Fresh excitement spurred me through another day of school. I went more attentive to my studies and the strange. I felt more than fear in expectation of a scare. Imagine my ire when my scary secret skipped.

For the first time since the fall, no one haunted me. All my senses savored separation from the boy. But I’d gone to sleep anticipating his return. I had prayed a promise to apply my mentor’s words.

So, I subtly dallied after detention that day, playing the impatience of the school’s crude coach. I secured successfully the chore of cleaning up. I toiled until I saw the back of Brother Beck.

I abandoned cleaning once the coach had gone his way, certain I could finish once my purpose was complete. I climbed from the bunker where we sinners served detention and left the safety of St. Circe for the withered woods.

Warming weather minimized the mist about the brush as I broke taboo again to brave the forest for a cause. Squishy soil shifted underneath my steady steps. I gathered my insulated skirt to spare it stains.

I advanced in eagerness to greet the grim visage. I had gained by Mrs. Mons a worthier worry: if his haunting of my head was harmful to my heart, I would have to handle him or forego Field Day.

Seeing as a seer needs a history of grit, I needed a passing grade on Field Day to proceed. Giving over to my fear meant giving up on that. Count me tickled at my quickness to refuse retreat!

I retraced the route I remembered from Rachel’s challenge, guided by the surging swell of water on the run. I followed the flow to find the fallen tree I’d footed. I declined to drop again and walked the river’s course.

Soon enough, I spotted a curve in the ravine. Scrutiny unveiled a secret nestled in the bank: a musty hollow hidden at the hanging of the turn. I assumed I’d spurted from my winter washout there.

“Hello?”

So I spoke in hope I’d done enough. The splash of the stream answered my callout alone. I swallowed a lump as I eyed the eerie den. Bending low, I resigned myself to the return.

I descended to the spot as calmly as I could, clinging like a spider to the side of the ravine. I made use of what footing the slanted soil offered. I succeeded by the grace of boldness breaking brash.

I shimmied around the curve and slid into the hollow, trusting in the texture of the soil I perceived. My conviction crumbled when I landed with a splorch. I sunk ankle-deep into the mud I’d mistaken. Would that I had held the sense to stiffen on the spot and reckon with my rooting by the substance gripping me. But the shock of chilly muck stripped me of my wit. I jerked forward on reflex and fell into the mess.

I regretted wearing a white ensemble that day as I befouled my socks and skirt and standard-issue shirt. The chilly slurry bested the protection of my garments. I scrambled to stand and scrape off all the crud I could.

“Hello?”

I appealed with new urgency, clawing at my chest amid the throbbing of my heart. My muddying committed me to skipping out on chores. I would only leave a larger mess if I went back.

But the specter spurned me still, deepening my torment. Could his haunting truly be a matter of the past? Could I pass the fortnight into Field Day free of fear? This I prayed as I prepared to flee a sec too soon.

The rushing of the river and the racing of my heart joined their clamor to conceal the sound of bubbling mud nearby. Only at the feel of frigid fingers did I notice. Looking down in fear refreshed, I beheld the boy.

Frightful as he ever was, he emerged a mess of mud mingled with the substance of his savaged upper half. I recoiled from his hand upon my sullied foot, scrambling with a shriek toward the entrance of the den.

But I soon enough remembered why I’d come so far. I would get no better chance to brave the boy unseen. I amassed all mettle I could muster in that moment and spun from my reflexive flight to face him with resolve.

Stepping nearer through the muck, I observed his effort to claw away the foreign soil thickening his chest. I observed on his success the detail of his wounds: flesh protruding like something had been ripped from within. Whether soil or something else, I pondered its absence less than the behavior of the boy I’d thought a threat to me. He seemed not to notice me at all as I observed him. He instead dug desperately through the mud we endured.

I knew little then about the nature of his presence. I had yet to earn insight into matters of myst. But I knew intimately the marks of manic angst. I knew also what I longed to savor in that state.

I approached him with affection long denied to me, reaching for him with the hand the wooden bracelet held. He halted his seeking as his eyes beheld the beads. Only once the tears began did he look up at me. I contained a surge of sick to sprout a sweet smile, cradling his hand in both of mine as I desired. Imagine my shock as his severed features fixed, fading out of focus before reforming repaired.

“I couldn’t take it,” cried the boy of face refreshed and fair. “I couldn’t! No more! I’m sorry.” I could only guess back then what grim fate he feared. At the time, I was just relieved to see him healed.