Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There’s something ironically lonesome about being haunted. It is less a presence you sense in the room with you, but an absence. It is not something that takes up space; like a hole, it is nothing but negative space. And the longer emptiness follows you, the more you will begin to believe that death itself does not manifest as a soul with company to give, but a void that takes you with it, leaving you isolated in its cavernous wake.

You see, the scariest thing about being haunted is not the strange shadows that seem to creep around every corner, nor the spine-chilling sense of your every move being watched, nor the eerie whispers that nag at the corners of your mind.

No, the most hauntingly lonely part of a ghost encounter is when nobody believes you.

And this is the heavy burden that has fallen upon Normal Oak, mascot of San Dimas High. Because he sure knows a thing or two about school spirit… or, in this case, a school spirit.

Ever since he set foot back on campus on the first day back from winter break, he immediately noticed a kind of shift in the air, an undeniable disturbance that rang mental alarm bells louder than the bell marking first period. Something was deeply, utterly wrong with his precious school. And as the school’s mascot, he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

Wearing the mascot suit as often as he did finally proved itself to be a wise decision on his part, as he felt much safer within its cushiony walls. He could not guarantee his classmates’ safety as much, however. He only wishes they believed in the power of Teeny the Teen as much as he did. He knows what’s best for them, if only they would just listen.

He’s tried putting up posters. He’s tried holding rallies at lunch. He’s tried making speeches during assemblies. He’s tried everything, but he’s been shut down every time.

“It’s just your imagination, Normal,” they always tell him, in varying degrees of severity. “It’s all in your head.” “That mascot head must be making it hard to breathe.” “You think being the school mascot means you can just say anything that comes to mind now?”

Nobody can see the danger that they're all in, except for him, through his keen mascot-mouth-vision. If he can still hear the voices and feel his skin crawling even with his added layer of protection, he has no idea why no one else hasn't noticed it either. There is something—or rather, a nothing—that has taken over after winter break, and something needs to be done about it.

And it’s more than just the lights flickering above his head, and the warped reflections of himself in the bathroom mirrors, and all his mysteriously disappearing school supplies. It seems that ever since returning to school, there has been an undeniable dark atmosphere among his peers. He sees it in their cold, unreadable stares. He feels the energy being zapped from every room he enters.

Perhaps it is all a part of the ghost’s plan, he assumes. This dark void is consuming the souls of his dear classmates and turning them all into empty shells of their former… or, potential selves. This school spirit is draining all of their school spirit!

Today has been no exception. Throughout the first period, his classmates were so dead tired that you’d think they were zombies (but no, he ruled out that possibility a while ago). In second period, his computer started glitching like crazy just from him trying to do some discreet ghost hunting research online (which never happens when he does this at home). In third period, he could have sworn he heard a voice whisper to him a wildly wrong answer to a question (causing him to look like an idiot in front of the whole class).

These are all common occurrences to him at this point, and unfortunately, that means that they have all been refuted as evidence before. But it’s just not fair. This is more than something he can explain with tangible evidence alone; it’s a constant gut feeling, something deep in his soul that he knows to be true. And how can you easily prove the existence of something non-existing? It’s as if he’s trying to convince everyone that a student is absent, but nobody knows who… and he’s even checked each of the rosters his teachers keep of their students’ names.

As the leader of the yearbook club, he has also studied each semester's yearbook closer than any textbook he’s ever been assigned. And this is where he is now, spending his lunch in an empty classroom reminiscing on the good ol’ days, staring at the smiling faces of students old and new. As a sophomore, he has only been featured in one yearbook so far, but he can tell from that edition alone the stark contrast between his class last year versus now. Through the sleek, colorful pages of last year's yearbook, there is such a lively joy shining through, a joy he didn't think he’d be missing so early in his high school career.

If he doesn't do anything about this ghost situation soon, this year’s photos will end up dull and lifeless, the memories literally haunting him for the rest of his life. He doesn’t need to add a cursed book on top of the piles of issues he’s already got going on.

But at that very thought, the latest yearbook falls right out of his hands. And just as he’s about to pick it up while cursing his butter-glove-fingers, the pages of the book begin rapidly flipping on their own and he feels an unexplainable chill even through his mascot armor.

He turns his head sharply toward the windows, but none of them appear to be open. There’s no way a breeze could be flowing through the room right now. And when he gazes back down at the book on the floor, he finds that it has landed on the drama department’s section, showcasing last year’s productions.

Guilt mingles with the fear creeping up inside of him. Of all the areas of the school he’s sworn to uplift and represent, the drama department is one he tends to neglect. He was unable to even attend last year’s plays due to his priorities with the soccer team, and this year, he only managed to stop by briefly for the winter play.

And what a shame that he hasn’t spent enough time supporting the cast and crew, because he remembers that momentary glimpse of the winter play as clearly as any of the photos in these yearbooks.

Still afraid but now wildly curious, he steps over the possibly-cursed yearbook and heads out the door to go check something. There are some more recent photos he needs to revisit.

Thankfully, because it is still lunchtime, the hallways are not as crowded as usual, save for a few stray students sitting on the floor and eating alone. There are actually more of them than he remembers there being usually, but he can’t help these lonely souls out just yet.

