Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a brutally cold night. The only thing able to drown out the incessant dirge of raindrops on roofs and thunderclaps across the horizon was the mortal howling of the wind, strong enough to shake the bones of those lying in the cemetery not a mile away. It never used to rain this much. 

That’s what the dead girl resting in the rafters thought. 

She was ghostly pale, translucent, with skin like a paper lamp and hair like the shadows dancing in the windows. Her hair had danced once too, swinging from the branches of a tree. But she tried not to think about it anymore. She was dressed in the clothes she’d died in, all dolled up, hair straight and nails trimmed, ready for the day ahead. She’d never actually gotten to see that day, of course. But then, no one had, really. The moment she’d breathed her last had been the moment the world around her shattered forever. 

No one knew there was a ghost in the house. But everyone knew there was a tragedy. It was depression, some said. Others blamed an eating disorder. It was murder! some cried, it was murder by the hands of her boyfriend, or father, or her creepy little kid brother, the shut-in, who hadn’t spoken a word since.

It was quite hard for the gossip-mongers to really know the why and who without having the faintest idea of the how. 

Dying hadn’t hurt, really. She didn’t remember much. A loud crash— though, of course, not anywhere near loud as the earth-shaking scream that had followed. Sobs. A shaky voice, suggesting the impossible. The last thing she had felt was the faint sensation of something grazing her neck. Then she had left the mortal plane forever, no longer able to control how she healed or hurt others. That was the worst part of all of it—after all she had done to make sure her friends were okay, now she had to live—or, well, die—knowing she had hurt them more than she ever had in life. 

All she could do now to make this house of tragedy a home was to make life easier for the inhabitants. There were four of them. A man and a woman, happily married and glad to make the quaint town their home. A fiercely protective big brother, a knight in shining armour at the ripe age of twelve. And a little girl, head filled with dreams and sweet memories of a life so far well lived. The ghost girl did what she could for them. A lost sock, placed on a dresser in plain sight. A dropped coffee cup, caught in the nick of time and placed gently on the floor. Any little thing she could do to help was enough. Any little thing to make up, slowly, for the suffering she had inflicted on so many others. 

“What’s your name?” The question had startled the ghost. The face looking back at her was young and smooth, that of a girl no more than five. She stared at the ghost with wide, round blue eyes full of wonder, her face a perfect painting of innocent curiosity. 

“You can see me?” the ghost said. Seven years. Seven years in this house and not a soul had recognized her, not even the one she had loved dearest of all. She resolved then that this little girl would know her name.

 The name the ghost girl uttered then was the same name she heard now.

Amidst the roar of the storm and the cries of the wind, the ghost girl heard a rattle at the door. Holding a softly-glowing candle, she ventured through the floor— never down the stairs never down the stairs —and into the foyer. The slick doorknob trembled in her pale fingers as she opened the door. A hand flew to her mouth.

Standing before her was a face she hadn’t seen since she was alive. Pale, sporting neatly cropped black hair, the boy looked just like the one she’d left behind those years ago. He said her name in a voice tinged with loneliness and broken from disuse. 

“Mari?” 

Mari felt hot tears running down her face. He was here. He was here with her after all these years. First he had left her by locking the door and shutting her out, his mind twisted, seeing her as a distorted reminder of his worst deed. Then he had moved out of the house forever, leaving behind distressed friends and more questions than answers. Now he was back, all alone. But how? 

Mari didn’t skip a beat before wrapping her arms around her little brother, returned to her at last.

“It’s you,” she said. “Sunny.” 

---

It didn’t take long for Mari to notice something was wrong. 

Sunny had always been pale. It ran in the family. But this—this was unnatural. His skin was porcelain-white, paler than Mari’s own dead skin…and glowing just as much. Fear began to set in. What happened to you, Sunny?

Even being a ghost, Mari was usually able to take hold of solid objects. She’d often grabbed a child’s hand to stop them from running into the the street, a door to stop it from slamming…countless times, she had prevented little accidents. Little tragedies. 

But as she tried to take Sunny’s hand and came away with nothing but air, she knew she had been too late to stop the biggest tragedy of all. 

“Sunny?” she said, her voice wrought with horror. “Sunny? Are you…dead?” 

To her horror, his only response was a singular grim nod of his head.

“Sunny…” Mari said. “Sunny, talk to me.” She knelt down to meet him at eye level. Sunny didn’t say anything, merely walked past her, and Mari turned around, confused.

“Sunny?” Mari said again. Sunny didn’t respond. The more Mari watched him, the more she worried. Sunny didn’t own a pair of striped black and white shorts. Why was he wearing them now? Had he really changed this much? Did...did Mari even know him anymore? 

Sunny drifted through the walls and towards the stairs— not the stairs not the stairs not the stairs not the stairs —leaving Mari to follow him. He stood on the top step, blank eyes following Mari as she walked to the bottom of the stairs. 

“Sunny, say something,” Mari said. “I—I’m getting scared…” A cold wind ripped through the house, and Mari realized she hadn’t closed the door. She moved to do it now, but the sound of Sunny’s voice stopped her. 

“No,” he said. Mari stopped dead in her tracks.

“Don’t go?” Mari said. Sunny nodded. The pain in his face was there , but it was hidden so deep down. Those blank, emotionless eyes scared Mari. What had happened in the three years since Sunny had left forever? What awful, awful things did he see every night in his dreams? The want to wrap her arms around him, tell him everything would be okay, overruled her fear, and Mari did something she hadn’t for years.

She stepped on the first step of the stairs.

Sunny opened his mouth and let out a horrible, deathly scream. 

Somewhere else in the house, a little girl opened her eyes blearily. She had heard something. Was it the ghost girl? The ghost girl was Mira’s favorite playmate, the only one who understood the games she wanted to play. Mira heard it all the time—that she was such a smart little girl, that she would go places someday—but that didn’t really help when the other third graders didn’t know the things she knew. Mira knew about the inner workings of the heart, and the different species of birds native to Madagascar, and the structure of traditional titles of nobility in England. But no one else knew. No one except the ghost girl Mari. 

For all that Mira knew about the world, she couldn’t figure out what had happened to Mari. Mari would tell her about lots of things—about what she was learning in her high school classes, and about how she had a boyfriend who loved her very much, and about how she played the piano better than anyone in the entire state. Mira wanted to be just like Mari one day. Not just smart, but kind too—Mari always helped Mira through it when the other kids made fun of her at school. 

“I wish you could come to school too, Mari,” Mira said once. Mari smiled sadly, patting her head. 

“I can’t, honey,” she said. “It’s hard to explain. I don’t really understand it, even. I get a feeling in my chest when I try to leave. A squeezing feeling.”

“Like a heart attack,” Mira said. Mira didn’t know about ghosts, but she did know about hearts. 

“Yeah,” Mari said. “Like a heart attack. It does mean I can’t come to school with you, but I can do everything I can to help you here at home.” Mari wrapped her arms around Mira, and Mira smiled. Even if no one else understood her, at least she had Mari.

The sound continued. It almost sounded like…like a scream. Is Mari hurt? Mira wondered. No, that would be silly, she reasoned. Ghosts can’t get hurt. Right?

Regardless, she padded to the door and opened it. 

Mari saw the little girl before the girl saw her. Mari went pale. 

“Mira?” Mari called. “It’s not—It’s not super safe to be here right now,” she said. “There’s something going on.” To her horror, Mira walked down the hallway and to the stairs—the stairs where Mari stood now, paralyzed by the sounds of Sunny’s inhuman scream and of Mira’s small, even footsteps. Then Mira stopped cold. 

“Mari?” Mira said, her eyes wide. “Mari, is this a ghost thing?” Mari looked around wildly before meeting the child’s eyes. She tried to take a step further up the stairs, but Sunny started screaming again, louder this time. Mira started to move towards Sunny.

“No, Mira, don’t—don’t go any closer,” Mari said desperately. “Don’t—it’s a—it’s a ghost thing, Mira, don’t worry about it. Go back to bed.” Mira narrowed her eyes, suspicious. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, Mari?” Mira asked. “I heard screaming.” Mari furrowed her brow. 

