“DaaaaaAAAAAAAD! I can’t find my lunchbox!”

“Did you check with your backpack?”

“I did that already! I bet Meera took it!”

“I did NOT!”

“Did too!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did not!”

Foster shut the door, doing little to muffle his sister’s voices. The twins found a way to argue about every little problem in their 2nd grade lives, and he’d had plenty of practice with drowning them out. He had more important matters to attend to anyway, such as trying to tame the mane of white locks on top of his head. He gripped the hair brush with a fierce intensity while staring into the mirror. As hard as it was to look at the lightning scars, his hair was top priority, and after only five minutes of forceful brushing and whispered swears, it was at least presentable. When his mom used to brush his hair, she would do it quickly but forcefully, with quiet whispered apologies when she hit a particularly painful knot. Foster reckoned he liked that better than his dad’s attempts at brushing his hair. The father who would stop and apologize at every wince or hiss of pain. His mothers way was effective, and even if three years had come and gone since she passed, he couldn’t help but think of her as he brushed his own hair, quickly but forcefully. 

He shook it out for good measure before setting his glasses onto his nose. The frame was still cracked from when he sat on it, but it did its job. He got dressed, grabbed his backpack, and entered the fray of the hallway. His little sisters ran back and forth, grabbing lunch boxes, water bottles, school projects, and crumpled assignments. The sun peeked over the horizon through the kitchen window, illuminating the dark kitchen with the early light of a monday morning. Foster fished out a pair of earbuds from his jean pocket, and let himself be lost in the music as he poured cereal and checked his phone. There were a few scattered texts from family members, wishing him luck on his first day of school. Foster tried to ignore the aching worry in his stomach. He was starting a month late. He’s missed student introductions, rubrics, first lessons, first tests, everything that would have given him an ounce of comfortability in the new year. Instead, he was being thrown right into the thick of things, and he didn’t feel the least bit ready. He tried to ignore how his hands shook as he held the spoonful of Cheerios, and how his voice trembled as he unlocked the door and his father wished him a good first day. He stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of their two story red brick condominium, and breathed in the fresh air of the morning. The rain last night had left puddles along the pavement, and Foster avoided them as he walked the three blocks to his high school. The sun had stopped hiding behind the lines of buildings along the Boston streets and spread its rays along the street, hitting the green leaves that lined the road and filling the morning with the earthy scent of petrichor. Foster enjoyed these early morning walks. They were an opportunity to clear his head, and despite the honking of cars and chatter of students, it was a moment of quiet before school. Today however, each thump of his sneakers against the concrete felt like a step closer to imminent doom, and the beat of the songs that played though his earbuds felt like a funeral march. He was incredibly nervous. His hands fidgeted at his sides and he debated just turning around and giving up the endeavor entirely. Surely his dad would let him postpone this a week. No, if he didn’t do it now he never would.

He was only a few yards from the entrance of the school now, and he was a mess. He had started sweating, his old robotics t-shirt feeling sticky against his skin, and he was certain that if he opened his mouth he would vomit right onto his shoes. He kept his gaze firmly on the ground, not daring to face the school or, god forbid, another person. He was so focused on the ground that he almost missed the small gray shape in the corner of his vision. Curiosity got the better of him and he looked up to see a small tabby cat staring directly at him. Its tail flicked back and forth constantly, and Foster couldn’t help himself from kneeling down to get a better look. The cat was a silvery color with dark stripes that zigzagged along its flank. Two marks rested above each eye, raised in a way that made it seem in a perpetual state of surprise. It had a slight nick in its left ear, and whiskers that bent in every direction. Must be a stray, Foster thought. He raised a hand to pet the creature before he paused. 

The cat had completely white eyes.

 Foster felt his heart skip a beat, instantly reminded of the two people he had seen at the hospital. He had chalked that encounter up to cabin-fever induced hallucinations, but it was hard to ignore the pattern. His hesitation was not ignored by the cat, who decided to meet him halfway, and pushed its furry head into his palm. Instantly, Foster felt a chill throughout his body. The cat was freezing, and Foster pulled his hand back quickly. He felt like he had just dunked his hand into a vat of ice water, and he shivered. The cat, however, seemed completely oblivious to its effect on the boy, and rubbed its head on Foster’s knee, sending another shiver through Foster. He stood up, giving the cat an awkward smile, and sped towards the school, finally finding the motivation to get on with his day. As he left, he threw a look over his shoulder. The cat was still there, still looking at him with milky white eyes, but another boy had appeared. He was hunched over, shaggy black hair obscuring his face. He ran a hand over the cat’s head, who rubbed against it with a purr, gaze never leaving Foster.

“What do you see, bud?” The boy said. Foster turned and rushed away, but he could feel two pairs of eyes on him. He needed to stop looking behind him.

Rutherford High School was a large red-brick building on the corner of South Linden Street and across from the Trader Joes. It was three stories high with large windows, a decently-sized parking lot, and a well-maintained courtyard in the center of the school. It was one of two larger public schools in the area, the other being Sam Adams High School, which was five blocks down and across from the Whole Foods. The neighborhood was split between these two schools, and even after graduation, students were known to ask “were you a Trader's kid or a Whole Foods kid?” Foster had grown up in this neighborhood, and was a proud Traders kid, even if he was seconds from being run over in the hallway. The halls were bustling with students talking and laughing, leaning against the lockers with their friends. Foster dodged them, keeping a tight grip on his backpack and the last bits of his sanity. He wasn’t afraid to admit that the cat had shaken him, and he couldn’t quite get those eyes out of his head. He shook his head. He had more important things to think about. His eyes darted from classroom to classroom, looking for the sophomore English classroom. If he could make it through the first class, the rest of them would be less scary. He found the room, took a deep breath, and took a step in.

Foster didn’t give himself time to rethink his decision, and made a beeline for his desk. He could already feel the stares of his peers as they took his appearance in. He had known that people would ask questions, expecting it really. One does not simply show up a month late to school and get away with just passing glances. Still, one could dare to dream, and as Foster set his backpack down and took a seat, he felt that dream shatter as the two kids in front of him turned to face him.

“Hey, Foster, how are you doing?”

Foster looked up to face the boy and girl looking at him. The boy was tall, like someone had stretched his arms and legs and forgotten the rest of him. His hair was a freshly dyed blue and flopped over his head in an obviously self-done haircut. He wore a large green jacket that Foster had almost certain he had never seen him take off. 

“Hey, Cal. I’m good.”

Foster was well aware of the fact that he didn’t really have any close friends, but he and Cal had struck up a tentative friendship in their freshman art class, Cal accidentally giving him a nosebleed with a canvas board and insisting on taking him to the nurse. Since then, they had formed a hesitant companionship with one another, a companionship that had seemed to transcend the summer.

“So… how was it?”

“How was what?”

“y’know… the accident?”

“Getting struck by lightning?”

“Yeah, that.”

“It hurt.”

“Well yeah, but like, what did it feel like? Did you get any superpowers?”
“Mon dieu, Calvin, that’s so inappropriate,” The girl said, swating Cal’s arm and giving him a look of exasperation. She turned to Foster with warm brown eyes and a kind, slightly apologetic smile.

“Sorry about him,” She had a French accent and a sweet, soft voice . “What he meant to say was that we hope you are feeling better, and that if you need any help catching up, we’d be happy to help.”

“It was a genuine question, Anaïs,” Cal retorted. “Can’t I ask a genuine question?”

“You could at least try to be sensitive,” Anaïs said, brushing her strawberry blonde hair out of her face. She was very pretty, and if she addressed him again, Foster wasn’t sure he would be able to form a complete sentence for at least ten minutes. 

Foster gave her a smile, albeit a strained one, and managed to say, “thanks Anaïs,” without throwing up over his desk. She smiled, and returned to her seat a couple rows down. Cal, however, kept his gaze on Foster, and a single eyebrow raised.

