Ghostbane

Richard sat at the small wooden dining table, his hands resting on the surface as he absentmindedly took a bite of bread with jam. The sweetness barely registered on his tongue. His body was present, but his mind was somewhere else—trapped between the real world and the remnants of his nightmare. His fingers trembled slightly, though he wasn't sure if it was from fear or exhaustion.

His grandmother sat across from him, carefully watching him between slow sips of tea. The quiet ticking of the old clock on the wall filled the silence. After a few moments, she finally spoke, her voice soft but concerned.

"Are you sure you want to go to school today? You can take the day off if you need to."

Richard barely registered her words at first. He was too lost in his own thoughts. The hill. That place. The nightmare. It was all starting to blend together into something far worse than a simple bad dream.

After a long pause, he finally responded, his voice low. "Don't worry, Grandma. I'll be fine."

She studied him for a moment before nodding, though the concern in her eyes didn't fade. "If you say so..."

Richard picked at the crust of his bread, staring at it as if it held some kind of answer. His legs felt weak beneath the table, and his heart was still racing, as if he had just finished running. The feeling of being watched—that eerie, heavy presence from his dream—hadn't left him, even now.

His grandmother must have noticed his distress because she suddenly placed a comforting hand over his. "Don't worry."

Richard blinked and looked up. "What?"

She gave him a small, reassuring smile. "Your friend is going to be fine."

He forced a nod, though he wasn't sure he believed it.

Then, she changed the subject. "Your grandfather said he's located his 'big ghost'."

At that, Richard's body tensed slightly. He didn't even lift his head, just muttered, "Really?" in a low voice.

His grandmother nodded. "Yes, he said it's near the hill. The one close to Eastbridge."

Richard froze mid-bite. His fingers clenched around the bread, his breath hitching in his throat.

"…The hill?" he repeated.

His grandmother nodded again, not noticing the way Richard had suddenly stiffened. "Yes, the same hill you all went to. The place where Jackson was found unconscious."

Richard swallowed hard. He felt a sudden, awful realization creeping over him, like a shadow stretching in the dark.

Maybe… Maybe the place really was haunted.

The pile of dead birds.

The heavy atmosphere.

The strange figure in the woods.

Jackson's fall.

And now, his grandfather claiming there was a ghost there?

Richard's hands clenched into fists. He wasn't sure if he believed in ghosts—but something was wrong with that hill. He could feel it in his bones.

His thoughts raced as he tried to make sense of it all. Then suddenly—

RING! RING!

His phone buzzed violently against the table.

The sharp sound nearly made him jump. Shaking off his thoughts, Richard quickly grabbed the phone. When he saw the name on the screen, his stomach dropped.

Jackson's Mom.

Something was wrong.

He hurriedly answered. "Hello?"

What came next sent a chill down his spine.

"Hello… Hello, Richard."

Jackson's mother's voice was trembling. It was uneven, like she had been crying. Richard immediately straightened in his seat, the sense of dread in his chest growing.

"Miss Carter? What's wrong?"

Her next words made his blood run cold.

"Is Jackson there? At your house?"

Expanded Part 2: The Call and the Realization

Richard's grip on the phone tightened. His grandmother watched him closely, concern deepening in her aged eyes as she saw the color drain from his face.

"Wait… What?" Richard's voice was sharp, caught between confusion and alarm. "What do you mean? What happened?"

On the other end of the line, Jackson's mother sounded frantic—her breathing was uneven, her voice unsteady, almost as if she was struggling to keep herself from breaking down completely.

"Is he there?" she repeated, her voice more urgent this time. "Please, Richard, tell me if he's with you."

Richard's heart pounded violently against his chest. "No—No, he's not here! Why? What happened?"

A shaky breath came from the other end. Then, Jackson's mother's voice cracked as she finally gave him the news.

"Jackson is missing… He's gone. The hospital staff—they didn't see him leave. No one did. He was just… gone."

Richard felt like the floor had disappeared beneath him. Missing?

His fingers curled tightly around the phone as an icy wave of fear spread through his body.

"He disappeared?" His voice came out quieter than he intended, disbelief laced in his words.

"Yes," Jackson's mother choked out, clearly on the verge of tears. "I don't understand—he was supposed to be in bed. He wasn't in any state to leave on his own. But when the nurses checked his room this morning… he was just gone. And they don't know how or when he left."

Richard swallowed hard. His mouth felt dry.

Jackson wouldn't have just left. Not after everything that happened. Not without telling someone.

Unless…

A horrible thought crept into Richard's mind.

The hill.

His eyes widened as the pieces started falling into place.

Jackson's strange behavior. The nightmare. The whispers of something lurking in the woods. The way Jackson kept mumbling about Hannah in his sleep.