“You can’t see—?” she said, before stopping herself. “It wasn’t me,” she settled on. “I’m okay.” Mira nodded hesitantly and went down the hall back to her room. Sunny turned his eyes back to Mari.

“Who’s the kid?” he said. The most he’d spoken since he’d appeared at the door. 

“Her name’s Mira,” Mari said. “She’s eight.” Sunny didn’t seem to have much of a reaction to this information. “She took my room” was all he said. Mari’s brow furrowed.

“You be nice to her,” Mari said. “I get the feeling that—that life hasn’t been that great for Mira. Or wasn’t. Before she moved here.” Sunny nodded.

“I’ll do my best,” he said. Mari nodded, her eyes serious.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, you will.” 

Chapter Text

Ghosts didn’t need to sleep, but Mari was in the habit when she died. It was comforting, if not comfortable, curled up on a pile of old blankets and pillows abandoned in the attic. 

Sunny, on the other hand, hadn’t been sleeping well. 

At all hours he roamed the house, still unaware how he affected solid objects. Mari had taken to chasing after him, catching vases and picture frames. He still wouldn’t say much to her, nothing beyond simple, single sentences. Sometimes he’d spend hours in what used to be the piano room, now the room of Mira’s older brother, Raine, staring at something that wasn’t there anymore. Never did he try to find a place to rest. Mari worried for Mira, who heard every sound that Sunny made, and who must have seen Mari chasing after something that she couldn’t see. Still, Mari tried to comfort herself. At least Sunny’s here, she thought. Here with me and not out there…here with someone who can help him…

--

One day Mari heard a knock at the door. She checked the calendar and winced. It was that day of the week. Mira jumped up from the book she was reading and ran to the front door. 

“He’s here, Mom!” Mira shouted. Mira’s mother smiled and walked with her to the door. Mari watched her open the door. Standing there was the face of the person Mari had loved one summer, one summer cut far too short. 

“Hello, Henry!” Mira’s mother said. 

It was hard enough to see Hero sink into depression because of what happened to Mari. But this, somehow, was worse. 

Hero had finally gotten the bravery to tell his parents he wanted to be a chef. It worked—with some convincing, but it worked—and he had just come back from culinary school that spring and settled back into life at home while he looked for a job. He was still the same boy Mari had fallen in love with seven years ago. Time had only matured him, and he’d become even more responsible and empathetic than he was all those years ago. He offered to tutor little Mira over the summer to prepare her for skipping a grade in the fall, and he was patient and kind beyond measure. He brought home-cooked meals to people around the neighborhood when someone mentioned they’d been having a hard time. 

Mari couldn’t help but feel cheated. 

If she had lived—if she had lived, Hero would still be hers. They would have grown up together, graduated together. They would have gone off to school together—hell, maybe they would’ve been married now. They would have moved into a little house, maybe had kids…but now, it wasn’t her life to live. He moved on slowly every day. Maybe he even had a girlfriend Mari didn’t know about. It was likely, even. He was going places—actually going places—living his life out in the world while Mari was still stuck in this house, forever 15 years old. All she could do was sit and watch at the window like she had when she was younger. 

The only difference was that Hero didn’t watch back anymore. 

“Hero, huh?” The voice startled Mari. It was Sunny, hovering behind her while she sat on top of the bookshelf, watching Hero go over area and perimeter with Mira. 

“Yeah,” Mari said. “I can’t help myself, you know? I can’t help but think about what would’ve happened without…” she trailed off. She didn’t want to make Sunny feel any more guilty than he already did. It was too late, though. His face had fallen. 

“Hey,” Mari said. “Don’t…don’t dwell on it.” But Sunny’s face had gone blank. When he looked back at Mari, it was like he didn’t recognize her. 

“You should go talk to Hero, Mari,” he said, a little smile on his face. “You like him, don’t you?” Mari was taken aback by this. It sounded like something Sunny would have said years ago, when Mari was still nursing a healthy crush on Hero by not talking to him and blushing whenever he came by their house. But they had gotten together months before she died. Why was Sunny acting like he didn’t remember? 

It must be a coping mechanism, Mari told herself, and went back to watching Hero. 

--

“Mari?” Mira shouted. “Mari…” Mari floated through the floor of the attic and into Mira’s room. Mira jumped up. “Mari!” 

“What is it?” Mari said, smiling warmly. 

“Let’s play!” Mira said, running over to her toy chest and digging two dolls out of it, handing one to Mari. “I’ll be the doctor and you be the patient.” 

“Okay,” Mari said. 

“So what’s wrong with you?” Mira asked, and Mari laughed. Short and to the point. God, 

it was ironic, wasn’t it? There was so, so much wrong. 

“It’s…It’s my heart,” Mari said, sitting her doll down on the ‘examination table’, which was really two chairs taped together. 

“What’s wrong with your heart?” Mira said. “Is it a heart attack—a myocardial infarction? Is it brachycardia? Arrhythmia?” 

“No,” Mari said. “It’s…It’s a sad feeling.” 

“Oh,” Mira said. “That sounds like a problem for Therapist Barbie. She’s not here right now, though. Can you have something really wrong with you?” Mari smiled sadly. 

“It’s…It’s brachycardia, then,” Mari said. Heart beating too slowly. Heart not keeping up. That sounded about right. 

As Mari and Mira played, Mari suddenly became aware of someone watching them. She looked back. 

There, behind them. 

Sunny. 

Sunny was always quiet, an observer rather than a joiner. But this…something about the way he watched Mari and Mira play felt so… sinister. 

“Hold on, Mira,” Mari said cautiously. “While—while you give me surgery, I have to check on something.” Mira nodded, and Mari floated over to Sunny, sitting on the shelf behind them. 

“Sunny?” Mari said, lowering her voice. Sunny didn’t answer. “Sunny, why are you always watching Mira?” Sunny didn’t say anything for a long time. 

“She reminds me of you” was all he said before he drifted away again. Mari watched him go. 

“Come back?” Mira pleaded. Mari smiled and nodded, but her eyes didn’t leave the spot where Sunny had disappeared. 

Hero couldn’t stop thinking about it. He hadn’t thought about her like this since they were kids. He replayed the conversation over and over in his head, like a record going around and around and around and never stopping.

“What’s wrong, Mira?” Hero asked. The little girl sighed. She was a quiet girl, but she was always excited to learn. Today, however, she moped, barely lifting her pencil. 

“It’s my friend,” Mira said. 

“Which friend?” Hero asked. 

“My ghost friend,” Mira said. Hero chuckled.

“You have an imaginary friend, Mira?” he asked. “I’ve never met her.” Mira crossed her arms. 

“She’s not imaginary!” Mira said. “She’s real, and she plays with me every day, and helps me with my homework. But I’m worried about her. Last night I heard screaming, and she was talking to someone I couldn’t see. And she told me to stop worrying but I can’t!”  Hero got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

“Does…does your friend have a name?” he asked. Mira nodded.

“Her name’s Mari.” 

After all this time. Hero had looked for Mari everywhere he went. In the graveyard, in their old hangout— don’t say hang don’t say hang— spots, in every dish he made and in every lily of the valley he saw. All this time, and she’d been right next door. 

Hero would have sold his soul to see her back then. Mari’s death had left a hole in his heart—a hole that only widened with each question he asked himself. Why didn’t she leave a note? How didn’t I see the signs? 

Why didn’t she say goodbye? 

What would he do with this information now, he wondered. If he hadn’t been able to see Mari’s ghost all this time, why would he be able to now? But it ripped him up inside all over again, knowing that Mari had been next door all this time. Maybe it was stupid of him to believe in ghosts all of a sudden. But wasn’t it comforting? That some part of Mari was here, if not her body then her soul? 

Still, he remembered what little Mira had said. “I heard screaming, and she was talking to someone I couldn’t see…” Was Mari in trouble? The thought twisted his stomach into knots. After whatever Mari had gone through those years ago that made her take her life, she deserved nothing but bliss in the afterlife. 