“You like her?”

Foster sighed. “Are you kidding? You’d be blind not to.”

“You think she’ll be homecoming queen again?”
“Oh definitely.”

Calvin grinned mischievously. “I hear her and Abe Scott are offering tutoring this semester. Do you have any classes you’re ‘failing’?” He raised two fingers in quotation marks. 

Foster smiled. “Nah, I just got here. I can’t use that.”

Calvin nodded. “Fair, fair. Besides, you could end up with Abe instead.”
Foster frowned. “I like Abe. He’s nice.”
“That’s the problem. He’s so nice it’s almost painful. Someone spilled soup in his lap last week and he apologized to them. Maybe that’s why Adrie Pérez bit him in second grade. He was too sweet.”

Foster laughed. “Oh my god, I forgot about that.”

Calvin started talking again, something about a new art project, but suddenly, Foster noticed something. Standing in the doorway was the same boy he had seen outside with the cat. He didn’t enter the classroom, merely standing in the doorway, gaze sweeping the classroom. Foster couldn’t see his face quite clearly; the lightning strike had ruined his prescription, but he could see that the boy was tall and wore a dirty soccer jersey with a number 5. It was ripped along one hem, leaving the bottom frayed. His jeans and sneakers were dirty as well. He had a pale face with shaggy black hair that curled into his eyes and around his ears, grown out past his chin and halfway down his neck. He seemed to be looking for something. Foster craned his neck slightly to see him, but the second the boy’s gaze turned to his side of the classroom, he ducked back down, face hidden by Cal’s back. The boy huffed in frustration, and he ducked out of the classroom quickly, disappearing from the doorway and down the hallway. Foster couldn’t help but feel like the boy was looking for him.

“Foster? Foster? Are you good?”

Foster blinked. Cal was looking at him, eyebrows furrowed into a look of concern. 

“Huh? Oh, yeah I’m fine. What were you saying?”

“Oh, just about this rumor going around.”

“Rumor? What about? Is it the one about Eddie Lee?”
“Nah, that was disproven. Turns out he’s not always high, just weird. No, this one’s about the lights at school?”

“What do you mean?”
“Well like a week before school started, the old janitor died. Heart attack or something, but ever since then, the lights at the school have been going crazy. They’re flickering, randomly going on and off, and no one knows why. The school even called an electrician, but nothing changed. Some people think that it's the ghost of the janitor haunting the school.”

Foster felt a chill go down his spine at the mention of ghosts. “Really?”

Calvin shrugged. “I mean it’s obviously not true, but it’s kind of funny watching people run around talking about ghosts.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

The bell rang, and as the teacher stood up to begin the roll call, Calvin shot him one last smile. 

“Nice hair, by the way,” He said before turning around. “Kinda makes you look eighty at first, but it's growing on me.”

Foster smiled, ignoring the anxiety that festered in his stomach, and whispered a soft “thanks”.

Of all the classes that Foster was looking forward to the least, gym was easily at the top. It wasn’t that he was even allowed to do much, the doctor's note in his hand made sure of that, but even the idea of doing anything athletic made his stomach churn. His gym uniform felt itchy along his scars, and the humidity of the air made his hair frizz up. He sat on the bleachers, listening to the rhythmic thump of dodgeballs on the hardwood floor. The morning had come and gone, and dealing with the awkward stares of his peers was easier than he thought it would be. He swerved quickly to avoid another dodgeball, and gave a soft nod to the “sorry!” from the other side of the gym. As long as he kept a careful eye, he could enjoy this period in peace. 

“Hey Foster!”

Foster turned to face the boy calling him. He was tall and broad shouldered, the seemingly perfect build of a football player. He had dark skin and curly black hair cut into a temple fade. He had kind brown eyes and looked at Foster with a warm smile. “We’re glad to have you back! How are you feeling?”

Foster waved from his place by the bleachers. “I’m alright, Abe. Thanks.”

Abe smiled. “If you need anything at all, let me know, especially if you need help getting caught up. Me and Anaïs are always available as tutors, as well as anything else.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

Suddenly, Foster heard the sound of something whistling through the air, and a dodgeball smacked Abraham on the back of the head. He stumbled forward in surprise, and Foster looked up to see the short girl that threw it. Her brown eyes surrounded by a bright red eyeshadow were alight with the victory of her headshot.

“Look alive giraffe! We’re still playing a game here!”

Abe sighed in defeat, and Foster grinned.

“Is Adrie still bullying you?”

“Oh yeah. Everyday.”

“You cut her ponytail in second grade. Maybe this is just revenge.”

“Yeah, and she bit me. I thought we were even!”

Abe shot Foster one more kind look before turning around to rejoin the game. 

“I’m serious. If you need anything at all.”

“I appreciate it,” Foster replied. “Thank yo-”. His voice faltered midway through the sentence, because suddenly, the boy from before entered the gym. He scanned the crowd, and Foster felt his voice shrivel up in his throat. As the boy’s gaze swept the playing students, one of the poorly aimed dodgemalls hurled toward him, about to hit him square in the chest. But as the dodgeball met his chest, it didn’t bounce off.

It went through him.

Foster bit back a gasp of shock as the dodgeball passed right through the boy’s chest and hit the wall behind him with a thump. The boy looked completely unbothered by this, and so did everyone else. In fact, no one had paid the boy any attention at all, as if he wasn’t even there. 

Foster was pretty sure his heart had just stopped. Was he hallucinating? He had to be because there was no way that was real. Maybe he was just dying. That was more likely.

“Foster, are you alright?” Abraham was looking at him, probably concerned, but Foster wasn’t paying attention, because he was pretty sure that he was about to ascend to the heavens.

“I think I need to go to the nurse.”

Somehow the chairs in the nurse's office were more uncomfortable than the bleachers. He sipped on the juicebox the nurse had given him. He had been given a pass for the rest of the class, so he let himself lean against the cinderblock wall and try to process what the hell he just saw. The boy had disappeared by the time that Abe had led him off the bleachers and out of the gym, and Foster was growing more and more certain that he had imagined the entire thing. Maybe the stress of the school day had caused him to be a bit delirious. It was certainly possible, and Foster liked that narrative much more than the idea of ghosts. The creepy guy at the hospital had been his imagination, as was the woman, the cat, and the boy. That was the only explanation Foster wanted to believe. Ghosts weren’t real, and he had imagined the whole thing. He took another sip of his juicebox, biting the plastic straw with his teeth. Ghosts weren’t real. 

Just as Foster let his eyes flutter shut in a quick nap, he blinked, and his heart stopped.

From the wall to his side, a shape phased through the white cinderblock, and the head and shoulders of the boy appeared, passing effortlessly through the wall as if he were made of air. He went right through the wall, and hovered over the edge of the bed. He put his hand on the mattress as if bracing himself, and one of his fingers brushed Foster’s leg. Cold rushed through him as the boy’s hand brushed his leg, and jis throat went dry as he realized that his hand was solid. He was real, and Foster had just watched him walk through a wall.

The boy looked up, and through the curtain of scruffy black bangs, Foster saw milky white eyes that widened in recognition. The ghost smiled.

“So you can see me! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

Foster screamed.

“Dude, you need to stop screaming.”

Foster shivered at the feeling of freezing cold hands pressed against his mouth attempting to muffle his terrified shriek. His chest hurt and his throat ached, voice starting to go hoarse. The ghost raised an eyebrow. 

“This is getting old, man. My arms are getting tired. I need you to breathe.”

Foster did not breathe. 

“Look, this isn’t fun for me either; you’re really sweaty. Now deep breath in, deep breath out.”

Foster, against his better judgment, complied, taking in a shaky inhale. The air felt cold and scratchy against his throat, but he held it, and let it out, letting his breathing even out. The ghost watched him, hands still over his mouth, with an encouraging nod.