And the reasoning is perhaps a little selfish, because there’s only one person from the drama department that has truly piqued his interest. And now that he thinks about it, he never saw their picture in any of the yearbooks, and he needs to find one as soon as possible. He needs to get a good look at the face again. For research purposes.

Outside the drama classroom, he knows there is a display case full of photos and awards from over the years, which he admittedly hasn’t looked as closely at as some of the other display cases around the school (namely, the ones featuring Teeny and his accomplishments, but can you blame a guy for having a bit of pride?).

Gazing upon the grand display in front of him, his eyes frantically dart from face to face, but nothing is recognizable to him. Well, yes, he recognizes the students’ faces from the yearbooks (though some are harder to tell than others due to their heavy stage makeup), but he’s not quite sure what play he’s looking for, exactly. Either the dates of each production have been left out, or the photos are simply in a scrambled order. He genuinely can't tell. He feels dumb and helpless when it comes to the theater arts, but he would never admit that aloud. Again, he has a bit of pride.

The only thing he knows for sure… is that the person he’s looking for had to have been the main character of their show. There’s no way they weren’t, with the way their energy and charisma seemed to light up the whole stage. He could never forget a face as charming as theirs.

Which is why it’s so strange that he can’t find one single picture of them.

He didn't even get to watch the full play; at the very least he’d like to just get to see them again. He wonders what they’re like offstage, without a script, if they have the same confidence and poise about them. He wonders what classes they’re taking. He wonders why he doesn't remember… ever seeing that handsome stranger.

“Who are you…?” he whispers against the glass.

Crack!

He flinches as the fogged-up glass splits right in front of his face, a giant crack forming over where he was just looking.

“Oak-Swallows-Garcia!” a gravelly voice immediately shouts, as if on cue. Normal swivels his head to find the infamous Pepperoni Tony standing across the hallway, looking like he was lying in wait for his chance to catch him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Normal is now standing a good yard away from the display case with his hands raised in defense. “I don’t— I’m—” He feels the need to apologize, but he barely even touched the glass! “Did you just see that?”

The vice principal storms over, pulling out a pen and paper. “Oh, I did, alright.” He begins furiously scribbling something. “I see that you're worked up, but you do not need to start taking it out on school property.”

Normal takes another step back with his jaw dropped incredulously. “There’s no way you're blaming me for this!” He waves at the damage with big, flailing hands. “You really think I would defile my school’s property like this?!”

Tony rips off the paper and hands it to Normal, who refuses to take it. “I don’t know, you always were doing some stupid thing just because of your weird jealousy.”

Normal almost loses himself enough to slap the man’s hand away, but he’s already gotten himself into enough trouble. Or really, the ghost has. “I am not jealous of the drama department! That was the work of that freaking ghost, I tell you!”

Tony has less of the same dignity, and has no problem shoving the note right into the mascot head’s mouth-hole like a bully. “I'm getting real tired of this whole ‘ghost’ nonsense, bucko. You’re lucky that this is only your first detention since winter break.”

This is absolutely fucking unfair. Teeny the Teen does not belong in detention; he deserves to be in the spotlight, on the stage, just like all those stupid theater kids! He deserves to be listened to and admired and treated with respect, goddamn it! Why won’t anyone just believe him?

They’re all going to be doomed without him. Old man Pepperoni will just have to see. He’ll be sorry when it’s him being haunted by a lonely void that drives everyone away from him.

This rage lingers within him the entire rest of the day, and he tries to devise a plan to somehow get out of detention before the time comes. Surely he can pull some strings… After all, he is the most important student in the school. He has power. He has influence.

But that’s when it hits him. Maybe he should go to detention after all… Because the other students in there will be the ones who have hit rock bottom, who have nothing left to lose. The ones who must’ve been attacked by the ghost personally, just as he has. Maybe being trapped in a quiet room with them when they’re at their lowest will make them the perfect audience for him.

So he decides to march proudly into detention, knowing that it is his duty not to serve time for his crimes, but to call attention to the ghost’s.

His potential allies turn out to be a measly group of three other sophomores, but he feels hope nevertheless. With his power and influence (and knowledge of all three students), he feels confident that he can sway them with the speech he has prepared.

Thankfully, the adult supervising them is nowhere to be found at the moment, so he jumps right into action. “Fellow teens!”

Three pairs of blank eyes reluctantly lift up to him. He will surely return the light to them soon.

"Your savior is here!” he announces with pride, and just like that, he watches each face light up.

“You're letting us out?” a tall boy squeaks hopefully, sitting up even taller in his seat. “Thank god, my dads are so worried about me at home…”

Lincoln Li-Wilson. Aspiring soccer team member, former homeschooler. Not featured in any yearbooks due to being new this year.

As much as he hates having to let him down, Normal shakes his head and pulls one of his handy informational posters out of his backpack. “Nope, sorry, no going home yet! Not while there is still evil afoot!” He holds the poster up proudly, waiting for any sign of recognition. He used to have these up all around the school, so they all must have seen them by now.

An edgy-looking girl groans in undisguised disappointment, not even looking at the poster. “You can’t just ask me to stopbeing evil, man. Or for him to stay away from… a foot.” She chuckles at her own joke.