It didn’t matter what the kid knew about the true nature of her ‘imaginary friend’. 

Hero knew it was time to act.

Chapter Text

Mari sat on the railing, staring at the stairs below. She came back to this place a lot. One doesn’t just die somewhere and forget. 

What she wasn’t used to was Sunny joining her. 

“Thinking about something?” Sunny said. Sunny didn’t usually talk to her when he joined her here. Mari decided to take advantage of this opportunity. Usually Sunny didn't want to talk, and Mari had never come even remotely close to talking about what had happened on that day. But she might have a shot right now. She smiled sadly. 

“Oh, you know,” Mari said. “Just…stairs.” 

“Stairs…” Sunny said. “Stairs. Sta—” He stopped speaking and started screaming again. 

“Sunny!” Mari shouted, jumping up from the banister. “Sunny, please, you’ll scare Mira—” It was no use. When Sunny finally looked back at her, it was as if he didn’t see her. 

“S—S—” Sunny started. 

“Let’s get you to bed,” Mari said nervously, reaching a hand out to Sunny. But Sunny recoiled away in horror. His eyes were wild with panic. 

“G—Get away!” Sunny shouted. “Get away from me!” Mari backed away, holding her hands up. 

“Sunny, stop,” Mari said, but Sunny was far past listening. He ran down the hall and into his old room. 

“Sunny—” Mari started, but the only response she got was the click of a lock. She slid down the wall and fell to her knees, burying her head in her hands. Why? After everything that had happened, why did her brother have to come back like this? Sometimes it was like—

And then it clicked. 

It was like it wasn’t even him. 

Mari knew there was something going on in Sunny’s brain, something that she didn’t understand. She’d seen glimpses of his sketchbook in the years after she’d died. There were sweet drawings—him and his friends, all bathed in a blue light, looking as they had when Mari was still alive. A couple of cute, whimsical creatures. 

But those didn’t compare to the sheer volume of horrors he’d drawn within the pages. 

Distorted, scribbled-out creatures, unimaginable volumes of blood…and one figure that cropped up again and again. Almost like an inverted W, with a curved top and three points at the bottom, and dark as the night. But most prominent was the single, unblinking eye in the center of the creature. 

One day, back when Sunny was alive and still living in their house, Mari had stood behind him at the mirror, absentmindedly fixing his hair. 

“You don’t take care of yourself, Sunny,” she had said, tucking a stray strand behind his ear. 

Not an hour later, a new drawing appeared on his table. 

The same, scribbled creature, only its eye visible in the darkness of the bathroom, standing behind Sunny just like Mari had. 

For the first time since she’d died, Mari cried. Sunny saw her as a monster. Every kind word whispered, every reassuring glance, all had been twisted by his mind. 

Is that what he saw her as now? After everything that had happened?

Mari put aside her frantic thoughts and tried to clear her mind. Whatever had been going on with Sunny before was still going on with him now. And the first step she had to take towards helping him was finding that sketchbook. 

Mari knew he hadn’t taken it with him when they’d moved. He had stowed it behind a loose panel in the back of the closet. She had watched him put it there on that last day, before he left the house—and Mari—behind. But she knew disturbing Sunny now would only hurt him more…and she knew she would never breathe a word of this to little Mira. 

Maybe it was loneliness. Maybe it was longing for the past. 

But when she picked up the phone, the number she dialed was Hero’s. 

Kel woke up first. 

He was a light sleeper. The slightest noise was enough to rouse him, and the incessant ringing of the phone definitely did not count as ‘slight’. He rubbed his eyes sleepily and checked the clock. 3:02 AM. 

“Thanksssalot…” he mumbled as he pulled on a shirt and trudged downstairs. He picked up the phone.

“Whossthiss,” he said, his words slurred with drowsiness. 

“Kel?” the voice on the other end said. “Kel, can you hear me?” Kel’s eyes widened. He couldn't believe his ears. 

That voice…he knew that voice like he knew his own…

“Mari?” 

“Kel, good,” Mari said, breathing a sigh of relief. Secretly she had been hoping for Hero, but more than anything she was grateful someone could hear her.

“Mari…Mari, I don’t understand…” Mari chuckled. Kel sounded just as he always had. How nice it was to hear his voice again. After all, it had been three years, three years since Kel had last knocked on Sunny's door, hoping to get an answer just once, just this last time, for old time's sake...three years since Sunny had ignored him and shut the rest of Faraway Town out forever. 

“I don’t really understand it either,” Mari said, “but all I know is that you can hear me.”

“Yeah,” Kel said. “So…are you, like…Just, what do you need?” he finished

 “Listen, I know it’s late, but…some weird things have been happening…” Mari said. She looked around in case Sunny was listening. How awful, she thought, to be scared of your own little brother. But it wasn’t him she was scared of, really, she told herself. It was whatever was trapped within his mind. 

“Like what?” Kel urged. Mari sighed. How to explain? How would she tell Kel that one of his best friends, who he hadn’t seen for years, was dead? First Mari, then Basil, now Sunny. And all of it happened because of Mari’s own death— she was responsible. She couldn’t do it to him. She couldn’t. No more tragedy would be on her hands. 

“Listen, I don’t want to discuss this over the phone,” she said. “Please, come over.” She paused. “A—And bring Hero too. I want—I want to see him…” 

“Will do,” Kel said. There was a click as he hung up, and all that Mari had left to do was wait. 

--

The door opened, and Mari felt her eyes water when she saw them. Hero and Kel. Back at her door again, just like old times. 

“Mari…” Kel said, taking a step towards her. Mari took a second to look him over. He was taller now, taller than Hero, and wearing an old jersey and a pair of sweatpants. His eyes were tired, but happy. She only knew what he was up to from snippets of what Hero said in passing to Mira’s parents. Kel was living at home, still trying to find out what he wanted to do with his life, though he was starting to consider being a psychologist, a career choice that Mari felt suited him. 

“Kel,” Mari said, wrapping her arms around him. “I’ve missed you,” she said. “I’ve missed you all.” At long last, she was able to give her friends solace… 

But the next word that came out of Hero’s mouth shattered all her illusions of a happy ending.

“Where?” 

Mari felt her heart break all over again. The one thing she had hoped for since the day she realized Mira could see her…and now it was gone. Hero hadn’t been able to see her from the start. Why would he be able to now? 

“She’s…She’s right there, Hero,” Kel said. “Don’t you…Don’t you see her?” He held up Mari’s hand. “I’m holding her hand right now…” Mari unwove her fingers from his, her face falling. 

“Don’t,” she said. “It’s no…It’s no use. Not…not everyone can see me.” 

“Mari?” Hero said, and the sound of his voice broke her heart. Of all the little tragedies, did this have to be the one to befall her? 

“Just…” Mari started. “Kel, tell Hero that…” That what? Nothing felt adequate. She could say she loved him, but that didn’t even begin to cover it…and besides, what twenty-two year old wants to hear that a little fifteen year old girl loves him? That she misses him? ‘Miss’ was a funny way of describing the gaping hole in her heart. 

“Tell him to come back sometime,” she settled on. Kel nodded, and Mari knew her heart was in good hands.

Chapter Text

Welcome to White Space.

You thought this would stop? 

Omori woke up in the familiar, safe, oppressive white cube. 

NO.

He had won. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

He looked around. Everything was the same, with the absence of Mewo— DON’T THINK ABOUT THAT DON’T THINK ABOUT THAT— Everything was the same.

Except. 

There was no door. 

No way out, unless…yes, Omori’s eyes landed on the gleaming kitchen knife. Yes, that would do well. He picked it up. 

One quick motion, practically painless from habit by now, and it was over. 

He was on the floor now, writhing with pain. The act of remembering was just as raw and visceral and painful as the stab wound he had given himself should have felt like. Mari was standing above him, her face filled with worry.

“Are you okay?” she asked. Sunny— OMORI YOUR NAME IS OMORI NOW— left without looking back, not even when he heard Mari— stop calling her Mari it doesn’t help— calling after him, the sound of hopelessness in her voice. Was he far away enough now? He hoped so. He wasn’t safe here, not with her over his shoulder all the time.