“That’s it. Good job. I’m going to remove my hands now, and you’re not going to scream, alright?”

Foster nodded.

“Good, okay.” He let his hands drop and fall onto his knees. “Are we cool?”

Foster blinked. “S-sure?”

“Rad, okay”, the ghost smiled, and sat on the edge of the cot, legs crossed. Foster was still pinned against the cinderblock wall, too scared to move. 

“So, hi, I’m Marshall.”

“Hi?”

“What’s your name?”

“Foster.”

“Hi Foster! I’m dead. I’m a ghost. And you can see me.”

Foster felt like he was going to vomit.

“Can you see any others? Or is it just me?”

Foster wishes he could say no, that this was all just a hallucination. Was he having a stroke? What does a stroke feel like?

“I’ve seen three.”
“Really?” Marshall grinned, eyes shining. “That’s so cool, man! And I can touch you too! This is amazing!”
“This is terrible.”

Suddenly, Marshall’s smile dropped. “Wait, this is probably a lot. Hold on.” He got up from the cot, letting his feet drop silently into the tile floor. He stood up to face Foster, and took a deep breath.

“Okay, so ghosts are real, and apparently you can see us. I am a ghost, I’ve been haunting this school for about thirty years. I’m a Trader's kid even beyond the grave! Anyways, ghosts exist because something is keeping us from passing on. Sometimes it's revenge, or love, or just something that you need done. Until that’s done, we’re stuck here, you understand?”

Foster nodded. 

“So with that in mind, how can you see me? Have you seen ghosts before, or is this new?”

“It’s a newer development,” Foster answered, voice hoarse. 

“Interesting,” Marshall muttered, beginning to pace. “Are you a medium?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Is anyone in your family a medium?”
“No?”

“Any family curses you know of?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Hmm, did you touch any haunted-looking things recently?”
“What does that even mean?”
“Just answer the question!”
“I don’t-no!”

Marshall paused. “Did you like, die recently?”

“What do you mean I- wait actually yeah I did.”

Marshall looked at him, surprised. “Wait, seriously? Wow, I was really betting on the haunted thing idea. How’d you die?”
“I got struck by lightning, died, and came back.”

“Maybe that’s it!” Marshall grinned. “Maybe dying and coming back gave you ghost powers! That’s wicked, dude!”
‘This is most certainly not wicked’, Foster thought. “Are you sure I’m not just hallucinating this?”

Marshall frowned, pondering Foster’s question, before reaching out to grab a lock of Foster’s hair and tugging sharply.

“OW! What the hell?”

“Could a hallucination do that?” Marshall retorted. Foster groaned, the pain momentarily distracting him from the nausea in his stomach. Either the nurse had put something in his juicebox that made him hallucinate this whole thing, or ghosts were real. 

“Oh my god, I can see ghosts.”

“I thought we established that.”
“We did, I just… oh my god.”

“Look, man, I’m just as confused as you are,” Marshall shrugged. “I’ve never met anyone like you before.” 

“No one? Like ever?”
“Nope, but this is cool! I finally have someone to talk to! Do you know how boring it is here?”
Foster frowned. “You’re the only ghost here?”

Marshall shook his head. “Not really. They kind of come and go, they usually clear up their earthly business in a few weeks. Oh, but there is this one guy right now that is driving me crazy! I just wish there was a way to…” He stopped pacing, and his eyes widened in realization.

“Wait a second, maybe you could help me!”

Foster looked at the ghost incredulously. “Help you? What are you talking about?”

Suddenly, the lights flickered overhead, and shut off, leaving the room shrouded in darkness. Foster jumped with a small yell of surprise, head hitting the cinderblock wall. 

“That’s the problem,” Marshall said, pointing to the lights overhead, which flickered back to life. “This new ghost, some janitor or something, has been messing with the lights and it’s getting annoying. He’s also hella spooky.” He shivered. “Gives me the creeps.”

‘So those rumors were right’, Foster thought. The idea of a ghost janitor messing with the lights sent a shiver down his spine. “So you want me to get rid of a ghost?”

“Exactly!” Marshall grinned. “I’ve tried everything, but he won’t listen to me. Maybe he’ll listen to you!”

“Why would he listen to me?”

“Because you’re alive! You could, like, chase him out or something!”
“Chase him out?” Foster sputtered. “I don’t want to chase ghosts! I don’t even want to see ghosts! How do I fix this? How do I go back to normal?”

Marshall shrugged, frowning. “Beats me, man. Maybe it’ll wear off, maybe you’re stuck with it.”

“I don’t want to be stuck with it!”
“Chill,” Marshall said, raising his hand in mock surrender. “Maybe, and follow my logic here, since you died, this is like you’re unfinished business. What if you didn’t chase him out, but help him pass on! You could talk to him and figure out what’s keeping him here! He mostly stays in the break rooms, so you could like, fix a pipe or something. Maybe if you help someone else pass on, you’ll be free! A quid pro quo sort of deal!”
Foster pondered this. This whole situation was completely unreal. ‘Ghosts are real, I’m talking to one, there’s more ghosts, and some are bad, and a bad one’s in the school, and I’m supposed to help him pass on’, he thought, relaying the insanity of their conversation. He had never wanted to do anything less, but then again, what choice did he have?

“Do you really think it could work?”
“I mean, it’s worth a shot,” Marshall replied. “It’s a solid theory.”

Foster nodded. He didn’t like it, but maybe Marshall was right. Maybe if he helped a ghost, this strange paranormal debt would be paid and he could move on with his life. “But how would I even do that? The break rooms aren’t open to students. I’d get caught if I tried anything.”

“True, true, true,” Marshall said. “Oh, I’ve got it! Sneak in tonight!”
“Sneak in?” Foster exclaimed. “Are you crazy? I’d get in so much trouble!”
“Hey, isn’t one detention worth it if you don’t have to see ghosts anymore?” Marshall responded, and Foster hated that he was right. Was he willing to risk it? To be free from this ghost problem? Absolutely. Foster let out a defeated sigh.

“Fine, I’ll help you.”

Marshall’s white eyes widened, and he let out a whoop of success. “Yes! I knew you’d come around! We’ve got a brave new Ghostbuster!”

“I still think I’m going to throw up.”
“Ew, aim over there. Just cause I can’t feel it doesn’t mean I wanna see it.”

Foster had managed to keep his lunch down for the remainder of the period, his final class proved a struggle. He tapped his pencil anxiously on his desk, barely able to pay attention to the Geometry lecture. His stomach was still queasy and his head ached from the flickering lights overhead. It wasn’t helping that Marshall wouldn’t leave him alone.

“So here’s what I’m thinking. Have you ever seen that movie Ghostbusters?” Marshall said, sitting on top of Foster’s desk and completely blocking the white board.  “I saw it on opening night like three years before I kicked the bucket! Anyways, they have all this cool machinery that catches the ghosts. So, if the whole talking it out thing doesn’t work, you should bring some of that to nab him! And then Boom! No more scary ghosts. I know, it’s genius.”

Foster shushed him, giving him a glare. 

“Is there something wrong Mr. O’Connell?” 

Foster looked up past Marshall. His teacher was looking at him with a raised eyebrow. A couple students turned to look at him. Cal turned from his spot in the back, eyeing Foster with a frown. 

“S-sorry, nothing,” Foster said, voice coming out an entire octave higher than normal. The teacher gave him a brief look before turning back to the board. Marshall had watched the interaction confusedly, before his eyes widened in understanding. 

“Ooh! I see. You’ve got to strategize! Okay okay, I’ll leave you be. See you tonight, Ghostbuster!”

With that, Marshall hopped off Foster’s desk, and disappeared through the wall. Foster slumped down in his seat, ignoring the look of concern on Cal’s face.

