Chapter Text
❦
downtown hotspots,
halfway up the street.
i used to be free,
i used to be seventeen.
natalie scatorccio lazily placed the joint in between her fingers before reaching her lips and blowing, not an inhale, just a playful puff, letting the smoke ghost around her face. this had been her routine since freshman year at Wiskayok high-school, every shitty morning, every spare period, posted up behind the old science wing, smoking with kevyn tan. sometimes without. either way, the ritual stayed the same: a few quiet moments to herself, where the world dulled enough to feel manageable.
nowadays it's less about that, more like a force of habit. kevyn tan was long gone, and the shitty old science wing has been remodelled after 31 fucking years. natalie still came back here, though. every morning, every spare moment, just like always. lit up even though she could barely feel the warmth anymore. just muscle memory, or whatever was left of it.
no one looked at her now, not like many did back then anyways. no one even paused when they walked through her smoke, like it wasn't there. like she wasn't there.
the school had changed, but her corner of it hadn't. not really. time moved, but not for natalie. not since that february morning in '94. she'd overdosed in the locker room she couldn’t the weight of too many nights haunted by the silence after her father's death. the constant screaming, the rage that had filled their house for years, was gone now. and in its place, a hollow quiet that felt even worse. he deserved it, probably— no, definitely. she remembered feeling like she was sinking, like her body wasn't hers anymore, and then, everything went black.
by the time someone found her, it was too late. no one noticed she was gone, not until the morning bell rang and the locker room door swung open to reveal a cold, motionless body slumped against the tiles. just another causality in the dark corners of Wiskayok High, tucked away where no one cared to look.
and now here she was, still in the same school. a cruel twist of fate. back then, high school had seemed like a hell that would never end, and now it actually was. natalie flicked ash onto the ground that didn't hold it. it vanished before it landed, just like everything else that reset. the bleach-blond leaned against the cool of the wall, and let the joint dangle between her fingers.
"natalie," a voice called, too chipper for the hour.
she didn't need to turn to know who it was,
"misty."
misty fucking quigley was always somewhere, as if she couldn't ever quite stay still. she appeared, as usual, with that weird little smile; the one that always felt a little too practised.
"you missed the after-life session again," misty said while natalie took another drag, barely feeling the heat from the ghostly joint.
"if i go to one of those, are they going to make me sing 'Kumbaya' and hold hands too?"
misty blinked, not catching the sarcasm. "that's not... actually how it works. but we could talk about your feelings—"
"pass."
misty hovered a little closer, eyes shining. "you know, coach scott's really concerned, maybe you should—"
"yeah, i'm sure he's real worried." natalie interrupted, voice dripping with sarcasm. "i've got all the time in the world to hear him go on about moving on or finding peace or whatever the hell it is."
misty fiddled with her glasses, they had a hairline crack in the lens, frozen in time since 1979. a reminder of her final day. that afternoon had been dim, the kind of grey that pressed against windows and made the halls feel heavier. misty had slipped away during lunch, down to the basement where the hum of the school's old wiring buzzed like a secret only she knew.
the circuit breaker box was in the far right corner of the basement, an old metal contraption with rusty switches and a heavy, peeling cover. the lights had been flickering on and off for days, and no one wanted to call anyone to fix it. but misty knew how to handle it. she'd done it before, her hands moving instinctively, knowing exactly where to turn and what to tighten.
she'd overheard them just before— her name, half-whispered, followed by female laughter that didn't bother to hide its edge. words like needy, freak, weird, too much.
misty flinched, the sting of her classmates words landing harder than she expected. her fingers trembled as she reached for the exposed wires, her mind trying to push the whispers away.
but the pain of their words lingered, hovering over her like a cloud. her hand brushed the wrong wire.
the shock hit her instantly, searing pain shooting through her body. her muscles locked, her chest unable to take in a breath. the smell of burning plastic filled the air, but it was the buzzing of the wires that drowned everything out, louder than the laughter she overheard.
needy, freak, pathetic, psycho.
her vision blurred, her body to rigid to move, and then—nothing.
the silence stretched on. natalie took one last drag from the joint, letting the smoke linger before she crushed it out beneath her heel.
misty shifted, probably about to say something else, but natalie didn't wait for it. she started walking, letting the hallway swallow her up, her footsteps quiet against the worn floor.