Maybe he hadn’t really won. Not yet.

He and Sunny had always had different motives. Sunny wanted to see Mari again. Sunny wanted forgiveness.

Omori, however, didn’t care. 

Anything to stop himself from remembering. And it was becoming clearer every day. Mari was a danger. He had blocked her out pretty well up to now—the screaming and the running and the hiding. But it wasn’t deniable anymore. He was starting to see her as Something again. And ending up in White Space again…

One thing was clear. 

Mari had to go.

Aubrey Miller tucked a strand of brown hair behind her ear, wincing as she smeared a bit of motor oil on the side of her face as she did. Her fingers, covered with scars as visible reminders of her past and nimble from three years of fixing up cars, rummaged through the engine of the car, by feel more than sight, searching for anything out of place. 

“It’s your pistons,” she said, mopping the sweat from her brow as she turned to the man standing above her. “Pretty easy fix. Won’t charge you much for it.” 

“Thanks, Aubrey,” the man said with a smile. Aubrey was about to get to work on the engine when she heard the phone ring. Sighing, she got up to answer it.

“Fix-It Auto Repairs, Aubrey speaking,” she said. 

“Aubrey?” The voice took Aubrey aback. She hadn’t heard it in months—no, years, it was now. With it came back dozens of memories, flooding her all at once. Oh God, they’d lived lives together, Aubrey and the owner of this voice. She knew him like she knew herself and she loved him better than her own sorry excuse for a family…or, at least, she had. Guilt rose up into her throat, threatening to choke her. The one person who had cared about her all those years ago…and she had barely said a word to him for seven years. 

“Kel?” she said, her voice tinged with disbelief. “Kel, is that you?” 

“It’s me,” Kel said. “Listen, can I—can I come find you somewhere? Can we meet up? There are…there are things happening, and—and I need you.” Aubrey felt her head spin. Maybe Kel did still care about her. If so, he’d be the only one. When Aubrey had put down her spiked bat for the last time and told the gang she wasn’t going to hang out with them anymore, most took it as a personal affront. The only one who’d still talk to Aubrey was Kim, and even she was drifting away slowly. Aubrey was better off now, but at what cost? She’d found a job, and she’d left her mother’s house, but that stability didn’t stop her from being soul-crushingly, devastatingly lonely. 

Whatever had happened all those years ago, it was time to put it behind her.

“Yeah,” Aubrey said, her heart racing. “Let’s meet up.” 

--

Aubrey sat in the near-deserted pizza place, her fingers drumming rapidly on the table. The clock read 9:21 PM. 

“Where are you, Kel?” she muttered. 

“You waiting for someone?” the blond, gum-chewing waitress said annoyedly. “We close at 10.”

“I won’t be waiting that long,” Aubrey snapped. “He’s on his way.” Still. Five more minutes ticked by, and Aubrey felt the eyes of the waitress boring into her. Where was he? They had agreed to meet at 9:15 at Gino’s. Why wasn’t he here now? Fear began to set in. Was this some kind of joke? Was he going to leave her to sit here alone? Would he laugh as he pictured the hooligan’s ringleader, who used to be surrounded by friends and allies everywhere she went, who took what she wanted and bossed around who she pleased, who put fear into the snot-nosed neighborhood kids, sitting alone in a grimy, derelict restaurant waiting for someone who would never show.

“Sorry I’m late!” The voice snapped Aubrey out of her musings. There he was. Kelsey Martinez.

In a way he looked just as he had the last time they’d spoken. Same messy hair, just above his shoulders. Same stupid grin on his face. His white T-shirt bore the Orange Joe logo, and his shoes were untied as always. 

“Kel…” Aubrey said, walking towards him slowly. There were tears in her eyes. Why were there tears in her eyes? 

Before she could ponder this question any longer, Kel swept her into a hug, and she found herself melting into his arms like she had all those years ago, when they were just kids and their lives were simple. When they finally broke apart, she felt his eyes scan her over.

“You’ve changed , Aubs,” he said, and Aubrey had to make an effort not to grin at the sound of her old nickname. It was true—she had changed. Gone were her teal contacts, and the only sign of her pink hair was a single stripe in the front of her bangs, a reminder of her promise to Mari rather than her days as a gang leader. She’d traded out her varsity jacket for a Fix-It sweatshirt, and Mari’s hair ribbon was nestled in her hair, holding it in a high ponytail. 

“Time does that to a person,” she said wistfully. Then she smiled again, brightening up. “Good to see you haven’t changed too much, Kel.” 

“Hey, I’m three inches taller!” Kel said crossly, but he was grinning. Aubrey rolled her eyes, smiling. 

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s talk.” 

--

The pizza was mediocre at best, and rather expensive too, but it didn’t matter. What Aubrey learned from Kel was priceless.

“So, you were saying something,” Aubrey said. “About…about the neighbors’ house.” Kel nodded grimly.

“No, no, no,” Kel said. “I cut you off. Go on.” Aubrey took a deep breath. Telling Kel what she had to say would be no easy feat.  She had thought she was going crazy herself when it first started happening. What would he think? 

“So, there’s been this…this thing that’s been happening…” she began. How could she put it into words?

“It…It started a while ago. I don’t really remember how long…” She took a deep breath and tried to piece the story into words. 

Aubrey walked down the old street towards the church. The walk was the same as it always had been. Same trees. Same houses. Same people walking by. The only comforting thing about living in a tiny town like Faraway was that nothing changed. 

And then she spotted it. 

A ‘For Sale’ sign poking through the dying grass of a house’s front lawn. Not just any house. 

Basil’s old house. 

Aubrey knew Basil’s grandmother hadn’t been doing well. Her heart had been failing for a long time, but it had only sped up the past three years. Three years. Three years since Basil had died. Not just died, but willingly ended his own life with a pair of garden shears. And none of them knew why. 

Two friends dead of suicide in four years. Aubrey could barely handle it. And the last words she had said to Basil…three awful words, three awful words that were the last memory he would have of her. 

It shouldn’t have taken that much for Aubrey to realize she’d done something horribly wrong. 

Basil’s death had been the final, fatal nail in the coffin. Hero went back to college and tried to drown himself in new friends and a heavier course load. Sunny left the town forever, and no one had heard from him since. And Kel had finally stopped talking to Aubrey. 

After everything, Aubrey had hoped Kel would be there for her. But she supposed it made sense. Kel had been nothing but kind to Basil—nothing but kind to Aubrey—but after everything that happened, Aubrey knew she didn’t deserve his forgiveness. For four years, she had bullied Basil and Kel, said awful things about the both of them…and still Kel had been kind. 

Aubrey knew she wouldn’t do the same—wouldn’t be able to do the same—if the roles were reversed. 

It was getting dark now, and Aubrey supposed she should move on if she wanted to get to the church in time. She took one last glance at the decrepit old house…

…and saw something move. 

Curiosity getting the better of her, she tiptoed onto the dead grass of the front lawn, careful to avoid the various debris covering the area around her feet. She had seen something move over there, by the gate to the backyard. Carefully she lifted the latch and ventured inside. 

The sight inside nearly brought her to her knees. Around her were the remains of Basil’s prized garden. Broken flower pots littered the ground, and gardening tools were strewn around the yard. Dozens of what used to be thriving flowers languished in the empty beds, wilted leaves sinking into the dry soil. The entire area was overgrown with weeds, and the trees that Basil had trimmed meticulously to allow for just the right amount of sunlight to enter the garden had grown, knotty and tangled, blocking out what little sunlight remained in the dying evening sky. It felt wrong to be inside the boundary of the fence, like Aubrey was digging up a grave that wasn’t meant to be disturbed. A feeling of unease rose in the pit of her stomach.

“H–Hello?” she called, suddenly afraid to raise her voice. “Is–Is anyone there?” The only sound she got in response was the rustling of the wind through the leaves. Then she heard it—the squeak of the shed door opening ever so slightly on rusted hinges. 

“Hello?” she said again, turning towards the sound. “Hello?” 