By the time the bell rang, Foster was up and out of his seat, quickly making his way out of the room. He made it to the bus in record time, and slumped into a seat in the back. His forehead pressed against the window, the cool glass a momentary reprieve from his pounding headache. 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” He whispered.

“Doing what?”

Foster turned to face Cal, who had dropped his backpack to the floor and taken a seat beside Foster. He leaned back, kicking his legs up onto the back of the seat in front of them. Despite the relaxed composure, the look of concern had not left his face. “You’ve been jumpy all day; is everything alright?”

Foster was silent. What could he possibly say? Should he even say anything? Part of Foster wanted to keep this all a secret, wanted to hide his freakishness from the world and just pray it goes away. But another part of him just needs someone to know. He needed someone to smile and tell him that everything will be okay. So, with this in mind, Foster took a deep breath and explained everything. 

“Foster, I love you man, but that sounds like total bull.”

“I’m serious!” Foster whispered harshly as the bus took another turn. “I saw him, I talked to him! He was real!”

“So you hallucinated a ghost?”
“I didn’t hallucinate, I saw one! I’ve seen others too!”

“Did the lightning mess up your brain that badly?”

“Cal, you have to believe me.”

Cal frowned, seemingly taking in the desperation on Foster’s face. He sighed. “I still think you need to see a therapist.”

“I’m already seeing one, Cal,” Foster replied,  “and besides, it’s not like I’m going to tell her about this!”

“This really seems like something you should tell a therapist.”

“You’re not helping!”

“Okay, okay,” Cal raised his hands in an effort to calm down his friend. “I don’t believe you, not even remotely, but I’ll help you.”

Foster’s eyes went wide. “You’ll help me? Really? Why?”

“Because you’re my friend,” Cal said. “And I just realized that I forgot my oil pastels at school, so I need to sneak in anyway. Besides, I know a guy that can help us.”
“Really, who?”

“Just meet me by the front doors at 10 tonight; then we can figure out your totally-not-real ghost problem.”

“Cal, you’re the best,” Foster said.

Cal grinned. “Aww, you flatter me.”

And with that, they fell into a comfortable silence. Cal pulled out his 3DS and the soft clicking of buttons provided a well-needed distraction for Foster. He watched Cal play, trying to ignore the dread that pooled in the pit of his stomach. In seven hours, he would be breaking into the school and getting rid of a ghost. No big deal. He could do this. 

By 9:55, Foster was completely sure that he could not, in fact, do this. He hugged his jacket closer, the night air chilly without the warm autumn sun. He had left his house, telling his father that Cal had invited him to a late night study group. He’d made his way to the school, the empty streets doing little to temper his fears, and now had been huddled in front of the school for the past twenty minutes. His hands shook and every little noise made him shiver like a leaf. 

What made him ever think that this was a good idea? He had no prior experience with ghosts. Why would he? Until earlier today, they had no effect on his life besides scaring him senseless in horror movies. Now, he had somehow convinced himself to not just break into a school and hunt a ghost, he had blabbed to Cal, the only person he could even consider a friend, who, at this point, probably thought he was completely crazy. Foster didn’t even blame him. 

“I hate this,” He whispered to himself. “I hate this so much. This was such a bad idea.”

 Why did it have to be ghosts? Why couldn't he start inexplicably seeing fairies or unicorns? Maybe this was the lightning strike’s final blow, it’s final victory over him. He pulled his knees closer to his chest. This was such a bad idea.

Just as he was about to get up and make the trek back home, a pair of headlights appeared at the entrance to the parking lot, and the ugliest red van Foster had ever seen rolled into the nearest parking spot. It hit the curb harshly, sending a shudder through the entire vehicle, and Foster was certain it would fall apart right then and there. The tires groaned and the exhaust pipe let out a dark plume of smoke that made Foster cough. One of the duct-taped doors slid open, and Cal appeared, hopping out of the van and onto the pavement below. 

“Hey Foster!” He said, grinning. “Ready to bust some ghosts?”

“I thought you didn’t believe me,” Foster said, not moving from his huddled position on the ground.

Calvin shrugged. “I still don’t, but come on, this will be fun. Live a little. Besides, I brought our way in!” With that, the other car door opened, and another person stepped out. He was tall, only a couple inches shorter than Cal, with a slim build and hunched shoulders. Curly dark hair was stuffed into a ratty red beanie, and his almond shaped eyes widened at the sight of Foster. 

“Hey, Foster! Long time no see man!”

“Eddie, we have chemistry together. I literally saw you this morning.”

“Time flies, man. It really does. Like spoons, it just rides the wind.”

It was well known that Eddie Lee never made sense, but he and Foster weren’t close, so Foster spent little time even attempting to decipher his words. 

“Eddie here has a key to the school!” Cal said excitedly. “He’s agreed to help us out!”

“Yeah, he told me about those ghosts you see,” Eddie explained. “I actually saw my grandma once.”

“Really? You saw her ghost?”

“No, she’s still alive.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway,” Cal said, holding out a hand to Foster, who took it hesitantly. “Should we get going? I still need my pastels.”

Foster let himself be pulled up onto his feet. His legs felt shaky and weak under him. 

The street light flickered overhead as Foster let himself be dragged to the door. Eddie pulled out a ring of keys from his pocket, and began to search for the right key. 

“How did you even get a school key?” Foster asked, raising an eyebrow.

“From the birds, dude. They’re everywhere.”

“That makes no- nevermind. I don’t want to know.”

As Eddie searched through the absurd amount of keys for the right one, the sound of a door opening made them all turn their heads. From a side door, three figures appeared, their confused faces illuminated by the streetlights.

“What are you guys doing here?”

Cal turned around with a sheepish grin. “Anaïs! Abe! Adrie! What a surprise! What are you doing here so late?”

“Me and Abraham were tutoring in the library,” Anaïs stated. “We were just leaving.”

“I was there as moral support,” Adrie said with a smile that indicated she was anything but. Her gaze turned to Eddie. “Are you guys breaking in?”

“What?” Foster said. “Definitely not, why would you think that?”

“Cal needs art stuff and Foster saw a ghost or something,” Eddie explained, still fiddling with the keys and ignoring Foster’s aggrieved expression. 

“Wait, Foster saw a ghost?” Adrie said. “Really?” 

Anaïs gasped, eyes wide with interest. “How fun! Can we join your ghost hunt?”

“Oh my god, not you guys too,” Calvin groaned. Abraham turned Anaïs, clutching his tutoring folders tightly.

“Anaïs, what are you doing? We can’t break into school! We’ll get detention!”

“Oh my god, buzzkill,” Adrie whined. “I’m totally down to break in.” 

Anaïs nodded. “Allez, Abraham! I want to hunt ghosts!”

Abraham sighed, dropping his head in defeat. “Fine, but I don’t like this. Ghosts freak me out.”

Foster nodded. “Maybe we should call this whole thing off.”

“Too late,” Eddie said, grinning as he held up the right key. He put it into the lock, and the door swung open with ease. Calvin looked down to Foster. “You ready?”

“No.”

“Alright, let’s go!” 

With that, the group entered the school, the door swinging shut behind them with a quiet click.

The school was completely dark. The only flickers of light were the faint glow of the exit signs and the streetlamps outside. It was quiet, the slap of their sneakers against the linoleum floor echoing through the lobby. Foster heard the rustle of someone’s hoodie pocket, and watched as Abraham turned on his phone’s flashlight. The beam lit up the area, letting Foster get a good look at the school. There was something almost sinister about the place at night. Everything that was once mundane and perfectly ordinary had seemed to distort itself into something foreboding. Foster’s heart raced in his chest, and he was sure the other’s could hear it as well. 