❦
follow my shadow,
around your corner.
i used to be seventeen,
now you're just like me.
shauna shipman stood in front of the bathroom mirror, eyes glazed over as she studied the face staring back at her. she hardly recognised herself anymore. the face was hers, but it felt... wrong, detached. she didn't feel like the girl who used to sneak off to the school roof, full of fire and laughter, teasing and laughing with jackie taylor over the dumbest things.
that girl was dead. and so was jackie. but at least jackie was remembered.
a bitter laugh escaped her lips, sharp and hollow. "i wasn't even worth remembering," she whispered to the mirror, though she knew the reflection wouldn't answer.
shauna's heart twisted. she had died in this bathroom 30 years ago— alone, unnoticed. a casualty of circumstance, of a world that just kept spinning, regardless of whether she was here or not. she hadn't even gotten the luxury of a real goodbye—no one had been there, not for her or her baby. the baby she would never meet, the life she would never live.
her fingers traced the sink's edge, the cold porcelain grounding her, but offering no comfort.
the contractions had come too quickly, too violently, leaving her alone in that bathroom, with nothing but her own shallow breaths. the life she had carried, the future she had dreamed of, had slipped away in a few agonising moments.
she hadn't been ready. she wasn't prepared for the rush of fear and helplessness that overtook her body as it gave in to the inevitability. the baby had come, fragile and silent, a life that would never breathe, never cry. it had happened so fast, too fast, without anyone there. no one had been able to help. she bled out in that bathroom, alone, her body shutting down and as each second stretched, her vision was darkening at the edges.
the pain, once all-consuming, began to fade. her body, exhausted and betrayed, finally stilled. the contractions, the bleeding, the endless moments of helplessness—all slipped into the quiet.
the silence lingered. shauna blinked, pulling herself out of the haunting memory. she exhaled sharply, the weight of the past tightening around her chest. it never really ends, does it?
shauna tenderly placed a hand over her stomach, sucking in air she no longer needed and re-adjusting her flannel before pushing the door to the hallways open. she continued to walk through the schools halls before stopping just shy of the window to the gymnasium.
tucked in the corner of the gym were a handful of chairs placed in a circle— lottie said it made the sessions feel more open. shauna figured it just made it harder to roll your eyes without someone noticing.
shauna's attention snapped to the soft sound of footsteps behind her. taissa turner appeared at her side, arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the same window. taissa, as always, was dressed exactly as she had been the day she died— jeans, school jumper with her long curly hair pulled up with a headband.
taissa had been studying for her AP Statistics exam late into the night of 1999. somewhere in the middle of reviewing formulas, she'd fallen asleep— nothing unusual for a sleep-deprived teenager. it turned out that taissa had been sleepwalking, something no one had known until it was too late. she wondered the halls in her sleep, not even realising she was moving, before tripping down the stairs. the fall was quick, a sharp end to a life that had barely begun.
"i don't think it helps," taissa remarked, her tone flat. "but it keeps them off your back."
shauna followed taissa's line of sight again. inside, benjamin scott sat himself down in one of the chairs, posture straight but eyes tired. he wore the same corduroy blazer he died in, elbow patches an all. a small reminder he was just as trapped here as the rest of them.
"looks like he's about to launch into another metaphor about grief being a houseplant," taissa muttered. "i swear to God, if he says 'you have to water it' again..."
shauna cracked the barest hint of a smile. "maybe it worked the first dozen times."
"did it?" taissa raised a brow. "because mari's still treating these like a livejournal vent session and misty's organising ghostly potlucks no one asked for."
shauna leaned on the windowsill. "lottie thinks it's progress."
