Every part of me wanted to believe I had in fact heard her name wrong, that the name Brooksia Vider is just what I heard over the pounding and wasn't what she had said. But I couldn't. On this paper, under all the writing, was a picture, and there was no mistaking it. 

My thoughts were out of control as I began to run to the cemetery. I knew there was no denying the evidence that was right in front of me, but part of me needed it to be real. I had no idea where her headstone would be, or even if she had been buried instead of cremated, so I spent a good twenty minutes looking at all of them before I found the right one. 

"Hey!" someone called. 

I jumped, prepared to run for it in case it was a police officer here to accuse me of grave robbing or something. 

"Why did you disappear? I was talking to you," continued Brooksia. 

"I only left after you did," I answered. Was I really talking to a dead girl? And gross! I had thought she was hot. She's nothing but a corpse.

"No. Someone was heading towards me with a flashlight, then the lights went out. When I could see again, you were gone."

"The lights never went out, Brooksia. Plus, think about it: how would someone know to have a flashlight before the lights went out?"

She didn't seem to be listening, she was too busy looking around, confused. "How did I get here? Did you bring me here?"

I shook my head. Then I remembered a show I'd seen once with a ghost, and how they had vanished into thin air. I asked, "How many times have you looked around and not remembered getting there?

Brooksia shrugged. "A few. But I had been distracted during those times."

"And what's the date today?"

"Halloween, October thirty-first."

"The year too."

She sighed and put her hands on her hips. "What does this have to do anything? Why are you asking me these stupid questions?"

"Just please answer me."

"Two-thousand and nine."

And there was my evidence. I guess. "Brooksia, it's actually 2010."

"No it's not. I'm in my junior year, 2009."

I shook my head. "Where did you wake up today?"

She shrugged again, letting her hand fall back to her sides. "I don't remember, per se, I just remember laying on the ground here once night had fallen."

"Were you where I'm standing?"

"I think so. Maybe."

"Come take a look at what's here."

It didn't seem like she wanted to, but Brooksia dragged her feet over any way. At first I didn't think she understood what she was looking at , but soon realization crossed her face. She covered her mouth with her hand, shaking her head back and forth in disbelief.  No ideas occurred to me as to what I should do. Should I comfort her? Would I just pass right through her? I'm not gonna lie, that would be pretty cool to see, but given the situation, I figured that wouldn't be the best idea.

I'd heard stories of ghosts who get violent, would finding out she'd been dead for the past year set her off? Should I run in case she did? But what if my running ticked her off? So, I stood there, waiting for another reaction to come from her.

"Do you mind if I ask how you died?" I heard my voice say. 

"I don't remember," Brooksia stated.

Running a hand through my hair, I looked down at my feet. "I am sorry about what happened."

"Me too."

And with a blink, she was gone. I wondered if she had crossed over, or merely disappeared. With a touch to her headstone, I walked away from it. Part of me just wanted to call it a night, to go home and crawl into bed. It was only a little while after ten, which was early, but going home seemed to be a welcoming idea. But then there was the other half of me. For some reason, that part of me never wanted to go to sleep. Well, it had no problem zoning out during class, but never during the wee hours of the morning when I had school in a few hours.

This place seemed peaceful, got me away from all the things going on tonight that I wasn't in the mood to be a part of. Of course, that's because it was a grave yard, everyone was dead. And with that thought, my stomach gave a repulsed twist. Which was weird.  Maybe I was hungry, I hadn't eaten all night. Or it could have been the beer I had earlier. I know underage drinking was frowned upon, but I had refused to give in to peer pressure and keep drinking, I cut myself off at one. Plus, the taste of the stuff was revolting.  

Then my mind began to wander, just as I was through the cemetery. Since my eighteenth birthday on the thirteenth of this month, I hadn't been in the mood to eat. I'd think of something, crave it, but when I went to grab it, I felt sick at the sheer thought of actually eating it. For example, I had wanted ice cream two days ago, so I went to my kitchen to get it. Only thing is, once I had a bowl, spoon, and the ice cream out, I didn't want it any more, I felt sick to my stomach at the aspect of eating it.

My parents, especially my mom, have been keeping a watchful eye on me since my birthday. She's concerned at my loss of appetite, said it wasn't normal or probably even remotely healthy for a boy my age to eat so little. I shrugged it off every time she brought it up and tried to get me to eat larger portions at dinner. After a while, I started coming up with excuses to be out of the house during dinner. 

But the weird part was that I hadn't lost any weight, I don't feel weak or light headed, nothing. Even with my lack of sleep, getting usually two hours or so a night, I felt perfect. Carter didn't noticed any of this, not even at lunch when I wouldn't eat and would start dozing off. I knew I should be hungry, I haven't eaten properly in eighteen days, but I wasn't. My stomach wasn't rumbling, it never felt empty, so it wasn't sending the message to my brain to tell me to eat. But maybe it just didn't know what I wanted.