“Well,” Cal said, hands clapping together and echoing through the hall. “Me and Eddie will go get my stuff since he has the key. You four can go on your little imaginary ghost hunt. Later!” With that, he walked away, Eddie trailing behind him and fiddling with the keys once more. 

Anaïs turned to Foster, not at all deterred by the eerie atmosphere. “So Foster, where did you see the ghost?”

“Um,” Foster stuttered, glad that the darkness could hide his flushed face. “W-well, it’s more that I’m l-looking for one.” 

“Wait, so you didn’t even see one?” Adrie said, doing little to hide her disappointment.

“No, I saw one! I talked to him!” Foster defended quickly. “He’s the reason we’re here!”

“So you talked to a ghost?” Anaïs said. “Where?”

“Guys please,” Abraham said, clutching his phone like life support.

“Well he’s all over, but he said that there’s a ghost in the boiler room I need to get rid of.”

“Wait, the ghost is everywhere? Why hasn’t anyone else seen him?”

Foster sighed. He knew that they wouldn’t believe him, but it was worth a shot. 

“Okay, ever since I was struck by lightning, I could see ghosts. I talked to one here, and he said that if I could somehow help this other ghost pass on, it might let me no longer see them and move on with my life.”

The group was silent, and Foster didn’t need Abraham’s light to see the disbelief on their faces.

“Foster,” Abraham said. “You’re great, really, but I don’t believe that at all.”

“Yeah, are you sure you didn’t hit your head or something?” Adrie said. “I thought this was just for fun.”

“Look,” Anaïs said. “We can go to the boiler room with you, but then maybe you should go talk to someone.”
Foster wanted to argue with them, to prove that he was right, but he knew it sounded sketchy. He nodded, feeling his heart sink at their concerns. 

As they made their way down the halls, the lights began to flicker overhead. Energy hummed overhead, the intermittent buzzing sending shivers down Foster’s spine.

“Is anyone else a bit creeped out?” Abraham said, his voice tight. 

“It’s just the lights,” Adrie said, lightly punching him in the shoulder. “By the way, is anyone else kind of cold?”

She was right. Slowly, the temperature had dropped, and Foster could feel goosebumps rise along his arms. He wrapped his arms around his chest, shivering in his hoodie. As they walked, it seemed to grow colder and colder until Foster was sure he could see his own breath cloud in front of his face. The lights flashed again, the fluorescent brightened before sputtering out again. 

“This is fine. This is fine. This is fine,” Foster heard Abraham whisper in a sing-song voice. “This is cool, this is fine. Not scary at all, I love this.”

“Abe?” Adrie said. “I need you to shut up.”

Foster couldn’t help but agree, and as they neared the boiler room, his fears only worsened.

The boiler room was the last door along the science hallway, and Foster wasn’t sure that he had ever actually seen it open. It was blocked by a large metal door that always smelled vaguely of rust and the chemicals of the AP Chemistry’s recent lab. It wasn’t entirely uncommon to hear the rhythmic hum of the heaters, but something about the metallic groan tonight seemed more eerie. Adrie reached for the rusted knob, and jiggled it slightly, before deciding to shake it more vigorously.

“It’s locked.”

“Now what?” Anaïs said.

“We go home?” Foster and Abraham answered in unison.

“Hey that’s quitter talk,” Adrie retorted. She reached into her pocket and fished out a Bobby pin. “I’m going to pick the lock.”

“You know how to pick locks?” Abraham said.

“No,” Adrie said, not hesitating to shove the pin into the keyhole and start turning it haphazardly. “But I’ll learn on the job.”

“What if you make the ghost mad?” 

“Oh my god, Abe, you don’t actually believe him, do you?”

“I don’t know! In case you haven’t noticed, it’s really cold! Are these cold spots? Did I walk through someone?!” He turned to Foster in a panic. “Oh it’s cold again! Who did that used to be?!”

Foster could deal with his own panic to a certain extent, but he was not well versed in others panicking around him. Adrie was shoving a pin into a lock, Anaïs read her instructions on WikiHow, and Abraham was moving around the hallway, seemingly trying to avoid ghosts that weren’t there. The only thing that could have possibly made the situation worse, was Anaïs grabbing Foster’s wrist, looking behind him with eyes blown wide, and going dead quiet. 

Foster paused, looking from the girl’s hold on his wrist up to her horrified face. “What is it?” He asked, and as he turned his head, he caught sight of an approaching figure down the hall. Marshall stops just behind Foster, looking at Anaïs, confused. 

“What’s her deal?”

Anaïs screamed. She stumbled back, letting go of her grip on Foster’s wrist. 

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my GOD,” she whimpered, voice cracking. “Ca c'était quoi?”

“That sounds like panic, what's wrong?” Abraham said. “What did you see?”

“I don’t know!” She explained, hand shaking as she pointed at Marshall. Marshall turned to Foster. “Oh, you brought some friends!”

“We’re not friends,” Foster whispered. “We’re classmates at best.”

“Who are you talking to! Who was that?” Anaïs questioned, still pointing at Marshall. “There was something there, I swear I saw something behind you and now you’re talking to it!” 

“Wait, can she see me too?” Marshall asked, looking at Anaïs with interest. 

“Can you see him too?” Foster said. Anaïs looked at him, and slowly nodded.

“For a second, I saw something. When I touched your wrist.”

Foster looked to Marshall, and then back to Anaïs. She could see Marshall! Well, she saw something, at least. 

“Touch my wrist again.”

“What? I don’t-“

“Please.”

Anaïs frowned, and hesitantly touched his wrist again. Instantly, her gaze met Marshall’s again. 

“What do you see?” Foster asked. 

“Ask her what she sees.” Marshall whispers. Foster glares back. “I literally just did!”

“Okay, okay,” she said timidly. “I-I see a shape. It looks human, but I can’t really make out any features.” Marshall frowned and crossed his arms. 

“She can’t even see my face? Can you describe me to her? Make sure to say how attractive I am.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“And I hear a voice. Sort of,” Anaïs continued. “Like a whisper. I think I heard something about someone’s face.”

Marshall cheered, and Foster couldn’t help a slight feeling of relief. Someone finally could see what he saw! Foster smiled, something he realized probably wasn’t helping Anaïs’s situation. Abraham had stopped his hopping, and was now looking faint.

“Mon dieu, it’s a ghost, it's a ghost,” she whispered. Adrie perked up from her place at the doorknob. 

“Let me try! Let me try!” Without warning, Foster’s wrist was gripped again, and Adrie let out a gasp. “Oh my god.”

“She can see me too!” Marshall exclaimed. “Maybe if I yell, she’ll hear me.” He cupped his hands. 

“HELLO MORTAL,” he screamed, and Foster flinched back harshly. “CAN YOU HEAR ME?!”

“You’re totally right! I hear whispering,” She turned to Anaïs with a grin. Marshall let his hands drop. 

“It was worth a shot,” Foster encouraged. He turned to Anaïs and Adrie and gestured awkwardly to the air where Marshall resided.

“Everyone, this is Marshall, the school ghost.” Marshall waves, and the other three waved back, all indifferent directions, none of them Marshall’s. 

“Hi Marshall,” Anaïs said faintly. Marshall grinned and turned back to Foster. “So, how’s the sleuthing going?” 

“The door is locked, so not great.”

Marshall frowned. “Hmm, let me talk to the fella. See if I can get him out.” With that, he disappeared through the door.

Foster returned his attention back to the trio in front of him, all of whom looked like they were in different stages of a panic attack. The only one who looked somewhat stable was Adrie, she was watching Foster with interest. Foster shuffled awkwardly. 

“So you can really see ghosts.”

“Yeah.”

“And ghosts are real.”

“I mean, basically.”

“And we’re hunting a bad one.”

“Not really hunting, but if I can get him to pass on, I might get rid of the curse.”

“That’s so cool.”

