1: Wellsworth High

  It’s a nice, balmy morning, and the sound of my footsteps are crisp as I move along the sidewalk. Normally, this would be just the kind of scenario that helps my mind relax itself and calm down, but alas. Instead of being able to sit back and enjoy the weather, I have to head to the most dreadful location in the world. Just the mere mention of this place leaves me with chills from head to toe— you’d better believe it’s a hell of a lot scarier than the half-baked ghost stories that have been circulating recently. Yup, you guessed it: I’m on my way to high school.

  “So, how did it go?”

  I yawn, not entirely processing the world around me. Visiting ‘‘‘haunted’’’ locations in the dead of night is tiring work— not going to lie, I’m pooped. I should really start considering relegating these nighttime exploits to the weekends.

  “Hey? Eid, I’m talking to you!”

  “Whazzah!?”

  I did NOT jump in fear— any dignified scientist would never— but my feet may have left the ground for the briefest of moments. Most likely the result of a strong gust of wind. Actually, come to think of it, maybe no one’s talking to me at all. Maybe that voice I heard was just the wind too.

  “You’re that tired, huh? I really don’t get why you keep putting your sleep schedule in jeopardy for a few measly bucks. Is scrounging around in haunted houses really that fun?”

  Man, the wind sure is talkative today.

  …

  Yeah, time to drop the act. I’m not getting out of this one. Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I half-mumble a response to my very persistent annoyance.

  “First, they’re not ‘haunted’. Second… you’re the very last person I want to hear sleeping advice from.”

  Well, I suppose it’s time for introductions. That very, VERY irritating individual who just won’t leave me be is Kirsten, childhood friend and school commute buddy. She’s an odd cross between a redhead and a brunette, with shoulder-length hair and a smattering of freckles. She’s wearing her outfit of choice today— hell, she wears a variation of the same outfit every day— khaki pants, a t shirt, and a thin windbreaker thrown on haphazardly, as if she’s just left her house. What’s most striking about her at first glance, however, is the huge pair of bright orange headphones she fits snugly on her ears at all times. And by all times, I mean ALL TIMES. She even sleeps in them. I’m currently working on around three hypotheses for how she can wear those and have conversations with people at the same time.

  Finally having woken up somewhat, I turn to face her properly.

  “Take a look at yourself before you start judging me. How long did you stay up gaming last night? I’m betting to three AM, if not four.”

  She pouts, in a most childish manner.

  “Hey, at least I actually make money from it! Just because you’re jealous you weren’t blessed with my natural hand-eye coordination, you’re trying to…”

  I start to tune her out. Sometimes it’s hard to believe that we’re the same age. Seriously, I don’t know how she even managed to make it to senior year with how little studying she does. It’s as if she passively absorbs life information by playing video games through osmosis or something.

  If I asked her properly, she’d probably give me the verbal equivalent of a double-spaced essay on how burning her eyes staring at a screen makes her more intelligent and improves her hand-eye coordination and a load of other crap, but I’m really just not interested in that sort of thing. Scientists don’t play video games.

  Kirsten’s just about wrapped up her rant when the tip of my local high school’s tower comes into view. Yes, I did say tower— the place used to be some sort of fortress or manor, so from the outside it looks super warlike. Most people are somewhat unnerved with that little fun fact, but it doesn’t bother me. Like I said, I’ve got nerves of steel.

  “Hey, Kirsten. Are you gonna make it to lunch?”

  I may have interrupted the last vestiges of her thought train, but I view it as a necessary evil. We’d be here all day if someone didn’t do it.

  “Hmm. Maybe, maybe not. I am just the slightest bit tired, so I might just crash in the library! Bwah ha ha!”

  She does this every day. When does she even find the time to eat? I’d ask if I wasn’t vaguely frightened of the answer.

  After taking the time to laugh to herself, Kirsten looks back in my direction.

  “But but but, what about you? You’re not gonna have time to eat either, are you? I mean, don’t you have to pick up your three dollars and fifty-two cents you get for checking out the haunted house?”

  “It was more than just three dollars and fifty-two cents!! And I… okay, very funny.”

  Kirsten, refusing to acknowledge my retort, reaches under her headphones to plug her ears with her fingers until I’m done speaking (which seems kind of redundant). Only after she confirms my shuttage-uppage does she put the fingers away and adopt a sly smile.

