The sunlight hit my face, and I immediately regretted existing.
I stared at the ceiling for a solid minute before peeling myself out of bed. The mirror in my room didn't lie, even if I wanted it to.
A delicate, doll-like face stared back at me. Large, intense eyes, soft features, and a mess of wavy dark hair that looked like a bird had nested in it overnight. I had a slender neck, toned arms from way too much restless pacing, and a narrow waist that gave me a pretty elegant silhouette—if you ignored the fact that I was currently wearing oversized penguin pajamas.
Time to transform, I thought.
I ditched the penguins for the stiff school uniform. Brushed the teeth, tamed the hair, and straightened the collar.
"Ren! Breakfast!" my mom called from downstairs.
I headed down, the wooden stairs creaking under my feet. My parents were already at the table, looking at me with that specific expression they'd perfected since I was eight. It was a mix of "we love you" and "we're terrified your brain is broken."
Ever since I told them I could see people who weren't there, my childhood had been a revolving door of therapy sessions and "wellness retreats."
"Morning, honey," Dad said, not looking up from his coffee. "How did you sleep? Any... visitors?"
Mom stopped buttering her toast, her ears practically twitching.
I sat down, grabbing a piece of bacon. "Everything's fine, Dad. Totally normal."
The tension in the room deflated like a popped balloon. They looked so relieved. It was almost cute.
"That's great," Dad said, smiling. "We really think the new treatment is working. You seem so much more grounded."
"I am," I said. Then, I froze. My eyes widened as I stared at the space right behind his chair. "Dad. Don't. Move."
Dad's smile vanished. "Ren?"
"There is one right behind you," I whispered, my voice trembling with fake terror. "It's got a huge mouth. Like, unnaturally large. It's... it's literally eating your head right now. Gulping down your skull. Oh god, the teeth—"
"Really?" Dad asked, his voice flat and sarcastic, though his hand shook slightly as he touched the back of his neck.
I burst out laughing, slapping the table. "Got you! Ha! There's nothing there but your bald spot, Dad."
Mom sighed, but she was smiling. "Ren, don't scare your father like that."
"Sorry, sorry. I couldn't help it."
They laughed along, convinced that my sense of humor was a sign of recovery. Little did they know, I'd just stopped sharing the truth.
I finished my breakfast, grabbed my bag, and headed for the door. "Bye! See you later!"
"Have a good day, honey!" they called out. They probably thought I was finally "normal."
I stepped out into the morning air. I actually liked talking. I liked people. I liked making sarcastic jokes that made people question their life choices. But as I started the walk to school, the silence of the street reminded me why I kept my mouth shut now.
It all went south a year ago. My best friend—let's call her Ami—lost her dad. At the funeral, I saw him. He wasn't crying or being poetic. He was literally hovering over his old boss's head, using the guy's toupee as a literal toilet.
I thought it was hilarious. I told Ami, "Hey, don't worry, your dad is currently pooping on your boss's head."
I thought it would cheer her up. It did not.
Ami thought I was mocking her grief. She didn't just break off the friendship; she told the whole school I was a "disturbed freak" who made fun of dead parents.
Now, as I approached the school gates, the atmosphere changed.
The school gates felt like the entrance to a boss level I wasn't equipped to beat.
I kept my head down, hair acting like a privacy curtain. I reached my locker, grabbed my books with surgical precision, and headed straight for class. Being a senior should feel powerful; instead, it felt like being a ghost before I was actually dead.
I slid into my seat in the back corner. Rule number one: No eye contact. If you don't look at the predators, maybe they won't bite.
Then, the atmosphere in the room shifted. The volume dialed up to eleven.
"I'm telling you, Shoshi! If I tuck my chin more, that hook is going to be lethal!"
"Kaito, for the fifth time, your center of gravity is too high for that specific maneuver. Also, please stop shouting. We are in a classroom, not a ring."
Enter the brothers.