Foster grimaced. “That makes one of us.”

Suddenly, the roar of the boiler room grew louder, and Marshall reappeared, scrambling through the door and stumbling to a halt in front of Foster.

“So, here’s the funny thing,” He began. “We chatted, and he’s not exactly up for visitors right now… or ever.”

“So he’s not coming out?”

“Not amicably, that’s for sure.”

Adrie grinned. “Is the ghost in there?” Foster nodded, and in an instant, Adrie was banging her fists on the door.

“HEY GHOST! GET OUT HERE! WE WANT TO TALK TO YOU!”

Foster scrambled forward. “What are you doing?!” He whispered frantically. “Are you trying to make him mad?”

“Yes!” She said, “If we can’t get in, we’ll just have to get him to come to us!” 

“No, no,” Abraham said, standing up. “This is such a bad idea. You’re going to get us killed!”

“Adrie, let’s think about this,” Anaïs said. Adrie ignored her, and started kicking the door. 

“¡Ven aquí imbécil!” She continued to shout, the kicks of her sneakers sending thundering booms throughout the hallway. Abraham whimpered, watching with wide eyes and hands pressed over his mouth. “Adrie, stop it. Please stop it.”

With one final kick, suddenly, the roar of the boiler increased, until the floor shook below them. Lockers vibrated, and all that could be heard was the groan of metal on metal. The temperature dropped, and the air turned frigid. Marshall shrieked and hid behind Foster, who was petrified. His shoes felt like they were stuck to the floor, and his hands froze at his sides. His heart beat rapidly in his chest, and he bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood. He vaguely registered the feeling of three hands on his arms and the panicked shouts of people around him. This was it. He was going to die. He was going to die in the middle of the science hallway after pissing off a janitor ghost. Foster had had more than enough of near death experiences, but out of his previous options, this wasn’t the finest.

He just hoped that if he died, he wouldn’t be stuck here. 

Ever so slowly, the doorknob turned, rusted iron screeching in protest. With a loud creak, the door opened. It swung open by itself, hitting the wall with a bang. From the shadows and steam, a tall figure steps out. He towers over the group, each step shaking the linoleum below. He was a large man with a scraggly gray beard and eyes that narrowed when they landed on the group. With a deep voice, the ghost spoke.

“Are you the kids making all that racket?”

Foster wasn’t sure if he was screaming, but in the midst of everyone else’s shrieks of terror, he might have heard his own. They tore down the hallway, Foster scrambled past lockers and classroom doors. He couldn’t see anyone else, but he didn’t care. He turned four right corners and ran until his lungs burned. He stumbled to a stop, sneakers skidding along the floor. He put his hands on his knees, chest heaving. The adrenaline had worn off and all he could do was hide and pray the ghost didn’t find him.

“You alright there kid? That lap wore you out, huh?”

Foster’s head shot up, and he was met with the face of the ghost, who hadn’t moved. 

He had gone right in a circle.

He was too tired to scream, too tired to run, and he was alone. So, with what little dignity he still possessed, he said his final request with a thin, tired, voice.

“P-please don’t kill me.”

Foster waits for the inevitable slice of a bloody ax or cold hands around his neck, but instead, the ghost lets out a soft laugh.

“I'm not going to kill you, kid.”

Foster looked up. The ghost had leaned down, and slowly placed a hand on Foster’s shoulder. Instantly, the now familiar cold rushed through him, and he shuddered. 

“So you’re the kid Marshall has been blabbing about, huh?” 

Foster nodded. “I might be.”

“Bet he’s been telling you how scary I am?”

“Maybe?”

The ghost laughed, and Foster felt himself become less and less nervous, and managed to form a full sentence. 

“H-he said that if I helped you with your unfinished b-business, the curse would go away.”

“My unfinished business?” The ghost said. He thought for a moment, eyebrows furrowed. Suddenly, his expression turned to one of realization. “I think I know what you can do.”

“Really?”

“Oh, I know so. But can you really fix it?”

Foster nodded. “I’ll do anything.”

The ghost smiled. “Good.”

Suddenly, the pounding of sneakers sounded from down the hall, and Foster was met with the right of Adrie, Abraham, and Anaïs tearing down the hallway. Adrie wielded a large yardstick, Abraham his folder sheet, and Anaïs a pair of scissors.

“LEAVE FOSTER ALONE GHOST,” Adrie shouted, running right through the ghost and swinging wildly at the air behind them. 

The ghost watched for a moment, before turning back to Foster. “I like that one. She’s spunky.”

Foster didn’t know what else to do, so he nodded. It seemed to be the right decision, because the ghost laughed. Anaïs and Abraham reached Foster with frantic expressions. 

“Foster, are you okay?” “We lost you in the halls!” “Did he steal your soul?” Their voices overlapped each other in a wave of concern that Foster thought he might drown in. 

“I’m okay, guys,” he said. “The ghost is okay, I think.” 

Anaïs frowned, and lightly placed a hand on Foster’s shoulder, her gaze immediately locking on the ghost. Adrie stopped swinging. 

“Did you figure out what the ghost wants? You said you need to help him.” The ghost turned back to Foster, 

“Actually, I think your spunky friends might be more equipped for this job. Can they hear me?”

“I can tell them what you say,” Foster replied. The ghost nodded. 

“ When I died, all I wanted on my grave was my name and date. I didn’t need anything fancy, just my name, and somehow, you know what they did?”

Foster shook his head.

“They misspelled my NAME!” The ghost thundered. “They had one job. ONE JOB. And they messed up my name! I had a good, happy life, but I swear to god, if that isn’t fixed somehow, I will be here for eternity. I need your friends to fix it. It’s Geoffrey with two F’s. TWO! Who even spells it as ‘Geofry”?!” He continued to ramble, pacing back and forth as he cursed the funeral home, the morgue, and the phonetic alphabet itself. It wasn’t until a few minutes later that he finally calmed down, and looked to Foster. The lights flashed overhead with every shout, filling the halls with the buzz of fluorescents.“If your friends fix that, I think I’ll pass on.”

Foster told them this, and Adrie’s eyes lit up. 

“So he needs us to vandalize his grave?”

“Basically.” 

“That’s exactly what I need,” Geoffrey said excitedly. “Just fix the spelling with something. Nothing flashy, just permanent.”

Foster turned to the group. “Does anyone have anything we can use?”

“I don’t,” Adrie said. “But I know who does.”

As if on cue, Calvin and Eddie arrived, Calvin clutching a box of oil pastels in his hands. Eddie waved to the group before noticing their traumatized expressions. 

“What happened to you guys?” Cal said. 

“Yeah, you look like you saw a ghost or something,” Eddie said. Adrie sighed, grabbed Eddie’s wrist and pulled it to where it rested on Foster’s forearm. She pointed to Geoffrey, who waved hesitantly. Eddie’s eyes widened in realization, and his mouth parted in a soft “oh”.

Anaïs turned to Calvin. “Hold Foster’s hand, Cal. You’ll see the ghost.”

Cal frowned. “First of all, ghosts aren’t real, and second, ew, no. Cooties.” Anaïs sighed. “You’re impossible.”

It was Adrie who gave them their new mission.

“Calvin, Eddie, we need to go and commit an act of vandalism.”

“This night just keeps getting better and better,” Cal grinned. 

“I’ll drive,” Eddie said, already halfway down the hallway.

“Do you have something that can damage a gravestone?” Anaïs called to his retreating form. 

“I have a stone cutter in my trunk!”

“I don’t want to know why he has that,” Abraham said, but he and the others followed Eddie down the hall. Foster was about to follow when he felt a cold hand on his shoulder. He turned to face Geoffrey, who gave him a small smile. “Do you mind staying here? I don’t want to be alone when I pass on. Besides, I want to have a quick word with you.”

