Lucas stood frozen at the front gate, his breath shallow.
His heart? Loud. Thunderous. Like it was trying to escape his chest.
He wasn't late.
He just couldn't move.
The pain from last week still lived in his body , a fading bruise on his cheekbone, a tight ache in his ribs. He hadn't even healed yet.
"Why am I here again?"
The thought whispered through his head like a prayer he didn't believe in.
A sudden blare of the horn snapped him out of it.
"Get outta the way!" the school bus driver barked, already annoyed.
Lucas flinched. "S-Sorry," he mumbled, stumbling aside as the bus rolled past him.
Students streamed out laughing, cursing, slapping backpacks together. Normal to them. Background noise.
But for Lucas?
Every laugh felt like it was about him.
"Look, it's suicide boy," someone said under their breath.
"I heard he talks to walls," another snorted.
"Dumb freak thinks he's in a movie."
He walked the concrete path to the building slowly, like each step was a choice he didn't want to make.
The school bell hadn't even rung, but already, the day was winning.
"I hate this place."
He moved through the hallway, gray walls closing in like a prison block. Everyone else had someone to walk with. A group. A friend.
Lucas had a bruised face and a rusted locker that never opened right.
He reached it anyway. Spun the code. Opened the door.
And there it was.
His reflection in the metal locker door faint, but enough.
The yellowing bruise on his cheek. The crack at the corner of his lip. His sunken eyes, always darting. Always waiting.
It was like looking at a ghost of a kid no one remembered.
Friday. It's always Friday.
He didn't even need to check the calendar. His body knew.
Fridays were when they made an example out of him. Like clockwork.
He'd begged his teachers for help once.
All they gave was silence. Or worse a fake smile.
"Hey. Weirdo."
The voice came from behind. Loud. Mocking. Familiar.
Lucas's spine stiffened.
He knew that voice. Everyone did.
Derrick.
"He's here…"
Lucas whispered it like it meant something. Like the devil needed announcing.
He turned slowly. And just like every other Friday, they were already there.
Three of them.
Tall. Loud. Hungry for violence.
Derrick smirked as he slammed Lucas's locker shut.
"You healed yet from last week?" he asked, grinning like he'd already punched him.
Lucas shook his head slowly. "No lunch today."
Derrick cupped a hand around his ear. "What was that?"
Lucas bit his lip. "I—I don't have any lunch."
Derrick turned to his friends and mimicked him in a high-pitched voice.
"'I-I don't have any lunch.' You hear that, boys? Our little freak thinks he can starve his way out of beatings!"
The hallway laughed.
Lucas wished he could disappear.
He wished someone would stop them.
But there was no help.
Derrick stepped closer, standing so near that Lucas could smell the cheap mint gum and last night's sweat on his breath.
"Alright," he said, clapping once, loud and sharp.
"Let's get to business."
The laughter quieted. The other two boys perked up, eager.
"Yo, Devon," Derrick turned, eyes gleaming. "What's today's little surprise? Give me a classic."
Devon grinned, licking his lips. "What if we strip him down to his boxers and toss him in the trash outside? Y'know, by the school gate. Like a real welcome mat."
The third boy — Troy — chuckled darkly. "Nah, bro. Let's tie him up on the flagpole and hang a sign that says 'I'm a Loser'. Let the whole damn school see who he really is."
They all laughed like it was a party.
Lucas didn't move.
He couldn't.
His fingers were curled so tight around his backpack strap, his knuckles had gone white.
Please stop... please... just let it be the trash can...
But Derrick shook his head, slowly, as if deeply disappointed.
"Too easy," he said. "We've already done that. C'mon, think, guys. I want something memorable. Something... permanent."
Then his eyes lit up.
And Lucas's stomach dropped.
"Ohhh... I got it," Derrick said, smirking wide. "Let's take him to the music room."
Troy raised a brow. "The music room?"
"Yeah," Derrick nodded. "There's paint and super glue from that stupid art club project. Let's make our own artwork."
Devon laughed. "You serious?"
Derrick leaned in, whispering low but loud enough for Lucas to hear every word.
"We strip him. Pour the white paint on him. Write 'Property of the Trashcan' across his chest. Then glue his back to the music room wall. Just leave him there like a poster."
Lucas's lips parted, but no sound came out.
His brain screamed. His breath trembled.
And his legs?
Still frozen.
Please… someone… anyone…
But the hallway was empty now.
Even the teachers had turned their eyes elsewhere.
Troy nudged him with a rough shove. "You hear that, freak? You're gonna be our new display. Maybe we'll even take a picture and post it on the school board. Who knows, man — you might go viral ."
They grabbed his arms.
Lucas didn't resist. His feet dragged across the hallway tiles like a prisoner on death row.
Derrick yanked him forward by the collar, lips curled. "Move, loser."
But just as they passed his locker—
BANG!
The locker door swung open on its own—hard and fast—slamming into Derrick's hand with a metallic crunch.
"AHHHH! F—!" Derrick screamed, stumbling back, clutching his fingers.
Devon and Troy jumped in shock, eyes wide.
"Yo, bro, you good?!" Troy shouted, rushing over.
"Damn thing crushed my hand!" Derrick spat, face twisted in rage.
He turned to kick the locker—
BANG!
Before his foot made contact, the locker slammed shut again—this time with such force that Troy, standing too close, caught the edge of it to the face.
His nose made a sickening crack as he crashed into the row of lockers beside him, blood spurting from his nostrils.
"WHAT THE HELL?!" Devon shrieked, backing off, his hands raised like he was facing a demon.
But then…
He froze.
Devon's arms trembled. His fingers twitched in the air like he was feeling static.
"Guys…" he whispered. "Something's wrong—real wrong—my hands are…"
He didn't finish.
His own fist shot upward—like someone else controlled it—and without warning, slammed straight into Derrick's jaw with a brutal crack!
Derrick spun sideways and collapsed onto the hallway floor, groaning.
Devon stared at his own arm in horror. "I didn't—I didn't do that! What the hell is happening?!"
Suddenly, the hallway lights flickered.
The air turned cold.
Lucas, still frozen, felt a pressure behind his ears—like someone was whispering from inside his brain.
And then—
"Damn. Your life is truly pathetic."
Lucas blinked.
He turned.
And saw him.
Leaning casually against the wall across from him was a man — tall, rugged, leather jacket, half-smirk on his face and a glowing spectral blue tint to his form.
But no one else reacted.
Because no one else could see him.
Only Lucas.
"Took me five minutes to find you, kid," the man said, casually cracking his ghostly knuckles. "I expected more of a fight, less of a pity parade."
Lucas's mouth moved, but no words came out.
"Relax. I'm not here to haunt you. Technically. I'm your… let's say, assigned soul babysitter for now. Long story. Dead stuff."
Behind them, Derrick groaned and tried to crawl.
The ghost tilted his head, unimpressed.
"Is that the guy who paints you like a clown every week?"
Lucas nodded slowly.
The ghost's smirk widened.
"Cool. Let's break his teeth."