Kaito and Shoshi. They were twins, though you'd only know if you looked at their birth certificates. Kaito was the older one—by a whole two minutes, a fact he never let anyone forget. He was a beast. National 200m sprint champion and a pro boxer. He didn't just walk into a room; he colonized it with his energy and that permanent, blinding smile.
Shoshi followed behind like a calm shadow. Glasses, sharp eyes, and an IQ of 160 that probably meant he was solving world hunger while Kaito was thinking about protein shakes. He was the top of our year, effortlessly perfect at everything he touched.
"But the speed, Shoshi! The speed!" Kaito laughed, throwing a playful shadow-punch near his brother's face.
"Is irrelevant if you lose your balance," Shoshi replied, adjusting his glasses without blinking.
I watched them from the back. It was like watching a different species. Why is everyone like them? I wondered. Why are they the sun, and I'm just the damp patch of moss in the shade?
The bell rang, cutting off my pity party.
The day passed in a blur of monotone teachers and scribbled notes.
[Math Period] — Ren stares at the back of Kaito's head.
[History Period] — Ren pretends to read while the person next to her moves their desk three inches away.
[Literature Period] — Ren counts the minutes until she can disappear.
Lunch was, as always, a masterclass in social distancing—long before it was a trend.
I was eating my lunch as always, alone , at a corner , nobody to disturb me , really nobody, I'm at peace one can say.
Kaito was standing on a different bench, holding a protein shake like it was a trophy. He was practically glowing.
"I'm telling you guys, the 200m isn't about legs!" Kaito shouted, his laugh booming across the yard. "It's about the mindset! And my mind was screaming for that first position on the finish line!"
A group of track team members and girls were hanging on his every word, laughing like he'd just delivered a world-class stand-up routine. He looked like a shonen protagonist who had accidentally wandered into a slice-of-life anime.
Right next to him, sitting calmly with a thick textbook, was Shoshi.
He didn't need to shout. People were leaning in just to hear him breathe. A girl from the student council was hovering nearby, looking like she wanted to ask him to solve a calculus problem or just marry her.
"Shoshi, tell them about the wind resistance theory," Kaito nudged him with a massive, toned arm.
Shoshi didn't even look up from his book. "Kaito, if I explain fluid dynamics to people who think 'cardio' is a swear word, I'm wasting both my time and theirs. Also, you have protein foam on your lip. It's unsightly."
"See? A genius!" Kaito beamed, wiping his mouth. "My brother, everyone! The man who knows everything except how to have a good time!"
The crowd roared with laughter. They loved it. They loved the "Big Strong Brother" and the "Cold Genius Brother" dynamic. They were a package deal of perfection.
I watched a stray fry fall off my fork. I looked at the "Royal Court," then back at my empty bench. The space around me was like a physical barrier. If a ball rolled near me, the kids would wait for the wind to blow it away rather than come close to the "Ghost Freak."
Why them? I thought, biting into my cold sandwich. Why do they get to be the main characters while I'm the urban legend parents use to scare their kids into being normal?
The lunch bell finally rang, and the crowd followed the twins inside like they were being led by the Pied Piper. I stayed behind for a few extra seconds, just to enjoy the silence before the next round of "avoid-the-psycho" began.
The rest of the day was a repetitive montage of misery:
[2:00 PM] — Chem lab. My partner "accidentally" forgot to tell me we were starting the experiment. I ended up doing it alone.
[3:30 PM] — Gym. I "accidentally" didn't get picked for a team until the teacher forced someone to take me.
[4:15 PM] — The final bell. The sweet, sweet sound of freedom.
I didn't wait for the clubs to start. I didn't say bye to anyone. I just adjusted my bag and started the long walk home.
The walk was the quietest part of my day. No parents asking about my "mental health," and nobody to judge me.
I got home, kicked off my shoes, and didn't even acknowledge the kitchen. I headed straight upstairs, the "normal" mask I wore all day finally cracking.