Foster gulped. Did he really want to be alone with a ghost? His first instinct was to refuse, and tear after the others, but something in the ghost's face told him that he meant no harm. He nodded, and turned to his group. 

“I’m going to stay with Geoffrey, guys. Pick me up after you’re done, okay?”

He received several thumbs up of agreement, and suddenly, they were out of sight, and Foster was left in the company of their retreating steps echoing down the hallway, and a ghost.

It wasn’t until Eddie’s car had left the parking lot outside that Geoffrey said something.

“He put you up to a dangerous job. You know that, right?”

“Who?”

“Marshall, that ghost you were with before,”

It wasn’t until now that Foster realized that Marshall had yet to reappear. He had run away just as quickly as the rest of them at first, and hadn’t returned.

“What do you mean?” Foster asked. “You're not scary at all. You’re really nice.”

“But not all ghosts are like that,” Geoffrey said, frowning. “I’m nice because I’m still a young ghost. I only died recently, so I still remember life and who I am. As ghosts age,” he grimaced, as if remembering a particularly ugly memory. “They begin to forget the warmth of life and who they used to be. They’ll remember their lives and what they did, but they won’t remember what made them human.” He sighed, and turned to Foster with a serious expression. “The longer you are a ghost, the less you remember why life had value, and you care less and less about who you hurt. If you continue on this path, if you keep interacting with the ghosts you see, I can’t guarantee you or your friends’ safety.”

Foster's throat was tight, and his breathing felt uneven, as if something had lodged itself in his esophagus and refused to leave. He hadn’t been wrong about the ghost, he had just been lucky. What had first been a panic-inducing inconvenience now risked putting him in direct danger. What about others? Would they hurt Calvin? Anaïs? What about Meera and Saanvi? Or his father? Foster gulped, and fiddled with a string on his hoodie.

Geoffrey seemed to notice his fear, and his tight expression softened. He sighed. “Look, kid. I know it’s scary, and I’m sorry this didn’t work out how you wanted it to. But if you’re really up for it, I think this ghost thing could be good.”

Foster’s head whipped up to stare at the ghost incredulously. Geoffrey seemed to take this stunned silence as encouragement to continue. “Think about it. You’re the first I’ve ever heard that can see ghosts. I know no one else like you. But you used your power to help someone today. Because of you, I’ll be able to pass on. If you didn’t, I’d be stuck here, wandering about until I lose myself. You were able to save me, and for that I am so grateful.” He smiled, and despite the frigid air around him, Foster felt warm. 

“There are other ghosts out there, some who’ve been here much longer than I have, and they need help too. It will be dangerous, especially with older ghosts, but you could help them pass on.”

“But I,” Foster paused, not sure how to form his racing thoughts into words. “I don’t think I’m right for this. I can’t help people. This is just a curse that is ruining my life! I got lucky that my friends believed me, except for Cal, but what about other people? I can’t tell my dad, he worries enough as it is. Why can’t this just go away?”

Geoffrey shrugged. “I’m sorry kid. I can’t tell you why this happened, or if it will go away. I think as long as you keep interacting with ghosts, it will stay. If you just ignore them, this power might fade.”

“You really think so?” Foster asked, hope blooming in his chest.

“It’s an option, I think,” Geoffrey responded. “But I think you have a choice. You could ignore it, and go back to as normal of a life as you can, or you can do something. You can help other ghosts like me pass on, help them move on from their misery. This curse, as you call it, could be a blessing in disguise. There are a lot of ghosts in this city that need help, and you might be the only one that can provide it. That kid Marshall? He’s been here a while, and I don’t know his story, but even if the kid pisses me off, I know, deep down, he’s not happy here. You could help him just like how you helped me. It wouldn’t be easy, and like I said, incredibly dangerous, but it’s your choice.”

Foster was silent. What could he possibly say? He pressed his knees closer to his chest, and he raised a hand to grasp a few strands of white hair that dangled in front of his eyes. This whole idea had been to try to get rid of his curse, and now he was being told to keep it? To endanger himself? The thought of trying to live his life with the memories of dead spirits in the corners of his eyes left him feeling sick. It was a final “screw you” from the lightning that still sizzled in his veins and took the form of haunting spectors. It was devastating.

But still… what if Geoffrey was right? What if the shadows that threatened his world weren’t shadows at all? What if they were real people that had lived and died and were hurting. Would it be selfish to ignore that? To ignore people that he could help? 

Could he truly live with the regret, knowing he could have done something and didn’t?

“I don’t know.” 

He looked up, and Geoffrey was gone. The chill in the air had dissipated, and he was left alone again, curled up against the lockers. Down the hall, a figure appeared, and Foster didn’t need the sound of footsteps to tell him that Marshall was coming closer. He stopped next to Foster, and slid down the locker, sitting next to Foster. 

“You can still see me.”

“Yeah, I can.”

For once, Marshall seemed somber. “I’m sorry. This was supposed to help you.”

Foster shrugged. “It's okay. It was just a theory anyway.”

Marshall looked down, and traced a pale finger along one of the linoleum tiles. “Is he gone? Like did he pass on?”

“I think so,” Foster answered truthfully.

“Good for him.”

They were silent, Marshall’s gaze still downcast and Foster’s peering down the hall towards the main commons. The lights had stopped flickering, leaving the hallway in a dim glow. 

“So what are you going to do now?”

“I have no idea,” Foster answered. “Geoffrey said I should use my power to help others.”

“Well that’s dumb. Ghosts don’t need your help.”

“What about Geoffrey?”

“He was just a wuss. Other ghosts will rip you in half if you even try.”

“What about you?”

Marshall looked up, his white eyes wide. “Me?”

“Yeah, don’t you want to pass on?”

Marshall rolled his eyes. “Me? Please, I don’t need your help. I love it here.”

He smiled, but even Foster could tell that he was lying. 

“Marshall, if you-“

“Drop it, Foster.”

“Okay.”

It was silent again, and Foster looked down to fiddle with his fingers, ignoring the tense air. He sighed.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to make sure you were alright. You’re my friend so-“

“I’m your friend?”

Marshall looked up, eyebrows raised and mouth parted in surprise.

“I mean, yeah,” Foster replied. “Is that okay?”

Marshall was stunned, but he managed a small nod. “Yeah, that’s okay.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, and the small smile on Marshall’s face never disappeared. 

After a few minutes, Foster heard the loud echoes of the group's voices as they opened the doors and entered the hallway.

“Foster! Did it work?” Anaïs said, looking a little too happy to be waving around a stone cutter.

“It worked!” Foster called, and the group exploded in cheers and high fives. Eddie rushed forward to slap Foster’s palm. Marshall smiled as he quickly went to hit Eddie’s outstretched palm. His hand passed through Eddie’s, but he still grinned.

“Hey Eddie,” Foster said, grabbing Eddie’s hand. “You just high fived a ghost.”

Eddie looked at Marshall, and grinned.

“Sick.” 

The rest took turns high fiving Marshall, even Abraham, who immediately wiped his hand on his jacket and shivered violently. In a flurry of goodbyes, Marshall disappeared, and when Foster checked his watch his eyes went wide.

“Guys? It’s 1 o’clock. We need to get home.”

The moon was now high in the sky and Foster grimaced at the thought of walking home in the dark of night. The others frowned in similar sentiment before Eddie perked up.

“Does anyone need a ride?”

It wasn’t until they were all seated in the back of Eddie’s van that the gravity of the situation hit. As they drove home, the van was silent. Foster sat in between Calvin and Abraham, who had finally stopped panicking and had resorted to breathing heavily into a plastic water bottle, each inhale crinkling the plastic. The silence was eventually broken by Abraham pausing his bottle crushing and taking a shaky breath. 

“Holy crap,” he whispered. “Ghosts are real.”