Scary Marlowe. Aspiring mean girl, former soccer team member. Asked for her photos from last year to be removed from the yearbook.

Normal holds the poster out in front of himself, closer for them to see. “No, you’re not the evil I’m referring to! I'm talking about taking care of the evil ghost on our hands!”

A geeky boy squints at the poster and flashes a shiny grin. “Oooh, sounds cool! Count me in!”

Taylor—

“Wait, really?” Well, that was easy… And he’s a popular kid with his face photobombing everywhere in the latest yearbook, so this is perfect!

Actually, with just one look at him, Taylor Swift looks like the liveliest student they’ve seen in a good while. He seems totally unbothered by the curse infecting the school. Perhaps he’s immune somehow? Even better!

Taylor even stands from his seat, which doesn’t help him look much taller or very intimidating at all, but he pumps his fist like he means business. “Hell yeah! It’ll be just like Busty Ghosts!”

Scary groans again and drags a hand down her face, smearing her makeup even more than it already has been. “Ugh, dummy, you mean Ghostbusters?”

“Oh, yeah…” He seems to have to think about it for a second. “That too!”

“Why are you always talking about this ghost thing, though?” Lincoln shivers. “You're just gonna keep scaring people. Aren't you supposed to, like, try to keep us wanting to go to school?”

“You don't actually believe in that crap, do you, Pissboy?” Scary rolls her eyes over at Lincoln. “The ghost thing, but also the, like, school-spirit-whatever thing. Teeny sure doesn’t make me wanna hang around this dump.”

Normal tries to ignore the pang in his chest from her hurtful words. She has been deeply corrupted, so he needs to take extra steps in order to convert her. “I do want you guys to want to come here! I just want you to feel safe here!” He jabs his finger into the vaguely-drawn face of the ghost. “And I assure you, this thing is to blame!”

“Are you sure it’s not just because this school sucks? Like, even more than school sucks in general?” She begins counting on her fingers. “The place is run by assholes, we barely get the funding we did back in the day, there’s way too much focus on the stupid soccer team…”

“Hey, soccer isn't stupid!” Lincoln fires back before Normal can. “And I think our school is just fine! Other than… y’know, all the mean and scary rumors…”

“Of course you think our school’s great. Just before this school year, you were still suckling on your mom’s fat—”

“I don’t have a mom, thank you very much, I—"

“Oh, no wonder you're like this, then!” Scary throws her hands in the air in defeat, while Lincoln is still pathetically stammering away.

Normal is losing his grip on this situation, he thinks.

And just as he’s about to try to get it back, the sound of footsteps storming in interrupts him, and he is faced with the last teacher he would want to deal with right now.

“Normally Oak-Swallows-Garcia!” Mrs. Swallows-Oak-Garcia scolds him and places her hands on her hips in a way that is honestly a much more “stern mother” vibe than she’s typically able to achieve. “What are you doing out of your seat, causing a ruckus?”

Normal can hear Scary snickering at his misfortune behind him, and he wishes that she only knew how lenient his mom actually is with him outside of school. If they were at home, he could easily get away with “causing a ruckus” if he just explained that it was for a good cause. But considering he’s already in trouble, at school of all places, he might not want to try his chances. Especially when word could get back to his other mom, and she’s already been giving him a hard enough time lately.

“Normal was just telling us all about how we gotta go after the spooky ghost, ma’am!” Taylor explains for him. He sounds much too pleased with himself, like he just saved this entire situation instead of only making it worse.

“Oh, the ghost talk again, huh?” Rebecca asks with amusement in her voice, as if Normal wasn’t already cringing hard enough. “Well, I’ve never really known where I stood on whether ghosts are real or not, but from what I’ve heard from the majority of the staff here, they don’t believe in ghosts. So I'm going to follow them and tell you to please stop bugging your peers, son. Especially in detention, which is not a safe space to share opinions.”

Her bright smile somehow has Normal’s tail between his legs more than another teacher’s disapproving scowl would.

He spends the rest of detention brooding in silence, almost hoping something horrible befalls his classmates as they play with fidget toys and write angry notes and doodle poorly-drawn characters. At this point, he hardly even cares what happens to them anymore. Anything to prove him right.

For whatever reason, his mind falls back to the mysterious theater kid. He doesn't even remember why he was reminded of them in the first place, but this isn't the first time he’s found himself daydreaming about them.

He wonders if they’re nice. If they would be nice to him, specifically. He doesn't remember even speaking to them, so they're probably the one person in this school he hasn't confronted about the ghost problem. Would they believe him? Would they help him? Would they be impressed by him, the way he was by them?

Normal doesn’t feel all that much safer when he gets home. The car ride back with his mom is awkward as can be, Rebecca insisting that she “loves a good conspiracy theory” but also thinks that he’s “disturbing the peace” by bringing it up to everyone. She doesn’t understand that it’s the ghost that’s disturbing the peace, not him, but he refuses to even argue. He keeps the mascot head on and doesn't say a word. She makes a joke about how he has the right to remain silent, and then clarifies that she is neither supporting cop behavior nor mocking it by making the joke. She continues to go on and on all by herself, as she usually does.