With shaking hands, she pushed the door open and walked inside.

Inside Aubrey was met with a strong odor of rotting plant matter. She nearly gagged from the smell, pulling the fabric of her tank top up to her nose to block it out. Around her was a mess of various tools—a run-down lawnmower, its frame hosting a colony of spiderwebs, a rake with a splintered handle, a rusty shovel covered in years’ worth of dirt and dust, and dozens more that Aubrey couldn’t even identify. Her eyes lingered on a board where smaller tools hung from pegs. Little hand rakes and shovels, gloves…

An outline where a pair of gardening shears used to be. 

The image made her sick. I shouldn’t be here, she thought. This is wrong. But something stopped her from leaving the shed. Was it guilt? Morbid curiosity? Aubrey wasn’t quite sure. Either way, her feet stayed firmly planted on the dusty floor of the shed. She felt bile rising in her throat. This whole place reminded her of just how hellish she had made life for Basil in those four years after Mari died. And she couldn’t get one nagging thought out of the back of her brain…the thought that told her she was most likely one of the reasons that Basil decided to pull those garden shears off of the rack in the first place…

“Looking for something?” The voice startled Aubrey, and she shrieked. Whipping her head around wildly, she searched for the source of the sound. A soft chuckle emanated from the corner. 

“Best look a little harder,” said the voice, stepping into the light. 

The owner of the voice wasn’t human—at least, not as far as Aubrey could tell. Its entire body was dark as a starless night, save for two pinpricks of white in the middle of its face. Eyes. As Aubrey looked over the creature, a horrible realization came over her. The hair. The clothes. Even down to the shoes. 

The creature was Basil.

“Basil…” Aubrey said. The Basil-creature chuckled softly again.

“Try again,” it said. Its voice wasn’t anything close to Basil’s, yet it somehow reminded Aubrey of him in a way deeper than mere appearance. Aubrey found herself taking a step back. 

“What—Wha—Who are you?” she asked. Something was terribly wrong here, Aubrey knew it…

The Basil-Creature tilted its head as if sizing her up.

“You could say I’m a stranger.” 

--

“And it didn’t say anything else?” Kel had watched her tell the story with rapt interest, his eyes growing wider with each strange turn. He hadn’t even touched his pizza since she had started talking. Aubrey shook her head, causing a strand of hair to fall out of her ponytail.

“No, just…vanished, I guess,” she said, tucking the loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I still…I still don’t know what to make of it. Do I sound crazy?” 

“Not at all,” Kel said. Aubrey tilted her head quizzically.

“What do you mean?” Aubrey said. “I just told you a shadowy figure that vaguely resembles our dead friend is living in his old garden shed. I think I’m crazy. Why don’t you?” Kel chuckled.

“Because,” he said. “The same thing’s been happening to me.”

Chapter Text

Raine knew something was going on. 

He’d be stupid not to. 

Firstly, Mira was moping around the house all day. She used to play with her imaginary friend all the time. Raine was just grateful he didn’t have to be the one playing with her.

Sometimes just seeing her was too visceral a reminder of what he’d done. 

Anyway, she kept saying something about ‘Mari being in trouble’. Raine knew Mari was the name of her imaginary friend. Or, at least, the friend he thought was imaginary. 

Second, some of the neighborhood kids kept coming around, with flimsier excuses every time they came. First Henry, Mira’s tutor, claiming she needed extra help with some subject or other. That in and of itself might not have been earth-shattering—Mira definitely only paid attention to what she wanted to pay attention to in school—but when combined with Henry—infallible Henry, who seemed to be physically incapable of not giving his all to any task put in front of him—staring off into the distance, as if trying to see something more in the monotonous suburban interior of their home, it was a sign something was up. A girl with a pink streak in her hair who Raine had never met swore something was up with their car and promised to fix it, but whenever Raine looked over at her, she was never working. And she always brought along another boy, who Raine recognized as Henry’s brother. The boy never helped around the house—or made any pretense of it. He simply lounged around the perimeter, occasionally saying something to someone—the girl? It had to be the girl. It had to be. 

And finally, his strongest piece of evidence. 

The floating ghost boy in the corner of his room.

Raine had ignored him for the past few months. At first he thought he was imagining things. Maybe it was just because he was tired. Raine hadn’t slept well since they’d moved. For now, he and the ghost boy had coexisted. Neither bothered the other. Sometimes Raine heard him screaming in the middle of the night, but really, he didn’t want to get involved. He didn’t need another burden on his hands.

That night, however, it became too much to ignore. 

The boy had flown, screaming at the top of his lungs, right into the center of Raine’s room, barely pausing before he scrambled to lock the door. Outside, Raine could hear the muffled sound of a girl’s voice, asking him what was wrong. The door opened, and Raine caught another scrambled snippet of the girl’s voice. The ghost boy bolted out the door. 

Raine followed him.

The ghost boy eventually made his way to the attic, where he curled into a ball on the floor. Raine crouched beside him. 

“Hey, who are you, anyway?” he said, trying to shake the boy’s shoulders to get his attention. “And why are you in my house?” The boy turned around to face him irritatedly. 

“Leave me alo–” the boy started, but he stopped when Raine met his gaze. Raine looked at the boy critically now. He looked to be around Raine’s age, but his eyes were blank and sad, and he clutched a kitchen knife in his right hand. Something about the whole thing unsettled him. The boy barely looked human, despite having all of the parts to make the whole. Something just wasn’t right. 

“I can see it in your eyes,” the boy said. “Something terrible happened to you, didn’t it?” Not to me, Raine thought. Unless causing something terrible counts…

“Don’t you just want to forget?” the boy said, his blank expression unmoving. “Wouldn’t it feel a lot better to just forget it ever happened?” Raine thought about that day. How horrible it had felt to see her on the ground, beaten and bruised. And it was all his fault. Yes, it would be nice to forget.

“It would,” Raine said. The boy gave a small, knowing smile. 

“I thought so,” he said. “You’re in luck. My name’s Omori, and I can help you with just that.” 

“Quick, before the kid hears,” Kel hissed. It was late at night, and he, Hero, and Aubrey were trying to sneak a ghost out of a haunted house. The ghost in question was Mari, of course, and she truly was trying her hardest. 

“I’ve been working on it, guys,” Mari said. “I can make it all the way to the stump now.” Instantly after mentioning the stump, Mari winced. She hated reminding herself of the day she died…and she imagined it was even worse for those who didn’t know the truth.

Mari, slowly, seemed to be testing the boundaries of her ghostly form. She knew Aubrey and Kel could both see her, but Hero couldn’t. And only Kel could hear her. Mari didn’t pretend she knew the laws of the ghost world. If she did, she might know why she wasn’t able to make it past the stump without feeling like she was having a heart attack…

Mari had been naive to think that her friends finding out about her existence would suddenly change her life as a ghost. She had always been stuck in this house—why should anything change now? But of course, for her, everything had changed. Sunny was here now, and he had brought along whatever guilt he had had in life. 

Sunny had killed himself, Mari was sure of it. She had no real way of knowing, but a deep, sinking feeling in her gut told her Sunny’s life hadn’t ended in a freak accident or from some disease. His life had ended in his own hands. So many times had Mari seen him trace his skin with the tip of a steak knife, as if daring himself to do something more. Had he gone deeper? Had he cut to the bone and unraveled all the events of his life in a gush of blood, finally putting an end to whatever desperate spiral whirred in his head? Mari wondered if her own face had floated through Sunny’s mind before he made the final, fatal decision. Even then, would it be her own face or the terrifying apparition he had come to see her as those four years he locked himself away from the world? 

Hero sat down on the stump, and Mari sat next to him. He didn’t move at all to accommodate for her presence, and Mari felt her heart ache again. For once she couldn’t tell if it was some bizarre ghost law or just loneliness.Kel and Aubrey sprawled out on the grass in front of them, looking utterly defeated.

“I’ve been trying to look around for any signs of something weird,” Kel said. For the past few days, the gang had been searching for some sign left by Sunny, either something he had left behind before he left that had a clue to the horrors within his mind or something he did now that might explain why he was behaving so strangely. 