“Yeah,” Adrie said. She was slightly more confident, but her voice still wavered, and Foster watched as she fiddled with her hoodie sleeves, fingers quivering. Anaïs nodded, gripping her knees with white knuckles. Cal’s head was pressed against the window, wincing slightly whenever they went over a pothole. It went silent again, no one was sure what to say. Foster pursed his lips. He was not one to pretend he was the best at comfort, and he was barely holding himself together. Similar to him, the knowledge of the paranormal had changed their lives forever. What possible solace could he give these people? 

It was Eddie who finally broke the tense silence. He turned around, one hand gripping the steering wheel and the other gripping the shotgun seat, which currently hosted Cal’s oil pastels. He coughed, and Foster raised his gaze from the floor to face him. 

“Do you guys mind if I put on the radio?”

The others nodded, only Anaïs able to manage a soft “sure”. He turned back to the road, and clicked on the first station, slowly turning up the volume. Instantly, the car was flooded with soft piano notes. 

“The snow glows wide on the mountain tonight

not a footprint to be seen”.

If Foster weren’t tired and slightly traumatized, he would have groaned. The song from Frozen, a movie that had come out last month, had been an ear worm that refused to leave. If it wasn’t being played on the radio, or sung endlessly by his little sisters, it was playing in his head in an incessant loop. Right now, Foster could not think of a worse song to fit the atmosphere. The people surrounding him had helped him, but now that reality had hit them, he was certain that they’d never talk to him again. The more he thought about it, the more the pit in his stomach grew. It would be best to just ask Eddie to turn off the radio and just wallow in his own ruined chance at having friends. Just as he was about to raise the request, a soft voice stopped him.

“A kingdom of isolation,” Cal mumbled softly, blank gaze not leaving the passing scenery outside. His voice was quiet and raspy, but it shattered the tense quiet. “And it looks like I’m the queen.”

“The wind is howling like the swirling storm inside,” Anaïs continued, the grip on her knees loosening. They went over a speed bump, making her voice squeak in surprise. Still, she continued, Calvin still singing with her, “Couldn’t keep it in, heaven knows I tried.”

“Don’t let them in,” Adrie’s voice was stronger, a small grin cracking through her vacant expression. “Don’t let them see.”

“Be the good girl you always have to be,” Abraham’s voice was weak from his panicked breathing, but he slowly set down the bottle.

“Conceal don’t feel don’t let them know,” Eddie joined in, much more strongly than the others. He turned a corner, following the GPS. “Well now they know!”

Foster was stunned. His eyes went wide and his mouth gaped open like a goldfish. Despite everything that had happened that night, despite having their whole worlds flipped upside down, these people were singing. He could tell they were still scared, but he couldn’t help but smile as they grew louder and more confident.

“Let it go! Let it go! Can't hold it back anymore! Let it go! Let it go! Turn away and slam the door!”

They sang louder and louder, the wavers in their voices slowly lessening. The crinkled bottle in Abraham’s hand rose in front of his face in the form of a microphone. They sang together, some voices crisp and clear, while others cracked and squeaked in uncomfortable places. Overall, they sounded horrible, but Foster had never felt happier as he finally joined in.

“I don’t care what they’re going to say! Let the storm rage on! The cold never bothered me anyway.”

They sang until the car seemed to shake with their voices. Foster sang, letting his own hesitant voice meld together with the others, and his pitchy voice skipped the high parts like a broken record player, but he smiled the whole time. The anxiety melted off his shoulders and the heavy weight he had felt ever since he was struck by that godforsaken lightning seemed to lift. He sang and he sang until his voice was hoarse and the crushing fear he had felt before, the fear that tried to convince him that these people would abandon him as soon as they stepped out of the car, was just a distant memory. Maybe it was right; maybe he was deluding himself into thinking that this situation would be okay. But maybe he wasn’t. Maybe, just maybe, at one in the morning while screaming Frozen lyrics, he decided that he would be okay. Ghosts be damned, lightning be damned, maybe all he needed to take on this Herculean responsibility was the knowledge that he wasn’t alone anymore.

Eddie pulled onto Foster’s street as they finished the final lyrics, shouting the final words with flamboyant hand flourishes and shining eyes. 

“Let the storm rage on! The cold never bothered me anyway!”

As the final piano notes went quiet, they descended into giggles, catching their breaths.

“Wow,” Foster finally said. “You guys handled this a lot better than I did.” And as they laughed, he smiled. ‘Maybe this will be okay.’

When he walked to school the next day, the cat had returned. It sat along the edge of the brick wall, pawing at a patch of grass growing in between the cracks in the concrete. When it caught sight of Foster, its bright white eyes widened in recognition, and it meowed happily, leaving its spot and going up to run its head against his pant leg. He felt a chill ripple through his body, and frowned at how familiar it felt now. The cat purred, now pawing at the fabric, and Foster sighed before bending down to let his fingers run through the silky cold fur. His fingers shook and his teeth chattered, but he smiled as he pet the ghost.

He found his seat quickly, dropping his backpack on the side of his chair. Cal hadn’t entered the classroom, but Foster was quickly greeted by Anaïs, who excitedly got up from her seat and rushed to Foster.

“Foster!” She smiled. “Crazy night, oui? How’d you sleep?”

“Not bad,” Foster said, “I was out like a light.” He wasn’t lying; for the first time since the lightning strike, he had slept dreamlessly.  

“Cal is on his way. I think he and Adrie said something about a business opportunity,” She smirked mischievously, and if Foster didn’t know any better, he’d think she knew something. Sure enough, moments later, Cal rushed into the room, followed by Adrie, Eddie, and Abraham. 

“Foster! Foster! Listen up!” Adrie exclaimed, nearly running into Cal’s desk. Her and Cal wore matching grins, and Foster, probably against his better judgment, perked up. “Yeah?”

“Okay, okay, hear us out,” Cal said. “So I know you have this whole seeing ghosts thing, which I still don't believe in but whatever, but me and Eddie and Adrie came up with this great idea. What if we took your power, and we monetized it.” He spread his arms out in a grandiose flourish, looking incredibly proud of himself. “So basically-“

“What Cal means,” Adrie interrupted, Cal giving her an affronted glare. “We had the idea to make a ghost hunting business! We get calls from people who need help getting rid of ghosts and demons and spooky stuff, and we go in and help them pass on! Best of all, we could get paid! This about it, with your ghost seeing power, and our natural charm, all six of us could be ghost hunters!”

Foster could see Anaïs already nodding beside him, but he focused on Abraham, who had yet to say anything. He could see Cal roping Eddie into his schemes, but the straight-A-Abraham?”

“Abe? How’d they convince you?” He asked with an eyebrow raised.

Abraham smiled guiltily. “College is expensive. The extra cash could help! Besides, how bad could it be?”

Cal whooped, and by now, the entire class’s gaze was on the group. Foster wanted to shrink into his seat, but he stood strong, watching as Anaïs grinned and said, “I’m in!”

“Nice!” Cal gave her a high five, and slowly turned to Foster, almost hesitantly. 

“So, Foster, what do you say? Are you in?”

Foster paused, pondering. A ghost hunting club? That’s not exactly what he had had in mind when he considered Geoffrey’s request. He thought of the dangers that the ghost had warned him of. Was he really willing to put himself in peril for some quick cash? But that’s not what it was, at least not to Foster. He thought of Geoffrey. He thought of his warm smile and the fondness of which he talked about the possibilities of Foster’s power. He thought of the happiness he must have felt as he passed on and finally found peace. Foster thought of Marshall. 

If he could help one ghost, maybe he could help others. Maybe this curse could be something good. He didn’t know where to go, or how to go about this, but he knew that for the first time, surrounded by the hopeful smiles of Cal and the others, he wasn’t alone.

Foster looked up to his new friends, and he smiled. 

“Let’s do it.”