  “What? What’s funny? I don’t have the slightest idea of what you’re talking about?”

  Have I mentioned that Kirsten is annoying? And she isn’t even done speaking yet.

  “Now get to class! I’ll see you after school, yeah?”

  “Rgh… fine…”

  Ugh, she’s such a liar. I’d never offer my services for an amount as low as a mere three dollars and fifty-two cents. Just who does she think I am?

  With that last exchange, she schleps away, and I’m left standing in front of Wellsworth High on my own. Well, not on my own— it’s a pretty large school, and there are tons upon tons of students in their black school uniforms (optional, but highly encouraged) surrounding me. But you get what I mean.

  Actually, this is a great opportunity. Let’s break down Wellsworth. There are three main things to know about the place.

  First: Like I said, it’s a big old two-story manor. The walls are made of stone, and there are vines wrapping around it like tape around a package. The building is rectangular, with each corner having a four-story high circular tower rising out of it. In that sense, the basic layout of the building might vaguely resemble what little kids would draw if you asked them to sketch a castle. What’s most interesting about the school, however, isn’t the outside, but the inside.

  I hear a bell ring. There it is— ten minutes until classes will start taking attendance. I guess I’d better head to class. So, I join the students flooding the massive double doors that mark the entrance to the school, pushing and shoving as is expected, and make my way inside.

  Now, here’s the first hurdle. I’m sure that in most schools, people have to make a maximum of five turns to reach their first class. Sure, maybe they have to walk through long hallways or take a couple flights of stairs, but at least the route is easy to memorize.

  Here’s what I have to do to get to my first place: enter the doors, turn left, walk past three rooms, turn right, take a flight of stairs, walk straight for two rooms, turn right, walk about ten steps, turn right again… I’m not sure if that’s even a third of the complete list. Sounds easy, right?

  I ran that as a poll once, and surprisingly got a few yesses. As a future big shot scientist, I made sure to give those respondents my professional recommendation: they might want to think about getting a lobotomy.

  The second must-know fact about Wellsworth: Despite the foundation’s layout being somewhat basic, the actual placement of rooms and hallways is anything but. There’s hardly a hall that continues straight for more than 50 meters, instead opting to twist and turn like an anaconda’s tail. Apparently this was to confuse any intruders back when the school was a militaristic fixture, but now all it does is ensure that half the student body is late for at least one class a day. Every year, at the beginning of the year, the halls are basically a sea of frustrated upperclassmen and terrified freshman. We even have a name for the poor new souls who take too long to adapt to the class layout— Drifters.

  I check my watch. Five minutes left to get to class. I should get there on time, as long as I don’t—

  *thud.*

  Out of nowhere, an impact rocks my right shoulder, and I nearly take a tumble right then and there.

  From a semi-crouched position, I look up at the mountain of a kid that’s just bumped into me. He’s got long, shaggy brown hair that nearly flows down to his hips and the most ragged black school uniform I’ve ever seen draped over his skin. I don’t think I’ve seen him around before— a freshman. Perhaps he’s just a Drifter, accidentally running into me because of his unfamiliarity with the school?

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  If that’s true, I’d better help him out. A true scientist lends aid to his peers, isn’t that right?

  “Hey! Are you lost? I could help you… out… huh?”

  I trail off as he swivels his head around, but makes a big show of not seeing me. Is he serious? I’m not even that short.

  “Hey! Down here!”

  Mr. Big finally looks down at me. I note that not a hint of surprise flashes across his eyes— obviously, he knew exactly what he was doing by ignoring me just now. What is this? Is he trying to intimidate me or something? But why? I seriously can’t remember having ever seen him in my life, even though school season restarted a few weeks ago!

  The guy looks me up and down appraisingly, before scoffing with a “feh” and walking by. He even hits me again on his way through, sending me sprawling completely to the floor! Well, hit is kind of a strong word— he barely clipped with the tip of his boot. And even that was enough to upset my balance and knock me over! But still, even discounting my poor sense of balance, it’s really quite odd that I’m being treated this way. I wring every last drop out of my excellent memory, but come up blank.

  My ears burn with anger at this unjust treatment, but I decide to let it slide. One last look at his terrifyingly large back as he stalks away seals the deal in my mind. Listen, I’m all for standing up for myself and all that junk, but that’s a lot easier to do when I’m not up against a guy who looks like he could crush my entire body with one hand.