Of course, Mari did have an idea of why Sunny was acting like this…

But it wasn’t her place to tell, was it? Who was she to tell her friends that really, she hadn’t committed suicide—it was her little brother all along? They would hate him. Mari could see it. Kel’s face would fall, his eyes glistening with tears he’d hold back as he tried to keep it together for everyone else’s sake. Hero would sink back into depression, losing all the progress he’d made these past few years. 

And Aubrey…sweet little Aubrey…Aubrey who had loved Mari like the sister she wanted and the mother she’d never have, Aubrey who had finally snapped when Mari had died and became an angry shell of herself. Mari longed to reach out to her, tell her she was doing great, tell her how far she had come and how proud Mari was…but she couldn’t. For some awful reason, whatever god there was had decided that Aubrey wouldn’t be able to hear Mari speak as a ghost. The best Mari could do was smile…and oh God, it wasn’t nearly enough. Every time she looked at Aubrey, Aubrey wearing Mari’s ribbon and with that little stripe of pink in her hair, Mari felt like losing it all again. This was someone who she really, truly had failed. 

The only choice Mari had now was to build back up. 

“Well, has anyone seen something like this?” Mari held up Sunny’s sketchbook. It had been right where he’d left it, behind the loose panel in the closet. Turns out finding it wasn’t the problem.

Opening it was.

Mari didn’t want to see what was contained within the pages of the sketchbook. She already knew what was inside, but something about opening the cover reminded her of breaking open a freshly-healed cut. With trembling fingers, she opened to the first page. 

The first few pages were relatively tame. Lots of sketches of the gang, as they had been before Mari had died, all of their skin and hair various shades of blue. Dream-like sketches of places that seemed vaguely familiar, almost nostalgic. A lot of drawings of Basil, Basil holding up flowers and seeds and plants and smiling. Happy. 

“This is so sweet,” Aubrey said with a little smile, speaking for the group, who all seemed to enjoy looking at the sketches. “They’re all of us.” 

As it went on, however, the drawings turned more sinister. The first sign that something was wrong was a drawing of Basil with his eyes violently scribbled out. After that it spiraled quickly. Drawings of horrors beyond Mari’s imagination. That one-eyed creature that Mari knew represented herself. Nooses and trees. Mari herself, her neck long and bent at an unnatural angle, her eyes and mouth gaping black holes. An entire page scribbled out, dried tears warping the paper. Basil again, only this time he was surrounded by some kind of monster with hundreds of teeth. Sunny, wearing the tank top and shorts he wore now, sitting on a throne of red hands, a knife held lazily in one hand. Another Sunny bowed to him, bleeding out from dozens of stab wounds. Mari braced herself for the worst. What would the next page look like? What kind of horrors would reside within the rest of these pages?

She turned the page.

What met her wasn’t some unimaginable horror. It wasn’t a bloody display of any kind. It wasn’t some demonic eldritch horror that was supposed to be someone she knew. 

It was simply a white room and a single black lightbulb. 

Confused, Mari stopped. She turned to the next page as the others looked on. A door opening, revealing a glimpse of the world beyond. The next page was the last, Mari realized, as her fingers brushed against the solid back cover of the sketchbook. Trembling, she turned to it. 

It was identical to the first page. Down to each individual line.

“I don’t understand,” Hero said numbly. “What happened?” Mari shook her head. It didn’t make sense. Why would he go back and draw the exact same thing  the exact same way? Mari felt Aubrey take the book from her hands and turn through the pages. Then she stopped.

“Wait,” she said. “It’s him.” Mari leaned over Aubrey’s shoulder to see the drawing in question. It was of Basil—though Basil was a strong word for it. Basil’s silhouette had been scribbled in dark charcoal, the only white spots being his eyes. 

“You recognize it?” Hero asked. Suddenly, Kel’s eyes lit up. 

“That’s it!” Kel said. “That’s what you were talking about earlier!” Aubrey nodded. 

“Wait, what is it?” Hero asked. 

“Aubrey said she’d seen something,” Kel explained. “A shadowy figure that looked like Basil, who lived by Basil’s old house.”

“Like—Like a ghost?” Hero asked. Mari laughed. The concept of ghosts still seemed a little unfamiliar to Hero. Probably because he couldn’t see them…Mari looked down at her hand, inches away from Hero’s, and felt the loss all over again. 

“I’m not sure what he is, or why he’s in Sunny’s sketchbook,” Aubrey said, “but I’d say he’s our best shot at figuring this out. We should go back over there.” 

“What about Mari?” Kel asked. “She can’t…She can’t come with.”

“It’s okay,” Mari said, smiling sadly. “You all go on without me.” Go on without me. Isn’t that what everyone had been doing? With a pang, Mari realized for the first time that she was the youngest one there. Everyone had grown up, everyone was living their own lives, but she was so trapped. She knew it had been an accident, she knew Sunny didn’t mean any harm…but she couldn’t help but feel angry about it. Her life had been stolen from her. And she had no one to blame.

“Mari says it’s fine,” Kel said, and the others grinned. 

“What are we waiting for, then?” Hero said. “Let’s go!” 

And with that, they left, leaving Mari utterly alone once again.

Chapter Text

The chill of the night wrapped around Aubrey in a cold, dead embrace, and she shivered. She’d left her sweatshirt at her apartment. Why had she done that? It didn’t feel this cold over at Mari's house, she thought. 

Or maybe Aubrey really was losing it. 

Get a grip, she told herself, picking up her pace. You’re going to go over there and see what’s really going on. It probably was nothing. You’re probably just imagining things. And now you’re going to look like a fool in front of Kel and Hero. 

“Hey.” The voice belonged to Kel, and it was soft and comforting. “We’re in this together now, Aubs, don’t you remember?” He slung an arm around her shoulder, and Aubrey felt his warmth envelop her. Kel really was a ray of sunshine. Aubrey didn’t deserve him. No one did, really. 

As they walked, Aubrey slowly got used to the feeling of Kel’s arm around her shoulder. It had been—God, had it really been years since someone had done something like that for her? It didn’t mean much, really—but it was a little reminder he cared, and Aubrey needed those little reminders. She remembered the days when she and Kel had been close—closer than family. Back before Mari died, Aubrey had spent every waking hour possible at the Martinez’s house, playing with Kel and Sunny and Basil when they all were younger and studying when they were older, enjoying Hero and Mari’s homemade snacks. But for some reason, she and Kel had always been the closest among them. Something about Kel made him inherently trustworthy. He was so open, and so willing to listen. 

Aubrey hated talking about her home life. What was there to say, really? Her mom was a raging alcoholic, and her father had only left after giving his fair share of beatings to both mother and daughter. She walked home every night to the smell of beer and wine and God knows what else her mother was drowning her sorrows in and to the grimy, greasy coating that covered all of the surfaces in their house. 

Aubrey hated it, hated the burgeoning list of chores she had to do all on her own, hated the feeling of helplessness that washed over her every time she spotted another festering pile of dishes or another overfilled garbage can that she had to clean. Even her room, her one and only sanctuary, was subject to routine rummagings by her mother, who took what she pleased and left a mess in her wake. 

For most of her life, no one had known where she had come from. She tried her best to look presentable, pretended her parents’ jobs were the reason they didn’t come to parent-teacher conferences or school plays or science fairs or whatever school event was happening, made polite excuses when someone asked her to walk home with them. She had become a master of disguise—and a master of hiding. Hiding from her mother, hiding from the mandatory monthly calls with her father according to the custody agreement, hiding from the truth. 

Always running and hiding—the same things she had gotten angry with Sunny over. How nice it would have felt to lock the door and never come out during the days when she climbed into her bedroom through the window to avoid entering the front door, because the distraction of the door opening might have been enough for her father to stop hitting her mother and turn on her instead. How nice it would have felt to retreat into her room forever during the days when the sound of her parents screaming at each other lasted long into the night, leaving Aubrey exhausted every single day. How nice it would have felt to drown in her own subconscious on the days when her father stormed into her room and dragged her into the living room by her hair, forcing her to take responsibility for the pitiful state her mother was in. Maybe she really couldn’t blame Sunny. 

