#makid

For as long as she could remember, she could see ghosts. When she was young she was teased by her classmates, the teachers and her parents brushing it off as an overactive imagination and youth. She saw no problem with it, the ghosts were more friendly than anyone else she knew. During recess she would sit at the edge of the playground and talk to the ghosts, and she didn’t have to worry about being bothered as no one would go near her.

Eventually, as she grew up, she learned to keep quiet about the ghosts. Her Mama started telling her it was time to grow up, her Mama started telling her she had to make friends instead of reading, her Mama started telling her things were changing and she couldn’t be around all the time. She didn’t know why that mattered, or why she should have to change; but as she went into middle school she found it better to pretend the ghosts weren’t there in order to keep herself away from the eye of her pupils.

Middle school was hell. Three years of torture. She tried to make friends in sixth grade, but rumors of her being the “creepy ghost girl” got around to the students from other elementary schools and they kept their distance. Bullies found it easy to pick on her quiet and lonely state. It was much easier to sit and let it happen.

This wasn’t to say she had never made friends.

When the grueling years of middle school had passed and she entered the next stage of education, she once again found herself with the opportunity to make friends. Again, old rumors still floated around, but not as frequent as before. She was able to make acquaintances with a few people, but not real friendships. Part of her had resigned to the fact she would never have friends, and she was prepared to accept that. Of course life has a funny way of showing her otherwise.

.

“You’re the ghost girl!” A sudden voice all but shouted, far too close for comfort, and she was surprised she hadn’t noticed anyone before.

Turning slightly, she moved her eyes from the empty lunch table to the three people who had settled in to her side. Two boys and one girl. One of the boys had a foot on the table’s seat and leaned in close, the girl hovering behind him with a nervous expression, the second boy seemed to ignore his friends in favor of sitting down and taking out his lunch. She didn’t particularly want to respond to the rude comment, but seeing as the three weren’t leaving, she had no choice.

“Yeah,” she spoke briskly, wanting to go back to her food, “that’s me.”

The boy’s face lit up and his grin widened almost comically as he leaned back. He dropped himself on the seat —the girl following suit— and pointed a finger at her.

“I knew I recognized ya! Ya know, I used to be in your kindergarten class!”

“Hm,” she could tell where this was going.

“I was always kinda pissed off about you!”

She suppressed a glare, favoring to put away her food.

“Yeah, everyone always talked about you and how weird you were! It was really annoying! Especially when they should have been talking about me!”

This got a raised eyebrow and a pause in her motions as she waited for him to go on.

“I ended up switching schools for elementary so I never saw you again. But now here you are!”

“Yep,” she sighed coldly, “here I am.”

“Hey, hey!” The boy raised his hands mock-defensively. “I’m not here to pick on ya! I’m here to be friends!”

“Friends? Why?”

“Why not? I figure that you’re not the talk of the school anymore, so I don’t have to hate you!”

“That’s…ridiculous.”

The boy just laughed, the girl behind him sighed and the other boy chuckled along.

“Name’s Black Star!” He pointed his thumb in his chest proudly before briefly moving to point behind him. “And that’s Tsubaki and Soul!” Tsubaki gave a polite “hello” and Soul mumbled around his food. “And you’re Maka, right?”

She hesitated. Was she ready for full-blown friendship? Then again, it didn’t look like she had much of a choice.

“Yeah, I am.”

“A’wight!” Black Star cheered, pumping a fist in the air with far too much enthusiasm. “Hey, what classes do you have by the way? We should all compare our schedules!”

.

Black Star, Tsubaki, and Soul turned out to be good friends, she found. Black Star and Soul —those probably weren’t their real names but even the teachers called them that— were loud and outgoing, always pushing her to hang out and do stuff; Tsubaki was kind and passive, almost like a kindred spirit, but one-on-one “girl time” had shown that she wasn’t always so quiet and polite.

Her parents were glad she had finally made real friends. Her Mama told her she was proud and her Papa let out some nonsense about her not having male friends. She just rolled her eyes, still staying in her room whenever she was home. While her parents smiled and acted fine, she knew they had been trying too hard in the past few years. She knew of her father’s bad habits and her mother’s growing distaste for her spouse, but she kept quiet about it as they thought they were being secret enough for her not to know.

So it wasn’t a surprise when her parents announced they were getting a divorce. In fact she saw it as a long time coming, breathing in relief that they weren’t pretending around her anymore. The divorce moved fast, and she was too involved in her academics to notice when it finally ended and her mother had disappeared across the country —or world— leaving her alone with her father.

Outwardly, she just shrugged and accepted it; but inwardly she was in all words pissed. How could her Mama just leave like that? How could she not take her with? Did she think it was better for her? Better to leave her only child behind with her cheating ex-husband? She thought it despicable. Both of her parents were awful. Tsubaki was a ray of shining light in these times. The girl provided a shoulder to scream at, someone to listen to her venting and rants, and she couldn’t be more thankful for the girl’s smooth ability to lie in order to help her.