  “Well… that was strange…”

  Nobody offers me a hand as I stand up and brush myself off. It’s not out of a lack of kindness or anything— collisions in the hallways of this school are just that common. Once again, there’s no choice but to blame the architects.

  I’d like to just forget about that little collision as soon as possible, so I let out my frustration with a sigh. Then, I continue on my way. I’ve got classes to catch, after all.

  #

  I’m just about to melt into my seat in the back of History class, four hours into the school day, when the bell that indicates the start of lunch rings. It couldn’t have come soon enough— it’s taught by the kind of professor who equates verbosity to intelligence. Now, what exceedingly lamebrained turkey of a self-absorbed ignoramus would think such a thing?

  Aside from Science Club after school, lunch is the part of the day I look forward to the most. This is when all that haunt-crawling I do late at night becomes worth it. It’s when I finally get to get paid by— I mean, when I finally get to give my report to my grateful clients.

  Reaching into my backpack, I pull out a folder marked ‘Investigations’ and flip through its pages. After finding the proper ones, I make my way out of the school building and towards a cranny in one of its stone walls. Can’t make the dropoff in a wide open area, after all.

  Two figures come into view as I approach, though they’re somewhat covered by shadows. One of them sees me coming, and shifts slightly once I’m close.

  “Eid. You’re here, great! How did it go?”

  I’m getting deja vu.

  At this point, I’m close enough that I can see my two clients clearly. One of them’s leaning against the wall to my left, with a close-cropped black buzz, a really clean uniform, and glasses. That’s Ivan. The other’s standing to my right, twiddling his thumbs. It’s kind of hard to make out his expression through his mass of curly black hair hanging over his face, but it’s easy to tell from his body language that he’s nervous. That’s Donovan. They’re twin brothers, if you can’t tell.

  I clear my throat, preparing to speak.

  “Alright, you two. What do you want first, the good news or the bad news?”

  I always present my clients with these two choices, regardless of if there actually is any bad news (which there usually isn’t). It’s part of my psychology experiment on delayed gratification, and definitely not just a pointless self-indulgence I use to make me feel important. I’d, ahem, never do such a thing.

  Donovan and Ivan look at each other intently, something beyond words being communicated in their gazes. They’re clearly unsure about which one to choose at first, but it doesn’t take them long to make up their minds. Eventually, they turn their gaze on me. Then, they open their mouths and proceed to speak in perfect unison—

  ““Let's go with…””

  —and that’s where the unison ends.

  “…the bad news, of course.” - Ivan

  “The good news! I don’t wanna hear anything scary!” - Donovan

  …

  ““Huh?””

  The idiot twins look at each other, each clearly confused by the other’s answer.

  “Donovy, what’s up? Everyone knows you start with the bad news first!”

  “Well, maybe everyone else is just wrong! I don’t want to ruin my day with bad news!”

  “Idiot, focusing on good news doesn’t mean you just get to ignore all the bad news in the world!”

  “Why not? That’s what you do scrolling on on your phone all day!”

  “DONOVAAANNNNNN!!!”

  And in no time flat, I’m witnessing the birth yet another pointless fight. Now do you see what I mean when I say I’m surrounded by the most irrational people? I guess twin telepathy doesn’t exist after all– not that I ever believed in such a fantastical concept, as a staunch supporter of science.

  Almost before I’ve blinked, Ivan has Donovan in a headlock. So I, with my vast intellect, decide to break them up before anyone gets hurt. Science Fact: Did you know that humans, when being deprived of oxygen for a long enough time, tend to asphyxiate and die? Yeah, it’s true… don’t try that at home though.

  After a very hectic five seconds— it doesn’t take long to overpower them, those two are about as physically strong as a pair of fleas— I manage to pull those two apart. They promptly proceed to stand straight up, crossing their arms with their backs facing each other.

  I sigh.

  “Did you forget why I’m here in the first place? You guys wanted me to check out that old mansion by your place, didn’t you?”

  That gets their attention. Animosity already far in the rearview mirror, the two stooges lean in with bated breath. I know it’s not very professional of me, but their looks of anticipation goad me into dramatizing my report to the utmost possible.

  “Well, I checked it out all right. Stayed up past midnight in that delapidated old shack. Like I said, there’s good news and bad news. First up, the bad news… or more accurately, the lack thereo—”

  I’d paused briefly in the middle of my sentence, entirely for dramatic effect. Sue me. But someone doesn’t seem to get the memo, because Donovan jumps forwards in the middle of the sentence’s second half and clings to my legs, looking up at me with a pleading look in his eyes.