But really, what he’s mostly dreading is coming home to his other mom. She will not be pleased to know that he had to attend his first detention since October, when he caused a bit too much chaos during Homecoming festivities. Sparrow had quite a lot to say after that, and he’d rather not be reminded.

Luckily, it’s his uncle that greets them at the door instead. Lark has always been a little more lenient when it comes to Normal’s more… questionable behavior. Although, his “leniency” is technically just defined by his silence. He still gets a judgemental glare that warns him of lectures to come, but it somehow hurts less than direct confrontation delivered with a smile.

The universe must be feeling kind to him today, because he finds out that Sparrow won’t be home until later tonight. So his plan is just to eat dinner as quickly as possible and then retreat to his room for the rest of the night, not having to reflect on his actions at all. Because he didn't do anything wrong in the first place.

But his guiltlessness doesn’t keep him from keeping a wary ear out for the sound of the front door, chewing on his overbitten bottom lip as he waits. Just like at school, all he does at home is wait for the inevitable doom awaiting him. Sometimes it feels like his own house is haunted by spooky monsters waiting around every corner, ready to pounce at any moment and attack him with some new judgement for him to be insecure about. 

It’s no wonder he doesn’t like taking the mascot suit off.

If only Rebecca wasn't at the school, then he could've tried to make an excuse that he was just hanging out with a friend after school… or something. Okay, maybe that lie wouldn't be believable enough. He could've used cheer practice as an excuse, but the soccer season hasn't started yet. Maybe he could've said he had an important meeting to go to as the school mascot. Maybe then he’d be taken more seriously as a valuable staff member, just as much as his mom.

God, he wishes the school would hold a meeting to address the ghost situation. It’d certainly be more worth discussing than stupid curriculum changes or whatever bullshit they’re talking about in those staff meetings.

When Sparrow does finally make it home, Normal feels sick to his stomach. A morbid curiosity draws him all the way to his door, his ear pressed against it to catch whatever words will be said.

And of course, immediately, he’s the first discussion topic.

“...late, I really wish I could've been here sooner to talk to Normal,” he catches Sparrow saying. “Did he already go to bed?”

He hears Rebecca confirm, and then Sparrow mumbles something he can’t make out. The rest of the conversation is also a bit too quiet for him to understand, but he picks up the word “ghost” like a sleeper agent’s activation code.

Unable to contain his curiosity, he slowly opens the door as little as possible so as not to make any noise. He creeps through silently, checking that his sister Hero’s door is also closed, and makes his way over as close as he can get without being visible.

“You don’t— or, the staff doesn’t believe in that stuff, right?” Sparrow's voice comes through much clearer now. “They’re not acknowledging these ‘claims’ or anything?”

“From my viewpoint as the middleman, it looks to me like they stand just where you are,” Rebecca answers. “They keep trying to quiet him down so he doesn’t disturb the learning environment, but he doesn’t seem to listen.”

There’s a heavy pause, and Normal’s glad he can’t see Sparrow’s disappointed face right now. “And they think that’s what caused his little… outburst today?” Normal hates the way she chooses and emphasizes her words, like she’s using euphemisms for worse things she wants to say instead. “Like, he’s upset that he’s not being listened to, and this is how he’s choosing to express it?”

“In a way. Mr. Pepperoni thinks that this whole thing might be an excuse to fight back at the school for not accepting Teeny.” Normal’s heart drops, but Rebecca continues relaying the heavy (and very, very wrong) information. “He thinks he simply needs to be punished, while others argue that he should be sent to the school psychologist, or at least his counselor. Now, I can’t speak to how much he actually believes in what he’s saying, but it at least looks like he’s trying to find some way to blame the school without directly blaming the students themselves.”

Punishment? A psychologist? Is that really the way you treat someone when they bring up injustice? No, not just injustice, but outright danger? Normal almost feels enough anger to storm down the stairs and go defend himself.

“But who knows? Maybe there really is a ghost, and he’s just scared that no one is listening to him, just like you said.” Relief washes over Normal as soon as she says this, cooling the fire building up inside of him. Usually, hearing the true side of Rebecca’s two-sided beliefs only fires him up more, desperate to prove it as the right one, but the fact that she actually compared it to Sparrow’s side gives him hope. Maybe someone will finally begin to believe him.

“I don't think it’s a ghost he’s warning everyone about,” Sparrows clarifies, and oh, Normal hates that tone of voice… “Whether or not he actually believes in ghosts, I think he needs that psychologist. I worry that the root issue and the response worsening it are the same.”

“I don’t understand,” Rebecca echoes her son's own thoughts, while his heart pounds in fear of what his mother could mean. He fears that he may not want to hear what she means, but he listens with rapt attention anyways…

“Becca… are you sure he’s not just being bullied?”

A chill freezes Normal’s blood, but not in the way the cold spots at school do. He doesn’t even realize that tears are beginning to pool in his eyes until he chokes on a traitorous sob. He shoves his hand over his mouth and shuffles back to his room as quickly but as quietly as possible, his mind screaming No! No! No! the whole time.