With all the events whirling around in her life, she had almost forgotten about the ghosts.

.

Deaths were, as a part of life, not uncommon in any town or city. Murders, maybe a little less common, and violent murders were something thought only to be seen in a larger and heavily populated city. Sure, the name of her home city may include the word “death”, but it wasn’t a grim place by far. Maybe, she thought, it was bound to happen eventually, though.

At the edge of town sat a mansion, grand yet somehow also humble, that housed a fairly rich family of three: a father and his two sons. The father’s job was something business like, something that brought in good money; most people preferred not to know what the man’s job was, wanting instead to build up rumors and outrageous ideas on their own. Both of the man’s sons were homeschooled, and none of them were frequently seen around —though it was a possibility that they were out often and it was just that no one knew what they actually looked like.

They family was more of an idea to the people, something to brag about rather than actually see or touch, and it seemed that most people tended to forget they were even there. At least until the event on a Friday 13th happened. Funny, how the date was one that held such superstition was the one when it happened.

Neighbors in the area around the mansion had reported noises loud enough they could be heard from their houses, and later one report of figures running out the back. Police cars and ambulances didn’t arrive soon enough and the city found themselves without one rich family.

The father and youngest son had been murdered, the oldest son missing, and the police department with their first homicide case in who knows how long. Word spread fast and it became the only thing anyone would talk about. Popular idea was that the eldest brother had some mental disorder and finally snapped, murdering his family and running away. The family had a funeral held, hosted by the city, and tension died down. With the bodies buried, people would be able to forget.

.

Hook Cemetery was a fairly poor kept plot of land built next to a thick woods. No one went there unless they had to. It wasn’t as if it was a scary place, it was just that no one wanted to think of the dead unless needed. Despite its poor upkeep and somewhat dreary atmosphere, Maka loved taking walks through the winding paths of the graveyard.

It was a calming place to be, she believed, because no one frequented the place and she could be left alone to her own devices. Normally her devices were just reading or counting the graves. When she was younger she would visit as often as she could to talk with the ghosts, but as she was older she avoided the idea of such a thing.

With school approaching, and her friends being rather annoying, Maka eventually found herself wandering to her old hang-out place. Shrugging, she didn’t bother turning around to go home, instead walking down the old path of the graveyard and glancing at the old tombstones.

A few minutes in to her walk she was startled by a spectral movement in the corner of her eyes. Her heart beat faster before she remembered. She could see ghosts. It had been years since she saw a ghost, but the fact that she could always hung in the back of her mind.

Stealing herself, she ignored the few ghosts that moved silently and kept on her way. When she came to the other side of the land she turned around, her breath tense as she watched some of the ghosts stare at her. Shaking her head, she went on, walking faster and faster away to wherever her feet would take her next. Eventually she noticed she was near the mansion of the dead rich family, a fact she wouldn’t have taken in had she not tripped over something at her feet.

Grumbling, she turned her attention from the abandoned building to the place where her shoes tapped the offending object of her fall. Brushing her hands around the grass she found two silver rings fashioned with a cartoonish skeleton head. She rolled the objects around, slipping the tips of her fingers in their holes briefly in thought. Shaking her head again, she stood up and found herself pocketing the rings. She pulled out her cell phone to look at the time, a slight frown appearing as she decided she’d have to start making her way home.

Continuing to ignore the few ghosts, she went back to her path through the graveyard. In her pockets she fingered at the rings curiously, wondering where they had come from. It wasn’t until a few minutes later, after passing a rather large tombstone, that she noticed something following her. Her breath held and chest tightened, she picked up her pace, stepping off the path in order to cut through faster. Still, she felt herself being followed. Nearing the edge of the cemetery she sped up a little more, only to once again trip over something at her feet.

Cursing her luck, she picked herself up, rubbing dirt from her face in annoyance. What were the chances she’d trip twice in the same hour? What rotten luck she had sometimes.

“Are you alright?” a polite voice asked from behind, causing her to jump to her feet.

Turning around her eyes widened at the figure before her. It was a ghost, that she knew by the little opacity, and she felt regret clawing at her chest for being as stupid as she had been. The ghost seemed to be a boy if her guess was reliable. He had black hair and wore a black suit with no breast pocket; his hands were at his side, almost hesitantly, and he stood straight up yet still leaning forward slightly.

She swallowed and turned away from the boy, the sound of grass ripping out from beneath her feet accenting her departure. If she ignored him he would go away. That’s how it always went. But of course her luck of avoiding ghosts had seem to run out as the boy was soon at her side and walking with her. Still, she tried to ignore him, knowing he wouldn’t be able to follow her out of the cemetery, and that in only a few more steps he would be gone.

Or at least he should have been gone.

Now a good few feet out of the cemetery land, she stopped abruptly in her stride and turned to the boy. He seemed to flinch back at whatever emotion her eyes were showing, but kept himself composed, seeming to wait for her to speak.