  “WAIT! Start with the good news, please!”

  “Well, I—”

  “Start with the good news! You have to!”

  Donovan’s childish behavior is really starting to get on my nerves. But, I take a deep breath and manage to reset my composure. Any scientist remains calm and composed at all times, no matter the conditions surrounding them. No exceptions.

  Now, once more, let’s try to get through to him.

  “I—”

  “YOU HAVE TO!!!”

  This is an exception.

  “SHUT IT, YOU DOLT, THERE IS NO BAD NEWS! THAT’S WHAT I WAS SAYING!”

  And finally, sweet relief— Donovan shuts up. Though, judging by his rather shocked expression, I get the impression that I went a bit too far in my rebuke. Whoops.

  “Ahem, I’m sorry. But, yes: there is no bad news. No ghosts were found on your neighboring property.”

  Just like before, the two twins glance at each other, seeming to share something beyond words with just a look. But, considering how that went last time, I’m not expecting too much out of them.

  “WAHOO! IVY, WE’RE SAVED!”

  “WOOHOO! DONOVY, WE’RE SAVED!”

  And they proceed to embrace each other at exactly the same time, hooting and hollering. Oh, so now they’re in sync. I don’t know why I even bother trying to comprehend these two anymore.

  Ivan adjusts his glasses, which had become crooked from all his jumping around, and walks over eagerly to shake my hand. I accept, of course.

  “Oh Eid, thank you thank you thank you! We’d been hearing those creepy noises for ages! I was so convinced that it was a gho—”

  Ugh, here comes my least favorite word. I cut Ivan off before he can fully pronounce it.

  “Right, the sound of banging kitchenware. Pots, pans, forks, knives, the like. And they were unnaturally loud, correct? Well, I managed to find out why, and it has nothing to do with ghosts.”

  It’s fine when I say it, by the way. I don’t actually believe in them, so I get a pass. Don’t ask, that’s just how it is.

  Given that he’s no longer hanging on to my legs, Donovan’s hair is obscuring his eyes from my perspective again. But given his silent giggling, it isn’t hard to tell that he’s elated by my claim against the supernatural. But Ivan isn’t so easily convinced.

  “So, how was it happening then?”

  And that— that’s what I was waiting for. This is where I amaze my clients, dazzle them with the complex inner workings of a soon-to-be big-time scientist’s mind. Shoving a finger in Ivan’s face, and adopt a wider grin as my expression and prepare to speak.

  “I am so glad that you asked. You want to know why you’ve been hearing all the use weird noises from the mansion next to you guys’ house? I’ll tell you exactly how!”

  And, bringing up both of my arms in a sweeping gesture of address, I continue.

  “It wasn’t a ghoul or a specter or a phantom or anything even remotely similar. It was something much, much more dangerous— but a whole lot less sinister.”

  I’m not lying, by the way. How could anything be less dangerous than nothing? Ghosts don’t exist, so I guess you could say even a nerd like me’s more dangerous than them.

  “Have you two ever actually been inside that mansion?”

  Ivan and Donovan, each hanging on my every word, both shake their heads. As expected— I wouldn’t really expect cowards of their caliber to venture inside a location they thought was haunted. To their credit, if I believed in ghosts, I wouldn’t either. Good thing I know they aren’t.

  “Well, let me tell you one thing. That place is absolutely crawling with cobwebs. And—”

  “AHAHAHAHA! HAHAHA! Oh, that was great!”

  Donovan, for some reason, slaps his knee— yes, he acually slaps his own knee— and breaks down in a fit of laughter. Which is odd, because I hadn’t been joking. After a bit, Donovan notices he’s the only one chortling and looks up at his twin.

  “Get it, Ivy? He said CRAWLING with cobWEBS, and spiders use webs, so it’s like—”

  “Shut up, Donovy.”

  “Okay.”

  Now that that’s dealt with, I lightly cough to draw attention back to myself and continue.

  “And, it turns out that those cobwebs have been supporting utensils in midair. So, when the strings eventually grow too weak and allow the cutlery to fall, it would logically make quite the loud crash. That’s what you two have been hearing.”

  After I finally manage to finish explaining my conclusion, Ivan just stops and stares. He doesn’t move for upwards of a minute, just looking at me with narrowed brows. I wonder why. Was it something I said?