“What’s on your mind?” Kel asked, bringing Aubrey out of the dark recesses of her thoughts and into the present. 

“Just…thinking,” Aubrey said. Would she be able to talk to Kel now? After everything that had happened? She looked into his deep brown eyes and felt that longing again, that longing to break open and tell him all her deepest fears. Back then Kel had been the only one to have even an inkling of how Aubrey had been living. Was that former bond enough to bridge the rift that had split them these past few years? 

“Thinking about?” Kel asked. It seemed like he really did want to know how she was doing. Maybe, slowly, Aubrey could open up. Putting words to the pain of the last seven years felt impossible…but she could try.

“It’s…complicated,” Aubrey said. “Hey, what if I called you later and…and we talked?” Kel grinned.

“That sounds great! We’ve got a lot of catching up to do, don’t we, Aubs?” Aubrey grinned, blushing faintly at the sound of the old nickname. God. After all this time, he was still the same Kel. 

--

“This is it,” Aubrey said, stopping short at the sight of the abandoned old house. “This is where I saw him.” The bitter wind blowing through the suburban landscape had been swiftly replaced with a frigid rain, soaking Aubrey through her thin tank top and shorts. 

“Where was he?” Hero asked. “I mean, when you saw him?” 

“In—In the shed,” Aubrey said nervously. “Behind the house.” 

“Lead the way,” Kel said, and Aubrey obliged, her footsteps light through the puddles on the ground. She fumbled with the latch and opened the gate, trying her best not to look around at the devastated garden, and found her way to the shed in the damp darkness. 

“Here goes,” Aubrey muttered, opening the shed door. 

Inside was the same bleak surroundings. Same cobwebbed lawnmower. Same rack of tools. 

Same shadowy figure lounging in the corner. 

“I thought you’d come back,” the stranger said, stepping into the thin ray of moonlight cast on the floor. 

“Well, you were right,” Aubrey said. “Listen, I don’t know what you are, but all I know is that my friend is hurt, and you know something about it.” The stranger chuckled. 

“You mean the dreamer?” he said. “The dreamer and I have gotten to know each other quite well over these years. Though he wouldn’t know me now…” 

“What do you mean, he wouldn’t know you now?” Hero asked. “Why?” The stranger chuckled. 

“The dreamer has a bad habit,” he said. “He runs in cycles. I’ve seen it happen.” Aubrey’s patience with the cryptic stranger was waning.

“Just tell us what’s wrong with Sunny!” Aubrey burst out. The stranger went silent all of a sudden, tilting his head to the side in confusion.

“Sunny?” he asked. “The boy living in that house isn’t Sunny by a long shot.” Aubrey felt a nervous jolt run through her.

“What do you mean, he’s not Sunny?” Kel asked, his face wrought with horror. “Who is he?” The stranger looked Kel dead in the eye when he answered. 

“He calls himself Omori.”

--

“So, go over this all one more time,” Kel said. He, Aubrey, and Hero were sitting on the floor of the abandoned shed as the stranger explained the horrifying inner workings of Sunny’s —Omori’s— mind. 

“It’s like this,” the stranger began. “Omori starts off in Headspace, happy—or at least close—and surrounded by friends. Then Basil disappears.”

“It’s always Basil?” Aubrey asked. “Basil is always the one to disappear?” The stranger nodded.

“Always Basil,” he said. “And after Basil disappears, they go and look for him. This causes Black Space and its creatures to start entering Headspace.” 

“What’s Black Space again?” Kel asked for the third time. Aubrey could have sworn she saw the stranger roll his eyes.

“It’s not a real place, per se,” he said. “Just like Headspace isn’t. It’s all more of an extension of Sunny’s trauma.” 

“Which is…” Kel said, trailing off. No one needed him to say it. They all knew the words that came after. Mari’s death. 

“Yes, it is,” the stranger said. “Mari’s death. Either way, they find Basil…and every time, Omori kills him.” The group looked on with grim interest. The first time they had heard this, all had been shocked. Aubrey had cried. Kel had sat unmoving in the corner, face stone-blank. Hero had started pacing the floor. But now, this knowledge was just another horrible detail of Sunny’s life for the past seven years, and they knew they needed to know every horrible detail to help him now. Whatever reactions they had had were already being pushed away. 

“He kills Basil…” Aubrey said, trying to wrap her head around the premise. Suddenly a horrible thought hit her. Did Sunny somehow think he was responsible for Basil’s death? 

How could Sunny think he was responsible when Sunny wasn’t the one who had said those awful things to Basil? Aubrey had tormented him for years on end. She had thrown every insult in the book at him, brought along the other hooligans to tease him, done nothing as they beat him up day after day after day. She could never bring herself to lay a hand on him…but that didn’t make her any better of a person. 

And for what? To cut ties with her oldest friend? She had been there for Basil before anyone else. She was the one who had brought him to the friend group. Aubrey couldn’t imagine what it would be like if someone she had trusted so deeply turned on her so drastically. God, she really had been an awful person.

At least she had a chance to do something good now. 

“The cycle repeats again and again,” the stranger said. “Headspace is fine. Basil disappears. Black Space corrupts Headspace. Omori kills Basil. Sunny becomes aware and fights Omori. Sunny loses. Omori takes control again. Repeat.” 

“How do we beat him?” Aubrey asked. 

“We break the cycle,” the stranger said. “There’s something holding Sunny back from beating Omori—deep down, he’s scared of the truth.” Aubrey tilted her head, confused.

“The truth?” she asked. The stranger nodded. 

“The truth,” the stranger confirmed. “If I could tell the truth, I would, and it would save you all a lot of trouble. But it’s Sunny’s job to do that. It’s the only way to free Omori.” 

“So all we have to do is ask Sunny to tell the truth,” Kel said. 

“Omori,” the stranger said. “Remember, the ghost in that house is not your friend. He will resist. He may even turn violent.” 

“He’s a ghost,” Hero said. “What can he do, really?” The stranger merely gave him a soul-searching look. 

“Don’t take this lightly,” the stranger said. “Please. Be careful.” And with that, he disappeared into the shadows. 

Aubrey looked at the brothers. Both of them looked just as scared as she felt. 

“So this is real,” Hero said. “This is really happening.” Sinking to his knees, he stared blankly into the distance. 

“I can’t believe Sunny was dealing with that all this time,” Aubrey said, half lost in her thoughts. “I—I can’t believe we didn’t help him…” 

“He didn’t…I don’t think he knew how to receive help back then,” Kel said. 

“Well, at least you tried,” Aubrey said, crossing her arms, unable to look him in the eye. “You went there almost every day just to check up on him, and I never saw him again after…after Mari’s funeral.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Kel said. “No one can blame you. Mari was his sister, but she was your friend, too. You…You had a right to grieve before comforting others.” How did Kel know how to put this all into words? Aubrey marveled at his innate sense of emotion, how he always knew the right thing to say. He’d always seemed like he’d coped with Mari’s death the best of any of them. 

“Yeah, well, I could’ve done something,” Aubrey said, growing angry not with Kel, but with the resurgence of memories of her own treatment of Sunny. It made her so angry, so angry to think that she had been such an awful person all that time. “Face it, Kel, I’m not who I was before Mari died!” 

“Please, don’t fight—” Hero started. 

“I know!” Kel said. “None of us are. You’re nineteen now, Aubrey, you don’t have to be the same person that you were when you were twelve, for Christ’s sake!” 

“I hurt you!” Aubrey burst out. “I hurt you, and I hurt Hero, and I hurt B-Basil, and—and I hurt Sunny!” 

“Aubrey—Aubrey, please–” Kel started. 

“No!” Aubrey cried. Hot tears ran down her face, mixing with the cold rainwater dripping from her soaked brown-and-pink hair, and the feeling only made her more angry, angry that she was letting some sliver of emotion show through. She hated this weakness, because yes, her anger wasn’t a strength that let her pick fights and win, it was both cripple and crutch at the same time. 