“What do you want?” She demanded, fists balling up at her side as if she could fight him off. The boy remained silent, his head tilting to the side slightly in presumed thought. Still not speaking, the boy reached out a hand slowly towards her, causing her to jerk back.

“Stop,” she hissed, “and tell me, what do you want?” The boy looked her in the eyes, a shiver running up her spine as she finally noted the slight glow of what appeared to be gold. Both held their ground for a moment before the boy finally spoke up.

“I’m following you.”

“Yeah, I can see that! Why?”

“…” he was silent again, now looking her up and down as if questioning himself. “I’m not quite sure. I believe…I believe you have something of mine, though. I do not know why.”

“Something of…” she repeated softly, hands moving to her pockets to pull out the rings. “These?”

The boy’s face lit up and he moved as it to grab them, only for his hands to pass through her own. Face falling slightly for a moment, he stepped back before nodding.

“I suppose…you can keep them.” His voice was quiet, as if he was saddened by something.

“Well I don’t want them.”

“Then why did you pick them up?”

She paused. Why did she pick them up? She had no reason to and she very well could have just left them in the grass. Glancing down at the rings in her hands, she turned them around slowly before looking back up at the boy.

“How come you were able to leave the cemetery?”

He was quiet again, this time turning around to see if her words were true. When he looked back at her he seemed confused himself, but still kept quiet in thought.

“Maybe…maybe it has to do with the rings?” He whispered, more to himself than to her.

Part of her wanted to throw the rings as far as she could at that point, to be able to leave him behind and continue to live her life as before; but there was still part of her that seemed to want to know more. It was as if some unconscious part of her wanted to return to the ghosts, to return to familiarity despite how it made her look.

“So are you going to be following me around or something?”

“…I suppose…”

She sighed, pocketing the rings again and placing her hands on her hips. She started off into the sky, rolling around the thought of having ghosts around again. Glancing briefly at the boy she couldn’t help but laugh inwardly at how awkward he seemed. Rolling her shoulders she sighed lightly before taking a breath.

“My name’s Maka,” she said curtly, turning around just after. “If you’re going to follow me around you deserve to know that at least.”

.

By the time she arrived home, silently sneaking in through the back door, it was already late enough for her Papa to have returned home and pass out on the living room couch. She opted to ignore him, walking up the stairs with quiet steps. Reaching her room she opened her door and closed it, making sure to remain quiet, and jumped slightly as the ghost boy phased through the wood. They stared at each other for a moment but it was broken by her turning around and sliding off her shoes. It wasn’t until she was only wearing her shirt and pants —her jacket and socks crumpled over her shoes— that she hesitated with her fingers remained at the bottom of her shirt.

“Um,” she began, nervous on how to choose her words, “are you going to stay there?”

“What do you mean?” While his voice was even in tone she there was still a slight incline at his question. She held back a heavy sigh and threw up her arms, pausing only to make sure her voice didn’t come out too loud.

“I’m about to get undressed!”

“And?” She stared at him in disbelief.

“What, are you a pervert or something?” And that got a reaction from him.

“No! Of course not!” She didn’t say anything in return, only motioning with her hands for him to try and piece together the situation. When it seemed he wasn’t going to understand she opted to grab her pajamas and move into her bathroom to change instead. Thankfully the ghost decided to to follow her, giving her a moment of peace.

Finally letting out a sigh, she slipped her shirt over her head to replace it with her lighter one. As she removed her pants she paused to take out the rings from her pocket. Noticing that there was a fair amount dirt covering them she decided to run the faucet and rinse them. As the dirt washed away she was able to get a better examination of the bands.

At first they seemed almost like the plastic rings you would get from a machine outside of a grocery store, but as the caked layers of dirt was scrubbed away she noticed they were much nicer. They were heavier than plastic, and they probably shined more when they were still in use. The skull that sat on the front was bigger than she assumed, or than what she deemed practical. They seemed to be well made, as no matter how much she pressed on the skulls to clean them they refused to wiggle even slightly. She wondered how much they cost, where the ghost had gotten them, why he chose to have a skull, and why he wanted two.

When most of the dirt had been cleaned from the small nooks she dried them off nicely with a hand towel. She was almost proud of how she had done. Of course that moment shattered as she noticed the ghost next to her, leaning towards the rings. To make matters more awkward, she remembered that she had still yet to put on her pajama bottoms.

The shriek she let out was, upon later realization, not the best of moves, but it succeeded in making the ghost flinch back.

“Wh-what?” The ghost was flustered, not rightly so in her opinion. That privilege belonged to her in this situation.

“Get out!” She was careful to lower her voice, hissing instead of screaming. How the ghost remained to oblivious was honestly a wonder far beyond her grasp. His sight moved from her face to his rings and back several times. At least they didn’t look at anything else, she supposed. Still, she had to get him out.