Andy

I spun around on instinct, and was acquainted with the familiar figure. He stood by my bedroom door uncomfortably, looking up at me with piercing blue eyes. My first thought was that he wore contacts... Above all else, everything I could have thought in that moment, was that he wore blue contacts.

I stuttered in surprise, and couldn't think of a word to say. Every thought and question I had, dried up and blew away on the spot.

He was a very confusing person to look at, and he seemed fairly uncomfortable with how I was looking at him. Well... How did he expect me to look at him?! He's dead, and standing in my room!

"Who are you?!" I choked out, horrified that I'd been right, that he was very, very real.
He sighed, and shifted just slightly, "Well, if you have to know, I'm Andy. I thought you would have known that by now," He looked at me in disapproval and disappointment, "Considering, I've been a topic of gossip, and all you can think about." He flashed a bright white smile, and I ducked my head in embarrassment.

"Now before you ask me the cliche 20 questions about death, I'll just jump the gun and we can skip this chapter."

My eyes widened as things clicked into place. This conversation wasn't normal, and it wasn't real.

"Mom!" I shouted, and prayed she was home. I darted for my bedroom door and he jumped out of the way in suprise.

"Jesus! Shut up!" He cried, backing up. "Why the hell are you even doing that?"

"Mom!" I shouted out my bedroom door, but my voice echoed back at me off the empty hallway.

"Even if she was home, which she isn't, she couldn't see me unless I wanted her to. A little trick I picked up last night. Speaking of which, I came to apologize, then I'll be on my merry way, since apparently, I'm not at all what you expected."

I stopped shouting for my mother and risked a look at him. Sure enough, he was there. Wearing a droopy, intentionally holey black tanktop that ill fit him and did nothing to cover the mass ammounts of tattoos he had. He didn't look dead, really, he just dressed that way. And if I wasn't so certain he was a ghost, I'd be calling him an intruder.

"You're not real..." I shook my head, my hands were starting to shake. I clasped them together, cold and clammy, trying to get my mind off of him, hoping he'd disappear. "You're not here..."

"Hey, uh, if we could have a normal conversation, that'd be great." He called out sarcastically. I ignored him and squeezed my eyes shut, and covered my ears. "You're not here, you're not here, you're not here."

I heard him sigh in exasperation. "Fine, you win. I'm not here."

Just like that, he was gone. But then, he voice came from behind me, and I spun around.

"I'm here."

He leaned against my desk with a smart-ass smile. Did he not see the fear and worry in my eyes? Did he not understand that he was supposed to be dead?!

"What the hell?!" I shrieked in terror, "Get out! Get the fuck out!"

My hands were shaking so bad and I couldn't even breathe. "Get out!" My voice rasped hopelessly, my breath came in shaky little puffs, and I struggled to catch my breath.

A dawning look of confusion crossed his face as last. "Hey, are you okay?..."

I clutched my fists to my chest, eyes wide, not even focused on him anymore. I turned away and walked towards my bed, and sat on the floor next to the mattress and clutched my legs, hugging them tightly and shaking my head.

"No, no, no... Not real. Not real." I reminded myself, becoming more and more hopeless as the seconds ticked on. "Not here, not real. You're not real.... Not here."

He crossed the room and crouched in front of me. His crystal blue eyes were concerned as they tried to meet my gaze. "Are you having a panic attack?" He asked, obviously inexperienced with the process I was going through. I closed my eyes and wished him away, praying he'd be gone when I opened my eyes. This whole thing was more than I could handle right now. More than I wanted to try and handle. I was upset, and not in control. I struggled to take long, deep breaths, to calm myself down. It was only getting worse, and Andy refused to go away.

"Hey, are you okay?" Andy repeated, reaching out to touch my hand, a surge of electricity ran up my arm and I jerked my hand back and looked at his face. He was very pale, with a streak of black war paint across his left cheek. He had a piercing in his lip, nose, and both ears, and his eyes were shrouded in thick circles of black eyeliner, which made the blue of his eyes stand out even more.