And now… Jackson had disappeared without a trace.

Richard suddenly felt sick.

Jackson wasn't just missing. He went somewhere.

He knew exactly where.

His grandmother's voice cut through his thoughts. "What's wrong, Richard?"

He turned to her, still gripping the phone tightly. "Jackson… He's missing."

Her face immediately changed—her brows furrowed, lips parting in concern. "What? Missing? But he was still in the hospital, wasn't he?"

Richard nodded stiffly, still trying to process everything himself.

"Yeah. But he's gone now. No one saw him leave."

His grandmother covered her mouth, clearly shaken. "Oh, dear… That poor boy."

Richard felt his pulse in his ears. Everything inside him screamed that he had to do something.

Then, Jackson's mother's voice brought him back.

"Richard… if he comes to your house—if you hear from him—please, call me immediately, okay?"

Richard hesitated, still stuck in his own mind. But then he quickly answered. "I will. I promise."

The call ended.

For a long moment, Richard just stood there, gripping the phone so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

His grandmother gently placed a hand on his arm. "Richard… What are you thinking?"

He didn't answer immediately. He stared at the floor, thoughts racing. He already knew the answer.

Jackson was at the hill.

He knew it in his gut.

Finally, he looked up. "Grandma… Is it okay if I skip school today?"

His grandmother was startled. But after a second, she sighed, thinking that Richard needed some time to comprehend all of this, she agreed.

"Yeah, sure… But Richard—be careful."

He had to find Jackson. Before it was too late.

Richard sprinted up the stairs, his heartbeat hammering in his ears. He burst into his room, flinging open his closet and yanking out a hoodie. He threw it on without bothering to fix the twisted sleeves, then grabbed his backpack and shoved in a flashlight, his phone, and an extra pair of batteries. His hands were shaking.

He didn't know why, but something in his gut told him that if he didn't hurry, something terrible was going to happen.

Turning toward the door, he hesitated for a brief moment—then pivoted sharply and made his way toward his grandfather's room.

The old wooden door creaked as he pushed it open. The room was dark, with only a sliver of light coming through the curtains. It smelled like aged books and old leather, the scent of a man who had spent his entire life hunting things most people didn't even believe in.

Richard stepped inside, his eyes scanning the cluttered shelves.

He wasn't sure what he was looking for. His grandfather had always been secretive about his ghost hunting—brushing it off as some eccentric hobby. But if what his grandmother had said was true… if his grandfather had been tracking something…

Then maybe—just maybe—he had something Richard could use.

His fingers hovered over a locked metal case on the desk. He didn't have time to figure out how to open it, so he settled for grabbing a pocket knife from the table instead. It wasn't much, but at least it was something.

Stuffing the knife into his pocket, he spun around and hurried out of the room.

He didn't tell his grandmother goodbye—he couldn't afford to.

Outside, the world had changed.

What was supposed to be a bright, normal morning was anything but. The sky was overcast, thick clouds hanging low like a suffocating blanket. The wind had picked up slightly, carrying a biting chill that made the hairs on Richard's arms stand on end.

The streets were quieter than usual.

Richard set off toward the hill, moving as fast as he could without breaking into a full sprint.

The further he went, the stronger the feeling became.

That awful sensation.

That something was watching him.

At first, he tried to ignore it. But the closer he got to the hill, the more certain he became. It wasn't paranoia.

It was real.

He could feel it.

Every few steps, he glanced over his shoulder, but there was no one there. No cars passed him. No distant voices of people heading to work or school. The entire world felt muted—like he had stepped into some kind of limbo.

By the time he reached the edge of the woods, his breathing was uneven.

The trees loomed tall and dark, their branches stretching out like skeletal fingers.

And then, just beyond the tree line—

A figure.

Richard's heart almost stopped.

A person stood at the base of the hill. Barefoot. Wearing hospital pajamas.

Jackson.

Richard skidded to a stop. "Jackson!"

Jackson's head snapped up.

His face was pale—far too pale. His lips were slightly parted, but no words came out. His eyes were wide, hollow, almost vacant.

And then Richard noticed something even worse.

The way Jackson's hands were trembling. The way his fingers twitched slightly, like he was trying to grasp onto something that wasn't there.

Like he wasn't entirely in his body.

Like he was being pulled toward something.

Richard took a step forward. "Jackson, what the hell are you doing out here?"

Jackson didn't answer.

His lips moved.

But the words that came out weren't meant for Richard.

A whisper. A name.

"…Hannah."

And just like that—

A gust of wind howled through the trees.

Something was there.

Watching them.

Waiting.

And Richard knew, without a doubt—

This was only the beginning.