“Don’t tell me it’s all going to be okay!” she exploded. “Nothing is okay, Kel! Nothing will bring Sunny back, or Basil, or—or—or Mari, and whatever the hell is going on with the Basil stranger and this Omori thing and Mari’s ghost—whatever’s going on with that, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know!” Her voice rose to a desperate, hoarse roar, and she collapsed back to the ground, curling into a ball, wanting to do nothing but scream and scream and scream. 

--

At some point, Aubrey stopped feeling the crushing, suffocating weight of her unadulterated rage, and she started to take in the world around her again. She was still in the shed. Immediately she looked around for the shadowy stranger figure, but he was nowhere to be seen. 

“Aubrey?” The soft voice from the corner startled her from her daze. She turned around. 

Of course. 

There he was again, as constant as the sun in the sky.

 Kelsey Martinez. 

“Kel?” Aubrey said, her voice small and weak. Kel smiled sadly.

“Yep,” Kel said. Aubrey looked around again. Someone was missing.

“Where’s Hero?” she asked. 

“He left to get a good night’s sleep,” Kel said. “He’s got a job interview tomorrow.” Aubrey nodded. Job interview. The idea struck Aubrey as funny for some reason. Her world had been turned upside down when she learned she could see Mari again. She’d have given anything in the world to hear her voice one last time…

And yet, that’s not how the cards had fallen. 

The first day that Aubrey had come over to see if Kel’s outrageous, impossible claim—the claim that Mari still was here on this earth, in some form or another—had any validity, she had waited there on what used to be Sunny’s front doorstep, hair rustling in the wind. 

What would Mari say if she saw me? 

Aubrey had asked that question to herself a thousand times since Mari had died. In anger, in fear, in disappointment, in regret—in as many flavors as the amount of times she had breathed the words on her lips, letting the question float away with the breeze, unanswered as the million whys that had followed Mari’s suicide. 

What would Mari say if she saw me? 

She had thought it while crying, she had thought it while smashing her own belongings to pieces in her rage, she had thought it while standing by and doing nothing as the other hooligans beat Basil within an inch of his life. 

Never had she thought it in the present tense.

What will Mari say when she sees me? 

The minute Kel told her about the ghost living in the walls of the Suzuki’s old house, the question followed her around everywhere. Seven years had passed, after all. Would Mari even recognize her? Though, she supposed, Mari hadn’t seen her for a while. The pink-haired, teal-eyed facade that Aubrey was used to now was gone, and she looked more like she had seven years ago than ever. 

When she’d first seen the glimmering, otherworldly glow emanating from the doorway, Aubrey felt her heart rushing. After seven years, she was finally going to see Mari again. Mari, Mari who was like an older sister to Aubrey, Mari who was the one to teach Aubrey how to do makeup and what products to use her hair and who told her everything about what being in love was like. 

What will Mari say when she sees me? 

But the lingering hope of the question wasn’t built to last.

The door opened, and there she was—Mari, wearing a beautiful white dress, looking as ethereally, eternally beautiful as she had on that fateful day. She gave a smile—God, how Aubrey had missed her smile—and a wave, and Aubrey ran over to meet her. 

“Mari!” she shouted, and as Mari leaned in to embrace her, Aubrey felt a slight cool presence, the opposite of the warmth of a live body, but comforting nonetheless. They broke apart.

“...”

Aubrey tilted her head, puzzled. Mari’s mouth was moving, but no sound was coming out. 

“Mari?” Aubrey asked. Mari tilted her head, confused. “Mari, I can’t…I can’t hear you,” Aubrey said. Mari’s face fell.

“There…there have been a couple of other people who can’t…can’t interact with Mari fully,” Kel said, moving from his position propped against the wall of the house. Now it was Aubrey’s turn for her face to fall. All this time…all this time…

After everything, she still was just as far from Mari as she had been the day she died. 

Aubrey couldn’t help it. She felt a tear roll off her eyelashes and onto her cheek. Mari rested a cold hand on her shoulder, but all it reminded Aubrey of was Mari, Mari leaving them behind forever, Mari’s cold, pale skin tangled in the branches of the tree. 

But still…

Something brought Aubrey back to the house, even though Mari’s very presence reminded Aubrey of the worst day of her life, even though the sight of Mari and Kel talking just like they had seven years ago broke Aubrey’s heart. Kel insisted Mari was in trouble…and, well, Mari had certainly been through enough, what with whatever had been going on inside Mari’s brain that had made her commit suicide that day. 

“Aubrey?” Kel’s voice cut through Aubrey’s haze. “Aubrey, can we…Can we go? This place…I get the feeling we shouldn’t…it’s not right to hang around here.” Aubrey nodded, squeezing out her still-wet hair one last time before stepping outside once more.

The rain hadn’t let up since she and Kel had last been outside, and Aubrey felt herself shivering even more, the cold dew settling on her skin and chilling her to her marrow. She crossed her arms, trying desperately to keep out the cold, but nothing stopped the biting sensation of frigid raindrops on skin, not when the rain was coming down hard as it was. 

She felt a tap on her shoulder, and turned around. 

It was—who else?—Kel. In his outstretched hand was his white sweatshirt, the Orange Joe logo emblazoned on the back. 

“Take it,” Kel said. “I can’t imagine having to brave this cold in just a little tank top.” 

“Kel…” Aubrey said, glancing over the tanned young man. “Kel, that’s exactly what you’ll be wearing if you give me your sweatshirt.” Kel shrugged.

“And I have way less of a walk home,” Kel said. “Hey…” Kel said then, as if a light switch was flipped in his head. “Hey, what if I walked you home? It’s raining, and it’s late, and, well, I just want to make sure you get home safe.” Aubrey felt a slight flush grow over her face despite the cold.

“That…sounds really nice, actually,” Aubrey said. They set off for Aubrey’s apartment, with Aubrey nestled in Kel’s sweatshirt, Kel’s arm finding its home around her shoulder once more. 

Aubrey couldn’t help but think the night wasn’t so cold anymore. 

The Stranger felt it before it happened. 

He might have been simply a manifestation caused by whatever had been going on in Sunny’s mind the past seven years, but there was something real in this shed—something real in the Stranger’s soul. 

His hand glowing faintly white was the next clue to what was happening. Yes, it was him again.

“Come off it,” Stranger said, talking to his glowing hand. “Just get on with it and get out here.” As if heeding his call, a thin, pale, glowing figure began to split from the Stranger, slowly taking form before his eyes.

“S—S—Sunny,” the figure said in a shaking voice. “S—S—Sunny’s…Sunny’s dead…” The Stranger heaved a deep sigh.

“Figured that out, have you?” he said. “That he is. That he is, dear Basil.” 

Basil’s ghost stepped out into the rain, the moonlight piercing his stark white form. In this light he looked angelic, a picture of innocence…until one looked down to the ugly, ugly wound in his stomach. Yes, there had been something—or rather, Something—that had invaded his mind, that had caused him to open up that hole through his stomach with the very gardening shears he had used to carefully tend to the plants he had loved so much. 

Now the boy wandered the abandoned garden when he was strong enough to take his own form, otherwise spending his days as a whiny little voice in the Stranger’s head. 

“I—I know…I know about…about Sunny…” the shivering, sniveling little ghost said. The Stranger rolled his eyes.

“Figured,” the Stranger said. “You can’t quite do anything about it, though, yes?” 

“I…I…I will!” the ghost burst out. “I have to…I have to help Sunny!”

“He’s not Sunny,” the Stranger said again. He was getting quite tired of repeating this little fact by now. “He’s dangerous. What does a little coward like you have against a monster like him?” 

“I…I d—don’t…well, y—you can’t st—stop me!” the ghost burst out, and before the Stranger could say anything, the frail little boy had already run past the boundary of the garden and into the cold night. 

Stupid boy, the Stranger thought. Did no one else know of the danger Omori presented. Whatever attitude the Stranger had towards little ghostly Basil, he was still rather protective of him—rather attached. 

He’s not going to get hurt, the Stranger told himself. But he had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach telling him otherwise.