Ghostbane

The first rays of sunlight peeked through the curtains, casting a soft glow over Richard's room. His body felt heavy, every muscle aching from the events of the past few days. He groaned as he rolled onto his side, barely mustering the strength to reach for his phone on the nightstand. The screen was cracked—probably from when he collapsed after the ghost fight—but it still worked. The time read 6:47 AM.

Richard exhaled sharply, rubbing his face. "Another damn day."

With great effort, he forced himself out of bed. The moment he put weight on his legs, a sharp pain shot through him, making him wince. His entire body still felt like it had been put through a meat grinder.

Still, he wasn't about to stay in bed all day. He stumbled toward the bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He looked like hell—his messy black hair was even worse than usual, and dark circles formed under his eyes. He splashed cold water on his face, trying to wake up, then brushed his teeth before stepping into the shower.

The hot water helped ease some of his pain, but not much. Every bruise, every muscle in his body throbbed. His arms still had faint marks from Nat's needles.

"I really did almost die, huh?" he muttered to himself.

After showering, Richard dried off, changed into his clothes, and made his way downstairs, still moving sluggishly.

---

The morning sunlight poured through the kitchen windows, casting a warm glow over the wooden table where George sat, sipping his coffee. The smell of frying eggs and buttered toast filled the air, making the kitchen feel strangely peaceful—like nothing had happened. Like Richard hadn't nearly died just a day ago.

Richard trudged downstairs, his body aching with every step. His shoulders were stiff, his ribs sore, and his legs felt like they had been crushed under a truck. He pulled out a chair and practically dropped into it, groaning as he slouched over the table.

George glanced at him over the rim of his mug. "Look who finally decided to crawl out of bed. Thought you might've died up there."

Richard grumbled, rubbing his face. "Maybe I should've."

George let out a short chuckle, shaking his head. "You'll get used to it."

Richard scoffed. "Doubt it."

His grandmother turned from the stove, placing a plate of eggs and toast in front of him. "Eat up, dear."

Richard picked up his fork sluggishly, stabbing at his eggs.

George leaned back in his chair. "So, how're you feeling?"

Richard exhaled through his nose. "Like I got run over by a damn train."

George smirked. "Good. Means you're still alive."

Richard shot him a glare. "Seriously? That's your takeaway?"

George shrugged. "You used a ton of spiritual energy fighting that ghost. Your body's just paying the price for it."

Richard sighed and rubbed his temple. "So, what? I just have to deal with it?"

"Pretty much." George took another sip of coffee. "Get used to pain, kid. If you're serious about this exorcist thing, that's gonna be your life from now on."

Richard slumped forward, resting his head against the table. "Sounds awful."

"Then quit."

Richard frowned but didn't say anything.

His grandmother shot George a sharp look. "Stop scaring the boy."

"I'm not scaring him. I'm just telling him the truth."

Richard groaned. "You could at least sugarcoat it a little."

George smirked. "Fine. You did great, kid. You survived. I'm proud of you." He clapped Richard's back—hard enough to send another jolt of pain through him.

Richard hissed. "Ow! What the hell, old man?!"

George just laughed.

Richard sighed and returned to eating, chewing aggressively.

After a few moments, George leaned forward. "Anyway, we're heading out for that exorcism job later today. Be ready."

Richard froze mid-bite. "Wait. What?"

"The job," George repeated. "The one we took to cover Nat's payment. We're handling it today after your school."

Richard's expression darkened. "Seriously? I still have to go to school?"

"Of course," George said as if it was obvious. "What, you thought just because you're an exorcist now, you could drop out?"

Richard leaned back, rubbing his face. "Fucking—"

"Language," his grandmother interrupted, her voice sharp.

Richard let out a frustrated sigh. "Fine."

He grabbed his toast and took a massive bite, chewing with clear irritation.

George smirked. "Look, kid, you're only a part-time exorcist. You still gotta live a normal life. School, friends, all that nonsense."

Richard swallowed. "But my whole body hurts."

George waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, quit whining. If you wanna do this for real, you're gonna have to endure a hell of a lot worse."

Richard shot him a deadpan look. "You're really bad at pep talks, you know that?"

George just grinned. "I'd rather be honest than sugarcoat shit."

Richard rolled his eyes and went back to eating, now aggressively stabbing his eggs as he chewed.

His grandmother patted George's shoulder, giving him a pointed look. "George, stop picking on him and let him eat."

George grumbled but leaned back in his chair, sipping his coffee.

After finishing his meal, Richard pushed his plate away and sighed. "This is gonna be a long day."

He stood up, stretched—immediately regretting it when his muscles screamed in protest—then trudged back upstairs. He changed into his school uniform, grabbed his backpack, and, still groggy, stepped out the front door, already dreading what lay ahead.

---

Richard trudged through the school gates, his body still aching from the events of the past few days. The bright, cloudless sky and the bustling chatter of students made it feel like everything was normal. Like nothing had changed.

But Richard knew better.

As he stepped onto campus, something felt… off.

The air was the same. The people were the same. Yet, a gnawing sense of wrongness crept up his spine.

He walked past groups of students laughing and talking about mundane things—weekend plans, homework, rumors—but none of them mentioned Jackson or Hannah.

Because to them, those two never existed.

Richard's grip on his bag tightened.

He knew Jackson. He remembered Jackson. His voice, his presence, the stupid jokes they shared—those memories were real. Weren't they?

Then why did it feel like he was losing them?

He swallowed hard and kept walking, forcing the thoughts down before they could eat away at him.

Just as he stepped inside the school building, a firm hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"Richard!"

Richard tensed. He didn't even need to turn around to know who it was.

Mr. Hargrove.

Richard slowly turned, coming face-to-face with the school's strictest teacher. The man's gaze immediately zeroed in on Richard's hair—messy, unkempt, and still slightly damp from his rushed morning shower.

Mr. Hargrove sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I told you to cut your hair, didn't I?"

Richard groaned internally. Not this again.

"Yeah, yeah, I remember."

"Then why does it still look like a damn bird's nest?"

Richard shrugged lazily. "Because I didn't cut it?"

Hargrove's eye twitched. "And why, pray tell, did you not cut it?"

"I didn't have time?" Richard offered weakly.

"And why did you not have time?" Hargrove shot back, arms crossed.

Richard hesitated. He couldn't exactly tell the guy, "Oh, sorry, I was busy nearly getting killed by a ghost and unlocking my latent exorcist abilities."

Instead, he blurted out the first excuse that popped into his head.

"Uh… I got a new job?"

Hargrove's eyebrows shot up. "A job? You?"

Richard nodded quickly. "Yeah. New part-time gig."

Hargrove stared at him for a long moment, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "What kind of job?"

Richard scrambled for an answer. His brain was still sluggish from exhaustion, so naturally, he blurted out the worst possible thing.

"Uh… my grandpa has breast cancer?"

There was a beat of silence.

Then—

"I'LL KILL YOU, YOU PUNK!"

Richard's survival instincts kicked in. Without hesitation, he spun around and bolted down the hallway, narrowly dodging a swipe from Hargrove.

"GET BACK HERE!"

"SORRY, GOTTA GET TO CLASS!"

Richard ran as fast as his sore body would allow, zigzagging past confused students as Hargrove's angry shouts echoed behind him.

By the time he reached his classroom, he was completely out of breath.

Slamming the door shut behind him, he slumped over, panting.

A few students looked at him weirdly, but most were too busy chatting to care.

Richard sighed and straightened up, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

That's when he noticed something.

Two seats.

Empty.

Hannah's and Jackson's.

Richard stared at them, a strange emptiness settling in his chest.

Before, those seats were filled. Before, they had voices, presence, existence.

Now, they were just… gone.

Like they never mattered. Like they never existed at all.

A chill crept down his spine.

His fingers twitched.