He can’t restrain the pitiful and ugly cries escaping his throat as soon as he makes it back to his room, until he throws his face into his pillow. They're wrong. They’re wrong. This is much, much worse than being told it’s just his imagination. If this is how people really see him…

He needs to do something. He needs to do something soon. Like, tomorrow soon. His tearful breaths are coming quicker now, and if he keeps stifling them with his pillow, he worries he might pass out. He wishes he could right now, just to have an escape, but he needs to devise a plan. Right now.

Taylor was the only one at detention who was onboard with defeating the ghost. He’s his only hope. Tomorrow, Normal will find him as soon as possible, and they will face this evil together, head-on. Even if it means having to skip first period. The safety of the entire school is at stake.

After tossing and turning over his tearstained pillow, wrestling with the painful thoughts in his head for longer than he would've liked, Normal dreams about being on a big, empty stage. The audience is full, but no one smiles at him. They barely even acknowledge him. He’s shouting and dancing and singing, trying to get anyone’s attention, but no one cares.

The stage lights flicker and burn out one by one, and props that weren't even there in the first place begin collapsing all around him. As he tries to dodge the falling debris, he finally begins to hear the audience. He turns to them again, and they’re laughing. He almost accepts it as a good sign until they start throwing things. At first it’s tomatoes, and then other fruits, and then soccer balls, and soon the stage is being pelted with more random garbage than he can even keep up with.

The uproar is becoming louder and louder, echoing through the seemingly endless building, and Normal tries to run offstage, until he finds that there is no offstage. The curtains sweep back no matter how close he gets, whipping around like there’s a strong wind pushing them.

When he faces the audience again, ready to give up and just fall on his knees and scream for their help, he can’t see anyone anymore. There is no auditorium. There is only stage, stretching on for miles. He is all alone.

Only one laugh remains, still loud as can be, and when he turns to face the one remaining audience member, he sees that it isn't an audience member at all.

Standing right next to him, in an indiscernible costume but with an unmistakable face, is the stranger from the winter play.

That beautiful face is the last image burned into his brain when he wakes with a start. His heart is pounding and his body feels sticky with sweat, and it takes him a moment to remember what day it is.

Wednesday. January 28th. Three and a half weeks since winter break.

That definitely wasn’t the first time he’s had a nightmare since the hauntings, but it is the first time he’s seen that student show up in any of them. Ironically, seeing them had him wishing he could’ve stayed in that terrible world for longer. If only he could've talked with them, begged them for answers, taken comfort in the fact that he wasn’t actually alone for longer than a split second.

He tries his best not to dwell on it, instead focusing on today’s plan. He can put an end to his real-life nightmares, and that starts by finding a friend.

It isn’t difficult to find Taylor at school, since the varsity soccer team tends to flock to him as soon as he shows up at school… instead of Teeny. Normal is not jealous about this, though. Not one bit.

The soccer team has already gotten really tired of hearing Normal’s warnings and refused to join him in ghost hunting several times, so he has no choice but to wait this out. Taylor ends up talking with them for a good while, but Normal doesn’t get it. He has no idea what Taylor even has in common with them. How could they be so interested in seeing him, of all people? There’s no way all twelve of them are obsessed with him.

If he wasn’t on such an important mission, he would've already given up and walked away by now. But he cannot lose sight of the one person he needs. If Taylor gets away now, who knows what kind of disaster could strike today?

“Alright! See you losers later, then! Sayonara!” Taylor waves to the soccer players as they leave, and as soon as he turns, Normal is right in his face. He lets out a surprised squeak.

Normal has him now. He needs to find out his ways, learn whatever secret magic he has that draws others to him so easily even while being so unapologetically… himself. He could use some of that power to influence the school, since the other more typical popular kids are out of the question.

“Taylor Swift.” He places his big hands on his shoulders. “Now that you have agreed to help me, I need your assistance in my mission.”

Taylor’s eyes glimmer with excitement. “Ooh, a mission, you say?” He glances all around. “Is this top secret? Am I your spy now?”

Normal takes his hands back. “What? No, it’s definitely not a secret. Haven't you heard me telling the whole school about the ghost?” He shakes his head. “Nevermind that. What I need you to do is come with me to confront this spirit. Make ourselves known. Let it know that we’re the ones in charge here. Well, mostly me, but you get to be my right-hand man.”

Taylor bites his lip as his grin widens. “Your para-Normal wingman? I see, I see.” He begins rubbing his hands together. “Now, how hot are we talking? Because I mayyy not want you getting this babe all to yourself.”

“Wha—” Normal’s brain blanks for a moment as he tries to compute the misunderstanding. This is not following the plan he had scripted out beforehand. “Taylor, we’re ghost hunting.”

“Yeah, we’re on the hunt for some ghost girls!” He says it with no question in his voice, completely missing the point. “Just like in the anime!”

Normal blinks at him incredulously. He waited… that whole time… “Taylor…” He was his last hope… “I am trying to murder this thing, not…” He had a plan and everything… “Not— Not smooch it or whatever the fuck.”

“Well, it’s already dead, you can’t murder it.” Taylor doesn't even seem bothered at all, not even comprehending the fury seething behind his smiling mask. “And you can’t really smooch it either, it’s intangible. You gotta let it possess you, my man. That’s where the fun’s at. Although, actually, I don't know how much it would like having my body today, since my joints are feeling kinda—”

Normal gives up. Something snaps in him, and he gives no response other than a loud, roaring groan as he storms away. Taylor doesn’t understand him or what he stands for even the slightest bit. That must be why everyone likes him and not Normal, because just like all the others, he never takes anything seriously.

