I was always considered an “odd” child. I never liked people, what can I say? Never cared for talking to them, REALLY didn’t care for listening to them, but most of all, I hated being around them. Every living person I had ever met always seemed so… automatic. Everyone was like a tiny, mindless ant with no direction in life. Even as an elementary school student, I was able to pick up on that. Because of this, I made no friends in my childhood. I was deemed “the weird one.” Half the time I swear people were afraid I was setting fires and eating old people in the sandwiches I packed for lunch.

I distanced myself from people. Classmates, teachers, and even my own parents kept away from me, so I returned the favor. Instead of socializing, I would collect coins that I found lying around my house and the school and I’d buy myself books. A few times I even stole some of the better ones from the school (because of this, the teachers also labeled me as an irresponsible child because of how often I would “lose” the books they let me borrow.) I surrounded myself with what I read and immersed myself in what books had to offer.

The only solace I ever found in any social setting was singing. I loved to sing. My parents would always laugh at me, so I only sang quietly around the house, but in the fifth grade, when they introduced the choir, I was practically in love. I didn’t have to murmur ditties and tunes to myself quietly anymore. I could sing and there would be other people singing around me so I would never look like an idiot. Twice a week we would practice, and for the first time in my ten years of life I had friends. Not so much friends that I talked to or hung out with, but rather friends that simply share a common interest, and therefore a bond.

I was entirely devoted to the choir and our singing. Our first real concert was a Christmas concert that was to be performed in front of the entire school at the end of the day. I was so excited and apparently our instructor was as well. That day, as we were preparing to go out there, she looked at us all and smiled.

“Sing your souls out!” she insisted. “If you do that, then this will be the most amazing concert they’ll ever see!”

And we all believed her… especially me.

The dark velvet curtains parted in our school’s tiny auditorium to reveal two dozen beaming faces. We were ready and we were going to sing our souls out, just like our instructor told us to. We were going to do this in front of hundreds of faces (or it seemed like hundreds back then. Looking back, it was probably only a couple dozen), all eyes on us. The instructor waved her tiny hand and we all began to sing.

I had never in my entire life felt so incredibly close to other human beings. The people around me were clearly as passionate about the performance as I was. I closed my eyes, letting myself rely purely on my soul to do the singing for me. Then I heard it.

“Oh, his singing is amazing!”

“Gorgeous voice. Simply gorgeous!”

“It’s as if his entire being is in the song!”

In my head, I decided to imagine that that praise was for me. After enjoying it blindly for a few moments, I dared to take a peak and see who it really had been for.

To my surprise, there were a few audience members standing on the stage. The instructor paid no attention to them, however, so I figured it must have been alright. I continued to watch them, and to my surprise, they were watching me as well.

“Can you believe that someone so young has a voice that powerful?”

“He must truly love this!”

“Oh, I believe he’s looking right at us.”

They were definitely talking about me. I swelled with pride, singing along with my entire choir as the people on stage watched me and commented on my voice. But then it hit me. They were speaking far too loudly for everyone to simply not notice them at all. Our instructor would have definitely said something. Or at least the other choir members would have looked over at them and acknowledge their existence. Needless to say, I became a bit distraught when I realized that one of the women was wearing a bloody nightgown and another was in a corset… with her spine sticking out of the back.

It took me several moments to process what I was seeing. At first, I just stared. I had stopped singing, unable to concentrate any longer. My choir friends were beginning to give me odd looks, but they managed to keep on singing. After a good thirty seconds, I just screamed.

Everyone jumped, startled. The specters on the stage, however, seemed amused.

“Well, the jig is up, my friends.”

“The poor kid. I suppose I should have tried to hide my accident a bit better. What do you think?”

I kept screaming, pausing only to inhale deeply enough to get the oxygen needed to scream some more. The kids around me began to scream as well… not because they could see what I saw, but because of me.

I stumbled backward, tripping over the portable step we were arranged on. I had to get away from those people… those dead people. I made a sprint for the edge of the stage, but my instructor grabbed me by the arm. I twisted and clawed and bit, doing absolutely anything to get away from the stage, but she wouldn’t let me go. The dead ones came up to me, calling to me. Up close I could see that their flesh was pallid and their eyes were sunken in. They were most definitely dead. The one with the injured spine even had pieces of flesh missing on her face and neck. One of them reached out and touched my arm lightly, hand passing through me. It sent shivers down my spine and I went into a state of shock, instantly freezing up.

“You have a gift, boy,” the bloody gown ghost said with a soft smile. “Don’t let it frighten you.” I was shaking too violently to answer.

People from the audience had begun to leave their seats. Some left the auditorium entirely and others approached the stage to see if I was alright. I wasn’t. Dear god, I was not alright.