I flopped onto my bed, face-first. The exhaustion wasn't physical; it was the weight of being a social pariah. Within minutes, I was out.
I woke up to a room filled with shadows. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky a bruised purple. The clock on my nightstand glowed: 6:48 PM.
I sat up, my dark hair a tangled mess, and stared at the corner of my room. For a second, I thought I saw a flicker of movement—a pale hand, a wispy silhouette—but I blinked and it was gone. Or maybe I just didn't want to see it yet.
I stood up, stripped out of my wrinkled uniform, and pulled on a fresh hoodie. The day was over
The evening air was cooling down, but my room still felt heavy with the leftovers of a bad dream. I was just about to settle into a deep-dive of internet forums when a knock at my door shattered the silence.
"Ren? Are you awake?" My mom's voice drifted in. "I'm out of a few things for dinner. Could you run to the convenience store for me?"
I sighed, pulling a hoodie over my head. "Sure, Mom. Just leave the list on the counter."
A few minutes later, I was out the door while fluttering in the wind. The walk to the store was uneventful—mostly because I spent it staring at the cracks in the sidewalk to avoid accidentally making eye contact with the translucent old man sitting on top of a telephone pole.
I hit the store, grabbed the milk, eggs, and whatever else Mom needed, and paid the bored-looking cashier.
Everything was perfectly normal. Until I stepped back out onto the sidewalk.
WHOOSH.
Something blurred past me so fast it whipped my hair across my face. It wasn't a car. It wasn't a dog.
It was a humanoid figure with limbs that were way, way too long—like someone had taken a person and stretched them out like taffy. It moved on all fours, its joints clicking like a bag of marbles, heading straight for the mountain forest that loomed behind the city.
I froze. My heart did a frantic tap-dance against my ribs.
A ghost? Those are dangerous, especially this one.
But I wasn't the only one who noticed.
"Fast, Kaito! I can feel its emotions—it's terrified, and it's heading for the tree line!"
I nearly dropped my groceries. Running right behind the long-limbed freak were the twins.
Shoshi was in the lead, his glasses glinting under the streetlights. He wasn't looking at the ground; he was looking at the air, his face twisted in concentration.
Kaito was right on his heels, looking less like a student and more like a predator. He was breathing easily, his eyes locked on the forest. "It's not getting away this time!"
And then came the rest.
looking like she'd just stepped off a runway. She had that wavy dark hair and that confident, curvy silhouette I'd seen at school, wearing a fitted white blouse and a black skirt. The problem? She was in sheer tights and high heels.
She was descending the store's concrete stairs like a queen, but the pace was killing her.
"Run fast, Mika!" Shoshi yelled back over his shoulder.
"I'm trying!" she snapped, wobbling on a three-inch heel. "Do I look like a track star to you?"
Suddenly, a shadow loomed over her. A man—maybe twenty-two, with rugged, sharp features and short hair—stepped up behind her. He looked like he belonged in a high-end action movie, wearing a fitted t-shirt and a casual jacket that showed off his toned build.
He didn't say a word. He just scooped Mika up into his arms like she weighed nothing and took off.
"Hey! What are you doing, Sato?!" Mika yelled, her face flushing pink as she clung to his neck.
"It's not going to escape today," Sato grunted, his intense eyes fixed on the retreating ghost. "Hold on."
He disappeared into the shadows of the forest after the twins, leaving me standing there holding a bag of eggs and a gallon of milk.
My jaw was practically hitting the pavement.
They can see it? The popular kids—the star athlete, the genius,
All these years, I thought I was the only person in the world living in a haunted house. I thought I was the "psycho."
"No way," I whispered to the empty street. "There's no way I'm letting them have all the fun."
I looked at the grocery bag. Sorry, Mom. The milk might get a little warm.
I tucked the bag under my arm,
ignored the logic centers of my brain screaming at me to go home, and sprinted toward the dark woods.