Normal will be better without him. He can make this work anyways. He doesn’t need that moron. He’ll do this alone if he has to. If it kills him. 

He’s always been alone, from the very start.

He doesn’t notice just where it is that he’s marching away to until he hears a heavy creak of metal. When he looks up from the ground for the first time, he sees that one of the back doors of the auditorium has opened. But that’s odd, because no one should be in the auditorium at this time in the morning. In fact, he doesn’t even spot anyone coming in or out.

Squinting dubiously, he wanders over to the opening, taking note that such a heavy door shouldn’t be capable of staying ajar like that without anyone or anything holding it. The area beyond it is vastly dark, but his curiosity is stronger than his fear at this point, so he passes the threshold.

He probably should have expected that the door would immediately slam behind him, but he yelps pathetically anyways.

He can tell that he’s backstage, but he honestly doesn’t know how to navigate this place. There are few places in this school that he doesn’t know like the back of his hand, but this is one of them. All he can hope to do is shuffle his feet around until he finds something.

“Hello?” he calls out, already feeling like a dumb horror movie protagonist. Of course, there’s no response.

There’s all kinds of equipment back here, ropes and ladders and props and backdrops. He stays as far away from any of it as he can, just in case it decides to attack. He finds himself running into a curtain, and he tugs on it frantically in order to get to the other side, before realizing he can just try to push through.

So he does; he barges through with perhaps too much reckless abandon, and he’s lucky he doesn’t run all the way off the stage. “Who goes there?!” he shouts, his voice crack echoing through the entire auditorium.

The only thing he can notice is a lone lightbulb on a stand, glowing bright in the middle of the stage. He’s lucky he didn’t run into that, either, and knock over his one source of light in this place, other than the switches on the wall backstage that he was too afraid to start flipping at random. With its powerful light illuminating the massive room, he can look upon the sea of empty seats, and somehow feel more alone than he’s ever felt at school before.

He can’t be alone in here, though. Someone must have opened that door, and left this light here. But even in this deathly silence, he hears not even a pin dropping. All he can hear is the sound of his own heartbeat, intensified within his protective mascot suit. It doesn’t feel as safe in there as he would like to feel, though. Something about being alone on this stage makes him feel naked, even with nobody watching.

He decides he’s spent enough time in here being reminded of last night’s awful nightmare, so he shakes his head in disappointment and turns to the lightbulb, burning away for no good use. Since he knows his way back now, there’s no point keeping it on and wasting its energy. “Who would even…?” he mumbles to himself as he flicks it off.

In a flash (ironically, given the total darkness), Normal hears a laugh, a wicked and howling laugh, emerging from… everywhere. Reverberating off the walls of the auditorium, the mascot head, even his own skull. He claps his hands over Teeny’s ears as if it could protect him at all. The sound pierces through any layer of physical or mental defense he may have had, chilling him to the very core.

“Well, well, well,” the voice crows, still simmering with laughter. “You have really done it now, mascot kid. I still cannot believe how utterly stupid you can be.”

Normal only just barely realizes that he’s shaking. He’s frozen in terror, and he wishes so badly that he could will his legs to run him back out into the light, but he’s lost all sense of direction or rationale.

“It’s literally called a fucking ghost light. How ignorant can you possibly be?” The ghost somehow sounds like it’s coming closer, but there’s no one to be seen in the darkness.

A frantic idea pushes its way to the front of Normal’s mind, and he retrieves his phone with fumbling hands. “Flashlight on!” he shrieks, and as soon as the tiny speck of light turns on, he waves it in front of himself like a weapon. Still, it reveals no visible person. “Show yourself, evil spirit!”

“‘Evil spirit’ is not my name, thank you very much.” Nothing moves as the voice speaks. “But oh, where are my manners… Whatever shall I call you? Does ‘mascot kid’ work? Or would you prefer ‘Teeny’? Is ‘Normally’ too formal?”

Normal spins all around. He absolutely hates the way the sound surrounds him from all directions. It makes his skin crawl hearing it speak to him directly. How dare it try to address him by name. “Th-The only thing you’ll be calling me is… is your worst nightmare!”

The ghost chuckles at the tremble in his voice. “Oh, but looking at the way you’re acting now, I’d say you're much more afraid of me than I would ever be of you… Normal."

Hearing it say his name sends a shiver through his whole body. He swallows, hoping with humiliation that it didn’t notice. “Tell me your name, then.”

He hears a groan that’s surprisingly on-par with the sass of a frustrated teenager. “I can’t just say it, you fool. Don’t you think this would’ve gone over much easier if that were the case?” There’s a distant sound of a lightswitch flicking on. “You’re gonna have to find out for yourself, my dear Normal.”

“My dear”... Normal shakes his head in disgust. “Don't get too familiar. I'm here to get rid of you, you know.”

“Oh, yes, I know, I know,” it replies cheekily, sounding like there’s still a mocking smile in its voice. Normal wishes he could just shut that mouth up himself, if there were anything tangible in front of him for him to sock. “But won’t you humor me for just a moment more, hm?”