Part of me was craving something, but I couldn't fgure out what it was. And it felt like I was desiring more out thirst rather than hungry.

Looking at all the head stones I passed as I strolled through the cemetery, I came a halt. I could see a wall of names about twenty feet away, and one of the names had caught my attention, though I couldn't understand how I could read it from here. Walking over to it, I realized it was a name of the group that had founded this town back in the 1600s. I reached up and touched the familiar name.

Jackson Levesque

I had no idea who this was. The name I probably recognized from History class, but something in me told me that wasn't the answer.

"Aren't you the new kid? Ian, or something?" asked someone from behind me. 

Turning around, I rolled my eyes as I saw Logan Moore and two of his friends coming towards me. They were the school bullies, but I took bullies seriously. At my old school, I'd found out that most bullies were nothing Momma's Boys.

"Ian Gray," I corrected him. 

"Don't care. I'm in a bad mood and feel like taking it out on something. Guess you'll do."

And then he swung, making contact with my jaw. I reached up to put pressure on the sting, but the sensation never came. Logan and the other two, whose names I didn't know, stared at me in amazement. Something had flown from my mouth, landing with a soft thud in the grass, so his punch should have caused me pain...

Logan went to swing again, pulling his arm back, but when he snapped it forward, I caught it. I twisted his wrist until he was down on his knees, his two friends having fled, and looked down at him. 

"I'm sick and tired of bullies," I said, venom in my voice. "Leave me and every other person in this town alone."

Once I let go of his hand, he ran, stumbling over his feet and nearly falling. I looked around for what I had lost, thinking it was probably my plastic fangs, but I could still feel those in mouth. Oh well, I wouldn't have put them back in after they'd been on the ground. And since I couldn't think of anything else I could have lost, I just decided to leave the cemetery.

There wasn't any place I really wanted to go. Home seemed less appealing now, and I really didn't want to go to another party. Actually, part of me told me that I did. Being less than completely positive about where the two parties I hadn't gotten to with Carter before I left, I just went back to number three by retracing my steps because I still hadn't totally memorized the layout of this small town yet. 

I could hear the pounding of the music, though I couldn't see the house. As I walked, that name, Jackson Levesque, danced around in my head. There was something about it that I just couldn't put my finger on. Remembering that Carter's family had lived in Spirit for centuries, I figured I could ask him about any information regarding Jackson. 

Something came over me then. I could still see, but it was as if I had no control over my actions, my body was at the mercy of an unseen puppet master. My limbs moved with speed and grace that I didn't know I had, carrying  me down the street and into a dark alley. What was going on? Then a delicious smell surrounded me, teasing me because I didn't know where or what it was. But whatever was controlling me seemed to. 

Using every ounce of strength I had, I forced my self to stop, cutting the invisible strings that the puppeteer was using. I needed to get my brain examined. First I was seeing and talking to ghosts, and then I was moving inhumanly and in ways I hadn't decided to move. I wasn't even sure where I was right now.

"Excuse me, can you help me?" asked a girl I recognized from school.

"Depends," I responded, figuring I could get through this, whatever she wanted, and then go home and lock myself in my room so I could figure out what was going on with me.

"Is the Witch Shop around here?"

"You believe in witches?"

"Sure. I believe in all supernatural creatures. How could I not? I mean, just look at Jackson Levesque. 

Maybe she could help me.  But I don't remember talking about supernatural things in history when Jackson was put topic. "What's your name? I recognized you from school, but I can't recall. I'm Ian Gray."

"January Lancaster."

"So, what's up with Levesque?"

She smiled. "Well, if you believe the stories like I do, he was a vampire. It's said that he never grew old and died like everyone else, that he never grew any older then his late twenties because he was bitten shortly after the founding of Spirit. He disappeared in 1702, but he didn't die until just 18 years ago. Or so the story goes."

"Where did he go? Wouldn't someone have reported seeing him?"

"No one knows. But, according to some research I've done, vampires never really die, even after being staked."

I couldn't help but be intrigued. "Then what happens to them?"

January pushed some of her black hair away from her face, focusing bother her hazel eyes on me. "They're reincarnated. So, someone out there is Jackson Levesque. And that person would be a vampire by birth. Anyway, I'm gonna go and try and find that shop. Have a wicked Halloween, Ian Gray."

I licked my lips, thinking it over. My tongue grazed my plastic fangs and it felt like it got cut. I made to take them out, but couldn't. Not as in I just didn't want to because it was they only thing I had left to let people know I was dressed as a vampire. No. I literally couldn't. I pulled at them, but they wouldn't budge.