  “Eid, we’re thankful for your help and all, but you can just admit you ran into a ghost and got rid of it. I mean, from what we heard, you’ve never failed to get rid of a single ghost, and you only check out haunted spots! I don’t know why you keep trying to hide your exorcisms with stupid lies, too… That explanation doesn’t make any sense.”

  Seriously? Another doubter? Isn’t there anyone who believes in basic science around here?

  But of course there isn’t. Such is my life. I cross my arms and respond:

  “I have no clue what you’re talking about. Why doesn’t it make sense?”

  Ivan blinks, as if he’s growing exasperated. It’s an expression I often make myself, borne of years arguing against idiots. Thankfully, however, I learned of a special method that helps me have to make that face less.

  “Eid, are you kidding? How could a cobweb support the weight of a—”

  “Yeah, fine, don’t believe me. I’ve got places to be, experiments to run, so it’s time for you to uphold your part of the deal.”

  Special Method Go: What You Don’t Hear Can’t Hurt You! He claims I’m being unreasonable, and then tried to blame a totally mundane occurrence on ghosts. Is he even listening to himself? There’s just no way I was going to sit here and listen to this drivel even a single second longer.

  But seriously, why can’t everyone just accept that I’ll never find any ghosts when they come to me for help like this? You’d think that they’d get a hint eventually, but no matter how many investigations I do, the rumors about me secretly being some sort of super ghostbuster never fade. In fact, they’ve seemed to be especially strong this year— I’ve been approached more and more often for jobs recently.

  I don’t know how they find me or my phone number, and I would normally refuse, but— somehow, these requests always seem to come around just when I’m running low on cash. Hey, even a big shot scientist has stuff he’d like to buy, alright?

  Ivan sighs once he sees me standing staunchly with my palm outstretched, deciding that this isn’t a hill to die on. Good. Then, he turns to his twin brother and jerks his head towards me. Donovan responds with a nod and walks forward, fishing something out of his pockets.

  “Here you go, Eid bro. Thanks for helping us out— three dollars and fifty-two cents.”

  Hmm? I look down at my palm and survey all its contents. Yup, the three dollars and fifty-two cents are there, but that’s not what we agreed to. Like I told Kirsten, I would never sell myself out for such a low prize.

  *tmp* *tmp* *tmp*

  I tap my foot expectantly. After an awkward pause, Donovan pouts and fishes out one last thing from his pocket, then presses it into my palm.

  I look down at the new addition: a stick of gum. Is he serious? Does he think I’ll be satisfied with this? If he doesn’t hand over what he and Ivan had agreed to, there’ll definitely be an issue.

  I decide to apply a little verbal pressure.

  “Donovan…”

  “Okay, okay, fine! You picky jerk! Geez, this is my last one, too!”

  He snatches back the gum in my palm (mint flavor, gross) and replaces it with a new stick from his other pocket. This time, bubblegum.

  …

  Perfect.

  I grip the contents of my palm and shove them into my own pocket, then nod.

  “Nice doing business with you two. Scientist Eid, out!”

  Three dollars and fifty-two cents AND bubblegum? Now that’s a good price if I’ve ever seen one.

  My lab coat waves gently as I turn and walk away from the stunned twins, in a way that makes the whole farewell look quite dramatic. The coat could be fluttering either because of the wind or because I’m subtly shaking my hands in my pockets to make it move on purpose. Most likely the former.

  Unfortunately, the time allotted for high school lunch can only last so long. Then, it’s back to the trenches— and then, after school, my favorite club in the world: Science Club.

  #

  I feel like I forgot something.

  …

  …

  Oh yeah, the third must-know fact about Wellsworth High! One last thing I forgot to mention about the school: For some asinine reason, no one’s allowed in the school before sunrise and after sunset. Yeah, yeah, I know that that’s usually how a school day works, but I mean even for clubs and activities. We aren’t even allowed to have celebrations like prom or graduation or homecoming in the building— they just rent a whole different venue. It’s a tradition that started only a few years ago, but far enough back that I wasn’t a student when it went into effect. There are a couple reasons thrown around for why this restriction was placed, but the most prevalent of them is that— ah, well, I’m not really interested in that kind of thing, anyway, so I don’t know much about it.

  Whatever, it doesn’t really matter. Back to class it is!