“You’ve clearly gotten enough entertainment from me already,” Normal growls, although he does choose to press forward with his mini flashlight in hand.

He finds an open door with light spilling out. It leads to a dressing room, the walls lined with mirror after mirror. It’s surprisingly pretty in here, unlike the bathrooms and locker rooms in other areas of the school. It seems like most of the budget for the school’s lighting went into this auditorium.

“What exactly am I supposed to be finding in here?” He makes sure not to leave out the annoyed tone in his voice. “I see a whole lotta mirrors, but not any faces other than my own.” Or, rather, Teeny’s.

“Well, take a deeper look inside, you might be surprised.” The back of the mascot costume feels slightly cold as the voice seems to whisper in his ear. He can imagine the spirit standing next to him in the doorway with a hand on his back, urging him forward.

“This feels like a trap.” He takes a step back from the room, trying to shake off the feeling. “How do I know you won’t just lock the door behind me as soon as I step in, like you did before?”

“I wouldn't have to do that unless you were getting changed in here.” Very funny. “...Which you may want to do, anyways.”

Normal tenses his shoulders, not looking back at Teeny in his reflection. If this thing thinks it’s going to get him to do anything for it, it’s going to have to quit mocking him.

“Oh, don’t look like that. I mean that in order to see me, you can’t be wearing the mascot costume.”

“What?” Does that mean that…? No, of course he already knew that the mascot suit protected him from evil. This isn’t news to him, and he isn’t smiling from the validation behind his mask. “W-Why would I feel like doing that, though? It doesn’t seem worth it to expose myself like that."

“Oh, you’ll want to. Trust me.” As if he wouldn't trust even damn Pepperoni Tony before this fucker.

And still, something compels him to enter the room anyways.

Sure enough, the door behind him doesn’t close, but the door to one of the cabinets inside opens. Normal half-expects it to reveal a skeleton and scare him, but finds it to be just an ordinary cabinet full of what must be typical theater stuff. What he does find, though, is a skull pictured on the front of a little booklet, which is icy-cold when he touches it. Ironically, this is how he knows that he has gotten to the “hot” item.

When he carefully pulls it out like removing a block from a Jenga game, he can practically feel the ghost breathing down his neck. He swallows before he reads the title shown in big, bold lettering. “Hamlet?” He looks over his shoulder, as if he would see anyone there. “Is that it?”

The ghost sighs in exasperation. “You are… so close. God, you are drawing this out.”

“You’re drawing this out!” Normal shoots back. “You’re the one slowly leading me to all these cryptic clues and stuff instead of just spelling it out for me!” He flips open the booklet impatiently and takes a look inside with a huff.

And there it is, the first thing his eyes fall upon. On a cast list full of names he recognizes as his fellow students, the only one that’s unfamiliar to him is the first one, listed as the title character himself.

Hamlet - Hermie Unworthy.

Normal’s blood turns as cold as the cursed booklet in his hands.

“Ringing any bells, O wise Normal?” The suddenly and chillingly familiar voice taunts. “Or maybe you still need a refresher, considering you didn’t even get the title character’s name right during your brief little visit last winter.”

The booklet falls from Normal’s hands, the image of a face flashing in his mind. “The— You— Why—”

“You see, when it comes to poor, uneducated saps such as yourself, there are many ways to ruin the magic of theater without even realizing it.” The voice—Hermie’s voice—seems to circle around him as he backs away, as though they’re pacing in circles around him. “Much like a newbie techie wishing actors ‘good luck’ and sending them to their doom, unbeknownst to them… you have made a similarly grave error.”

Normal wracks his brain, trying to decipher what it could be that the ghost is talking about, but fear (and humiliation, mostly) overrides his mind and he scrambles out the door.

“Oh, Jesus, gonna go run under a ladder too while you’re at it, huh?” The voice continues to follow him, no matter where he goes. “You seemed a lot more keen on listening to me when I was performing. But I guess you do always skip out on the important info, don’t you?”

“What do you want?!” Normal screeches as he falls back against the locked door to the theater. He already feels stupid enough not knowing what it is that makes him so stupid, but running from the one person he’s been looking all over for (in more ways than one) just makes that feeling even worse.

“What I want is for you to open your eyes and stay this time. No backing out, Normal. No ignoring me. You’re going to pay attention this time.” When Normal doesn’t move from his spot, except to slump to the floor, Hermie clears their throat. “Good. Now, Normal dear. Are you, in fact, familiar with The Scottish Play? Or is all of Shakespeare’s work simply the same to you?"

“The Scottish…?” In his breathless daze, nothing this spirit says makes any sense to him. “Wasn’t Shakespeare English? Or— Wait, is that right? He was the guy who said, like, “tis’ and ‘thou’ and stuff like that, right?”

A long pause. “Ah, ‘tis true,” the ghost whispers, seemingly under their breath, and the familiarity of it makes Normal shiver. “Thou truly art a fool.”

“Hey.” Normal scowls at the darkness in front of him. “I understood that, at least.”

