I spared a quick glance out the car window to check where we were, and instantly wished I hadn’t. The road leading to this godforsaken boarding school was crawling with ghosts. They drifted along the tree line like pale shadows, their hollow eyes following the car as it passed. Some reached out with skeletal hands as if they could claw their way inside.

I tore my gaze away, tugging my hood lower over my face, and dropped my attention back to the notebook balanced on my knees. The page stared back at me with its grim illustration—a woman’s corpse, half-decayed, being devoured by her cats. Morbid? Yes. Accurate? Also yes.

Because I don’t just see ghosts. When I touch a living person, I see how they’ll die.

The visions only come with skin-to-skin contact, thank God, but even with gloves and sleeves, accidents happen. Like when the driver grabbed my bags earlier, and her fingers brushed mine. One second, she was just a stranger; the next, I knew she’d live a long life, die quietly in her sleep, and have her beloved cats feast on her afterward.

She hadn’t stopped talking since we left, her voice a constant hum, buzzing with half-finished stories and pointless details I couldn’t care less about. It all blurred together until it felt more like background noise than actual conversation. The only thing I wanted—the only thing I cared to know—was how much longer until we reached our destination. But I wouldn’t ask. If I asked, she’d take it as an invitation to talk even more, and I already wanted to claw my ears off.

So I kept quiet, tugged my hood lower, and let my gaze wander back out the window. I prayed I wouldn’t be greeted with the same endless view of forest—mile after mile of gnarled trees and the occasional ghost drifting between them like pale mist. That’s all I’d seen for the past ten miles.

Which is why my breath caught when something else finally appeared.

A castle.

Dark, ancient, and half-shrouded by fog, it rose in the distance like the bones of some great beast.

The driver must have seen it too because she slammed on the brakes and pulled to the side of the road so abruptly my notebook slid off my lap.

“Alright,” she said, hands tight on the wheel. “This is as far as I’m taking you, kid.”

“What do you mean? You were paid to drive me to Maze Academy.”

“And I did.” She jerked her chin toward the castle, still looming at least three miles away. “No driver—myself included— would dare take you any farther.”

I stared at her, trying to process her words, before finally snatching up my notebook and climbing out of the car. There was no use arguing—I knew I wouldn’t be able to change her mind. She looked too eager to be rid of me, too nervous about even being this close to Maze Academy.

At least she wasn’t cruel enough to make me wrestle my own luggage from the trunk. Though honestly, I suspected that had less to do with kindness and more to do with her desperate need to leave as fast as possible.

My worldly possessions came down to two bags. One was a ragged bookbag covered in mismatched patches—stitched over the tears and holes it had collected through years of being dragged from one foster home to another. The other was new, stiff, and soulless, given to me by my counselor. That one carried nothing but papers—legal documents, school forms, and the sealed envelope from my social worker that was supposed to impress the headmaster. They said walking in with the paperwork would “make me look good.” But really, they just didn’t want to spend the money to mail it all the way out here.

If I dared complain, I could already hear their response: You’re lucky Maze Academy even wants you. And maybe they were right. I had the distinct feeling the state was about five seconds from booting me out of the system altogether.

I swung one strap of each bag over my shoulders, careful not to drop my notebook, then turned away from the car. I didn’t even bother looking back. The screech of tires tearing down the road told me the driver was already gone.

Taking a steadying breath, I hugged my notebook tight to my chest and forced my legs to carry me forward. My eyes stayed glued to the ground—I refused to look at the ghosts. But just because I ignored them didn’t mean they weren’t there. Didn’t mean they weren’t watching.

Ghosts have always been drawn to me. They know. Somehow, they always know. Even before they realize I can see them, they linger too close, like moths caught in a beam of light. And not all of them are harmless. The older they are, the worse they get. Some are frantic, terrified of fading away, growing desperate for anyone to notice them. Others are twisted by the anger they carried in life, poisoned by it even in death. I’ve dealt with both kinds—and neither ended well.

A prickling sensation crept up my neck, a sure sign I was being watched. I picked up my pace, trying to appear casual, though my pulse betrayed me. But apparently I wasn’t subtle enough.

Something ice-cold seized my right arm and yanked me around.

I froze.

The ghost standing in front of me was unlike anything I had ever seen—and I’ve seen hundreds.

Half of its body looked as if it had been melted in fire. Skin and muscle sloughed away in grotesque strips, exposing charred bone. The other half was disturbingly untouched, save for the crimson tint of its skin, the curling horns that jutted from its skull, and a single, burning red eye.

The sight made my stomach twist, but at least it was still daylight. If I had seen this thing in the dark, I probably would’ve run screaming.

'S-s-ss… see.'

The word rasped from its throat like a growl dragged across broken glass.

And that single word was enough.

The other ghosts stirred at once. They began to reach for me, bony fingers and clawed hands grabbing at my clothes, tugging me toward them, their voices rising in a haunting chorus as they echoed the first ghost’s command.

See. See. See.

I was starting to panic. My chest tightened, my breaths came too fast, and my hands shook despite the notebook I clutched like a lifeline. At first, I tried to convince myself it wasn’t that bad—just three ghosts. I could handle three. I could get away from three.

But that thin thread of calm unraveled the instant I noticed more figures spilling out of the forest, drifting between the trees like smoke. Dozens of them. All burned, mangled in some way, their bodies blackened and twisted as though they had been dragged through fire.

My pulse spiked.

I yanked free from the clawing hands reaching for me and bolted. The only direction I had left to run was straight into the forest.

The first tug on my bookbag nearly yanked me off balance, but I twisted out of it, releasing the straps. The second one came harder, but I shrugged free of that one too, letting it drop to the ground. My bags didn’t matter. Not really. Not compared to the notebook pressed to my chest. That was the only thing I refused to let go of.

As for the paperwork my counselor had forced into the newer bag—well, if Maze Academy needed it that badly, they could call my social worker.

Ghosts lunged for me as I pushed deeper into the woods, their skeletal hands grasping at my arms and hair. I dodged, ducked, and swerved. Panic drove me harder and faster. The deeper I went, the thicker the forest became, until the air was damp and heavy, shadows blotting out the light. Still, they followed. Everywhere.

I barely noticed when the trees opened up. Not until my toe caught on something buried under the soil and I pitched forward. My notebook almost slipped from my grip as I went down face-first into the dirt.

I spat out a mouthful of leaves, shoving myself onto my hands—only for the ground beneath me to crumble.

The earth split, and I was falling.

The fall was mercifully short, no more than a few seconds before my body slammed into something solid and unyielding. Pain shot through me, but I bit back the groan threatening to escape and forced myself to sit up.

I blinked into the gloom. The only light filtered down from the ragged hole above where I had fallen through. Dust drifted through the beam of sunlight, sparkling faintly in the dimness.

I realized I was sitting on a raised stone platform. I slid off it carefully, my legs shaky, then turned to get a better look. It was rectangular, long, and carved, with intricate designs etched along its edges. Strange symbols that made my skin crawl with a sense of déjà vu.

They looked… familiar.