaches her body, Miles lets go. He feels himself get gently pulled out, drifting loose again.

  She’s home.

  Miles and Emily jolt awake at the same time, both gasping in pain.

  “OH FUCK!” Emily cries. Her voice is her own again. Blood still runs down her cheeks from the deep cuts. Her face burns.

  Miles blinks—his right eye won’t open. It’s swollen shut, pulsing with pain. “I’m calling an ambunce,” he says, already fumbling for his backpack. He yanks out his phone and dials 911.

  “911, what’s your emergency?”

  “I need an ambunce for my friend—sorry, a person I’m acquainted with. She was attacked by a home intruder,” Miles says, trying to sound calm, but his voice shakes.

  Then, like a deyed wave, searing pain hits him in his leg and arm. Blood pours from wounds he doesn’t remember getting—no, wait. He does remember. The spirit. The fight.

  “Miles, what the fuck?!” Emily shouts, staring at him wide-eyed.

  “Looks like the temporary healing wore off,” Miles mutters, teeth clenched.

  “I’m going to need two ambunces,” he says into the phone—then colpses.

  Miles wakes up in the hospital, blinking under harsh fluorescent lights. He’s in a bed, hooked to an IV and a blood bag. His arm is stiff, and his leg is bandaged tight. A nurse walks over briskly.

  “You’re lucky,” she says, checking his vitals. “We’ll be keeping you a few more hours, but you’re stable. Your eye should be fine—you’ll be able to see out of it once the swelling goes down.”

  Miles nods. Relief sinks in. For a second, he thought he’d blinded himself.

  Later, after asking for his belongings, he gets his phone and checks his messages. Four.

  Two are from his parents—both apologizing for missing his earlier call.“About time,” he mumbles.

  One is from Zach:Dude you owe me BIG time. I got fucking grounded. My parents are pissed. They’re making me pay the property manager for the damage YOU had me do. You better pay me back.

  Miles groans. Right. His apartment. The broken door. The ectopsm stains. The wall. He’s definitely going to have to deal with that—and Zach.

  Then the st message comes in.

  Emily:You can consider me a friend! Thanks for saving my life ?? See you next Friday.

  A small, tired smile spreads across Miles’s face.

  Yeah. She’s going to have questions. Probably a lot of them. Ones he doesn’t have the answers to. But none of that matters right now.

  He made a friend.

  And for once, all the bullshit was worth it.