How much longer would he remember them?

Would there come a day when he, too, would forget?

His heart pounded against his ribs.

No.

No, he wouldn't let that happen.

He couldn't let that happen.

Just then, someone plopped down into the seat beside him, yanking him back to reality.

"Dude!"

Richard blinked.

It was Owen.

He turned to face him, still slightly dazed.

"Huh?"

Owen waved a hand in front of his face. "Are you even listening to what I am saying?"

Richard scrambled to think. "Uh… yeah?"

Owen squinted at Richard, unconvinced. "Oh yeah? Then what was I talking about?"

Richard hesitated. His mind was still fogged with thoughts of Jackson and Hannah, and Owen's words had barely registered.

He took a wild guess. "Uh… politics?"

Owen deadpanned. "Fuck you, man."

Richard snorted, the tension in his chest easing slightly. "Alright, alright, my bad. Tell me again."

Owen sighed but leaned in, lowering his voice slightly. "I got us a date."

Richard blinked. "A… date?"

Owen smirked. "Not just any date. A double date."

Richard leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. "And how, exactly, did you manage that?"

Owen grinned, tapping his nose. "They asked me."

Richard's other eyebrow shot up. "Seriously? They just walked up to you and asked you out?"

Owen shrugged, clearly enjoying the moment. "What can I say? I'm a hot commodity, my guy."

Richard rolled his eyes. "Uh-huh. Sure."

Owen ignored the sarcasm and continued, "But here's the best part—both of them are eighteen."

Richard raised a hand. "Hold up. So, you're telling me you set up a date with two older girls?"

Owen nodded smugly. "Yup."

Richard let out a low whistle. "Damn. I gotta admit, that's impressive."

Owen leaned in, grinning. "I told you, man. I got skills."

Richard smirked. "Or maybe they just feel bad for you."

Owen gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. "Wow. You wound me, Richard."

Richard chuckled. "Alright, so when's this so-called date happening?"

Owen beamed. "This Friday."

Richard's face fell.

"Oh… yeah, about that."

Owen narrowed his eyes. "What?"

Richard scratched the back of his head. "I… don't think I can make it."

Owen's expression immediately soured. "What?! Why?!"

Richard sighed. "I told you, I got a new part-time job, and I'm really gonna be busy."

Owen groaned, slumping back in his chair. "Dude, I already told them it was gonna be a double date! You're seriously bailing on me?"

Richard shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, man. Work is work."

Owen crossed his arms, grumbling. "Man, this sucks. I was hyping you up too. Now I gotta find someone else last minute."

Richard thought for a second. "Why don't you take Isaac?"

Owen blinked. Then he immediately scrunched up his nose. "Ew. No. That dude would probably start talking about his weird conspiracy theories."

Richard chuckled. "Fair point."

Owen sighed, rubbing his temples. "Fine. I'll figure something out."

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, Owen suddenly glanced at Richard, his usual joking demeanor fading slightly. "Hey… are you okay?"

Richard stiffened slightly. "Huh? What do you mean?"

Owen tilted his head. "I dunno. You seem kinda… out of it. Like, your mind is somewhere else."

Richard hesitated.

Should he tell him?

No.

What would he even say? That two of their classmates vanished from existence? That no one but him seemed to remember them? That he was suddenly a part-time exorcist and spent the last few days nearly dying?

No. That wasn't something he could just say.

So instead, he forced a small smirk. "Nah, I'm fine. Just thinking about my new job."

Owen eyed him for a moment before leaning back in his seat. "You nervous?"

Richard sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. "Yeah… you could say that."

Before Owen could respond, the classroom door swung open, and the teacher walked in.

"Alright, class. Take your seats."

The room fell into order as the lesson began.

Richard sat back, staring at the board, but his mind was elsewhere.

Somewhere far away.

The empty chairs of Jackson and Hannah loomed at the edges of his vision, as if mocking him.

As if daring him to forget.

He clenched his fists.

No.

He wouldn't.

He refused to.