"lottie thinks the flickering lights are a sign."
inside, van leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, face still half-scarred but unbothered. she rolled her eyes at something crystal said— shauna couldn't hear it from this side of the glass, but she could guess. crystal had a flair for drama, even in death.
jackie's chair was empty.
it always was.
coach scott cleared his throat, and the room quieted. "today, i want us to talk about presence— not in the spiritual sense, but in the way we still echo through this place. the impressions we leave behind, whether we wanted to or not."
shauna's stomach twisted. he was talking about legacy. about memories. about the bloodstain in the bathroom no one ever scrubbed out.
"you ready?" taissa asked again, gentler this time.
shauna hesitated. then nodded.
the door creaked open and she stepped inside, letting the past wrap around her like an old coat— too heavy, too familiar, and impossible to take off.
❦
down beneath the ashes and the stone,
sure of what i've lived and known.
van palmer wasn't meant to die in school.
she'd made it through worse— months of physical therapy after being attacked and mauled by her neighbour's 'harmless' dog, nights where her face felt like a roadmap of someone else's pain. she laughed through it, cracked movie references no one got, made the scars feel like war paint instead of weakness. if anything, she thought she'd make it out of high school in a blaze of sarcastic glory, probably skipping the class of 2004 graduation to go watch Alien.
instead, she got fire.
it was just another dumb chemistry demo. they were supposed to ignite magnesium strips, make the class go "ooh" and "aah". but the sub forgot the storage cabinet was still open, and van was closest when the flame caught. a flash, then heat, then nothing.
she hadn't even screamed. that part still kind of impressed her.
now she sat in the kind-of stupid afterlife therapy circle, eternally seventeen, wearing her charred and faded band tee under a flannel that smelt like nothing and felt like a memory. one leg jiggled over the other, nerves she'd never admit to chewing at her.
ben was still talking about "tethers" or whatever. grounding. legacy. ghost stuff.
"anyone want to share?" he asked. his eyes landed on her for a moment too long.
van blew a raspberry, then gave him a look. "no offence, but what's sharing really gonna do? we've all been here years. if trauma-sharing worked, misty would've transcended to the light ages ago."
"i'm still working through some things," misty chirped beside her, adjusting the sleeves of her mustard-yellow cardigan. "death isn't linear."
"you're not wrong," van said, flashing a grin. "neither is your haircut."
there was a collective snort from a few chairs over—natalie, probably who had actually shown up for once. maybe mari. hard to tell with the acoustics in this haunted-ass gym.
across the circle, shauna had gone still. taissa wasn't sitting, just leaning against the wall behind her like a protective shadow. she had reached over to give van a playful slap.
ben cleared his throat again, and van rolled her eyes dramatically.
"fine," she said. "you want a tether? here's one— i died covered in chemicals that smelt like burnt marshmallows. i'm not exactly trying to stay grounded in that."
the circle went quiet.
van shrugged. "anyway. not my best day. but hey, my face didn't get any worse, so... win?"
she smiled, wide and fake and easy. the others didn't laugh, but that didn't matter. the joke wasn't for them.
❦
i see you so uncomfortably alone,
i wish you could see how much you've grown.
ben scott had learned a long time ago not to flinch when a student made a joke out of their death.
van's came, like always, fast and sharp: self-deprecating, protective, aimed more at her self than anyone else. he didn't push, he never did. the trick was knowing when a kid needed silence more than a lecture.