Looking at his face, and studying his features was distracting me from the real problem. My breathing slowed, and I kept distracting myself, looking at him, ignoring the obvious question.

"Yeah, just keep looking at me," He encouraged, ducking his head to meet my eyes. Mine were wide and panicked, and I was still involuntarily pushing myself backwards, away from him, and it was dragging the frame of my bed backwards across the wood floor, making a creaking squeal.

I hadn't realized that the tears had sprung to my eyes until I was wiping them with violently vibrating hands. My whole body was being racked with shivers, they ran up and down my arms and legs like a traveling surge of electricty, searching for a final destination.

Andy touched my hand again, his skin icy cold, sent another surge through my body... And the weirdest thing was happening.

Every touch unleashed more electricity, and instead of it wiring me all up even more, it calmed me a considerable ammount. Like breathing in nitrous, I started to feel lightheaded, and calm. Like nothing could touch me anymore.

A hazy, lost smile lingered on my face, and a fuzzy black fringe around my vision began to close in. It closed in on his face, and his concerned voice faded, until it was just a murmur in the back of my mind, and I closed my eyes, the thudding in my ears silenced all else.

All else.
~~~
"Ash? Sweetie..."

My eyes slowly opened, and I was lying in bed, the sky outside was black, and the lights were on in my room now. The pounding against the glass of the window told me it was raining out, just as it had been for the last three days.

My Mother sat on the edge of my bed, feeling my forehead for a fever, her face concerned.

"What happened? You're all clammy and tense."

I opened my eyes wider and struggled to gain my bearings again. I shook my head a little and pushed myself up. "I'm fine." I told her, blocking everything else out of my thoughts. Everything that could make me break down again.

I sat up against the pillows piled against my headboard, and accepted the glass of water she handed me. She reached for my forehead again, moving her hand along my temples, her warm touch soothing.
"No fever or anything..." She murmured and shrugged. "I just didn't think it was like you to take naps. You never do." She smirked. She was right, I couldn't take naps, they were an impossibility for me. I just lied there, tossing and turning, waiting for sleep to overcome me, but it never happened. Not like at night, when it just happened. You didn't have to think about it as much.

"Oh... I was just tired when I got back. Took a break from homework and took a quick nap. I think I overslept." I said apologetically, looking over at the bedside table, where my analog clock sat.

"Are you hungry? I'll make you something to eat."

Surprisingly enough, I felt far from hungry. I shook my head. "I ate something earlier, I'm not really hungry."

I fidgited under her gaze, silently judging and taking in everything about my behavior, trying to tell if I was actually sick or not and was just not telling her. Finally, she agreed. With a nod, she stood up and headed towards the door. "Let me know if you start to feel sick or anything."

I nodded in agreement as she shut the door behind her.

I refused to think about the events that had sent me into a panic attack induced slumber for three hours. I did not allow it back into my mind. However, that was impossible... As I got up out of bed and walked to my desk, there was a piece of scrap paper lying there on the desktop, and a message scratched into it that wasn't my own.

Sorry for scaring you. I'm still trying to figure this out. If you want to talk to me, just call out my name, I won't be far. If you do not want to see me, and I scared you too bad, I'll understand if you never speak my name again. Cheers!
-Andy

I was confused by the randomness of his letter. If he was dead, how was he capable of doing any of this stuff? How come his hand didn't slip through mine when he touched me earlier? These were all questions that I craved answers to, but I was too wary to call out his name to the open air of my empty bedroom, to see him materialize from nothing. I wasn't ready for that yet... I hardly took it well the first two times I saw him, I doubt a third time is a charm.

I decided I'd try speaking to him tomorrow after school. I would try... However, I would set clear boundries with him. If I began to freak out again, he had to leave, no acceptions.

I just kept wondering, as I worked on my homework later that night, what the hell is wrong with me? Any normal person would say absolutely no to a spirit trying to contact them. So why wasn't I? Why was I remaining open minded?

Notes