"thank you, van," he said calmly, giving her the dignity of being heard without being probed.
she gave him a mock salute and settled back into her chair, one foot resting on the other like she owned the damn room.
ben clasped his hands in front of him. the motion felt automatic, like muscle memory. there were days he could still feel the ache in his right thigh, the phantom pain from where his leg had once been struck by.
he hadn't always been a teacher.
in 1983, he was 32. too young, but not tragic enough to haunt the headlines. just another footnote in the school's long, cursed history. he had been freshly out of a second round of grad school. he'd returned for a master's to refine his craft, hoping to get a permanent position and make something more of his career. it was late spring, just before he'd been offered a full-time teaching job, and he was clearing out the outdated equipment room when he had slipped. his leg was crushed beneath a collapsing shelf.
no one found him until hours later, he had lost too much blood and too much time had passed.
he never got to teach his last full class. never got to marry the man he'd been secretly writing letters to. never got to become the teacher he hoped he'd be.
so now, he tried to be that here.
he looked around the circle. some were new, others like shauna were still wrestling with the weight of their deaths. shauna's grief was heavy. the guilt over jackie's death haunted her like an invisible shadow. lottie shifted in her seat, her legs crossed tightly, her arms curled protectively around herself. there was a restlessness to her, the kind of energy that couldn't be contained, even in this strange limbo. ben could see her fingers tapping softly on her knee, the constant movement betraying a deeper unease, one she refused to let anyone see.
mari raised a hand, grinning. "yeah, can we skip therapy and go straight to snacks?"
a collective groan of agreement echoed from the group, but akilah was the first to speak up, her voice dry. "do we even get snacks though? i feel like it's all just... whatever misty brings. and i'm not sure i trust her cooking."
misty shot her an offence look. "hey! i made those ghost cupcakes last week. people liked them!"
"okay, okay," ben cut in, trying to steer the conversation away from Misty's culinary skills. "i get it. no one's here for a cooking class. but if anyone does have something they want to get off their chest, now's the time."
the group grew quiet. no one moved for a long moment. then lottie spoke, her voice quiet but certain.
"i knew i was going to die that day," she said, her eyes never leaving her hands in her lap. she didn't look up as she spoke, but there was an intensity in her words that made everyone listen closely. "i told people. i told them over and over. that i had a vision. that i'd die here, in the cafeteria."
hee fingers fidgeted with the fabric of her jeans, a nervous energy beneath her calm words. "i could feel it coming," she continued, her voice gaining a slight edge now. "that pressure in my chest. it wasn't just a feeling. it was a certainty. but no one believed me. no one believed it would happen."
lottie's eyes lifted briefly, scanning the room, and then she let out a small breath. "when it hit, it came fast. i remember... i remember eating my lunch, and then it was like someone ripped the air out of my lungs. i couldn't breathe and my whole body locked up. my muscles seized, my vision blurred. i was on the floor, and everyone was staring, frozen. no one knew what to do."
she laughed bitterly, but it was without humor. "i had been telling people for days. i even told the nurse, but no one believed me. not even when i begged them to let me go home, to rest. i just thought... i thought maybe, if they listened, it wouldn't happen. but i was wrong."
lottie's eyes dropped again, focusing on her hands. there was a long pause, and when she spoke again, it was almost a whisper. "i guess some things... you just can't escape, no matter how much you try to warn people. maybe it's the price you pay for knowing too much."
she took a deep breath, the silence that followed hanging between them like a weight. mari was the first to break the silence, her grin half-amused, half-uncomfortable. "well, at least you called it," she said, raising an eyebrow. "seizure chic. bold choice."
mari paused, her gaze flickering briefly to the empty space beside her, a shadow of something unspoken passing through her eyes. then, with a sharp exhale, she added, "guess we all have our own ways of... checking out." her fingers drummed a quick, nervous beat against her knee, and she quickly shifted her focus back to the group, her usual bravado returning. "but hey, at least you got the memo, right? some of us didn't even get that."
after several minutes of conversation, ben stood and stretched, a sigh escaping him. "alright, everyone. same time next week."
the group began to stand, some nodding, others still lost in their own thoughts. the door clicked shut behind them, leaving the room quieter than it had been before.
❦
downtown hotspots,
halfway through this life.
i used to feel free, was it just a dream?
now you’re half-shy, think you’re so carefree.
but you’re just seventeen.
so much like me.