“Yeah, well then you’ll also understand this, idiot,” the ghost snaps, switching back to a more abrasive tone. “You don’t ever, and I mean ever, utter The Scottish Play’s true title within a theater. You broke that rule last winter, by stupidly mistaking my character, Hamlet, for… for him.” Even the ghost shudders in fear. “God, I'm already dead and I can’t even bring myself to say it.”

Normal tries as hard as he can to remember that day. The winter play, which until now he didn’t even know the title of. He had a crucial cheer rehearsal that day, but he thought he might as well stop by the show to let the school know he… cared. About the drama department.

Okay, if he’s being honest, he wasn’t even going to stay even as long than he did, but the one thing that kept him staying for a bit longer was none other than the theater kid speaking to him now. He knew that performance would stick with him for a while, but he never would have guessed it would literally haunt him.

He… might've said something to the nearest audience member, now that he thinks about it. It was probably a question, or a compliment on Hermie’s performance. He didn't know Hermie’s name at the time, of course, so he must’ve just referred to him by his character name… which he also didn’t know.

Oh. He remembers what it was, now. “Ohhh, you mean Mac—"

“Don’t—!” The cry is loud enough to echo throughout the entire theater, and the curtains rustle from the sheer power of it. “...say it. Do not.”

Okay, so he mixed up the names of a couple of Shakespeare’s characters. Why are they so mad about it, though (other than them being a huge theater nerd)?

“The reason we don’t speak that name,” the ghost continues, reading his stupid mind, “is because it is historically known to bring horrendously bad luck. And I, directly, was the one who fell victim to this curse. After my death scene, my fellow actors carried on without even noticing that it was not just my brilliant acting that made my death so believable.”

Normal remembers leaving shortly after making his little comment, so he had no idea what the aftermath of his tiny mistake looked like. To think he, the school’s beloved mascot, caused such destruction and walked away without even noticing…

“So, you… you died onstage without anyone even noticing?” Normal shakes his head before he can let the dread completely take over his better judgement. “No, that’s ridiculous, someone must’ve noticed at some point. Something would’ve come out about that. It-It would’ve been all around the school—maybe even on the news!”

“Ah, but that is where you truly fail to understand the nature of my curse. Did you ever question why it was that you never heard my name before, saw my picture before? You must know every student in the school, given your oh-so noble position, but you never really noticed me until the day you killed me. After that, I was allll you could think about.”

Normal stumbles over words, trying to find an explanation but only making a bigger fool of himself.

“I was but a lowly transfer student,” Hermie laments with the dramatic grace of a character in a tragedy. “Your moronic administration staff can take some of the blame, as they handled the process very, very improperly. Alas, there was no record left of me in the school, other than that playbill you so rudely dropped on the floor.”

Normal can still hardly believe it. There’s no way a respectable student of San Dimas High would be cast aside so easily. “How could anyone forget the main character…?”

“All but you have, I fear. As I have been cursed to be forgotten and alone, I now curse you by never letting you forget me, and never leaving you alone.” The ghost chuckles as Normal flushes in irritation, even though there’s no way they can see it in the dark and behind his mask.

“Well, you’ve had your fun.” Normal finally stands to his feet again and dusts the mascot costume off. “I see now how I goofed up, after your looong, self-indulgent mind game bullshit, but it’s time for you to call it a day and let me get back to my important school business.” He turns back to the door and pushes on the bar as hard as he can.

“Oh, we haven’t gotten to the real fun just yet. Didn’t you want to… see me again?” There’s a playful lilt in their voice that makes Normal freeze up. “Isn’t that what you wanted all along? To reveal the big, bad ghost, and see your prince charming again?”

Goddamn it. That is what Normal’s been searching for. He still needs proof of their existence.

He turns around slowly, carefully. “...Can you turn the light on, at least? Or are you just gonna jumpscare me?”

Just like that, the light switches on, which actually does enough to startle Normal anyways. “There you go. But like I said, Normal… You’ll need to step out of the mascot costume.”

Normal folds his arms over himself and the mascot suit protectively, already feeling like the bright lights are burning him up. “I… I don’t feel comfortable doing that, though.”

“Worry not. There are other costumes just around the corner that you can change into.” A curtain some distance away pulls back to reveal a rack of clothes.

Normal never thought his desperation would drive him as far as to remove his precious suit of armor. It’s embarrassing, frankly, the way he knows his pounding heartbeat isn’t just from fear anymore, but excitement. This is the moment of truth.

When he approaches the array of costumes awaiting him, he’s not sure what to even pick. It’s likely that none of this stuff will even fit him. He feels like his decision is being closely watched and judged, and he feels very sweaty within the mascot suit.

Stupidly enough, he believes he will feel safer if he switches to a knight costume, and when his hand hovers over the fake plates of armor, Hermie offers no objection. “Okay, then, I’ll just, uh…” He takes the hanger in his gloves and begins to waddle back to the dressing room. “Don’t follow me this time!” He shouts behind his shoulder, as if there’s any way for him to tell.

“I do have manners, you know,” Hermie scoffs as the door to the dressing room closes.

This is the first time during this whole encounter where Normal actually felt safe having a door shut behind him by itself. Although, even as he breathes out a sigh and looks down at the costume again, his skin still crawls with the uncertainty of where the ghost could be. For all he knows, that trickster motherfucker could be sitting right by the mirror he’s choosing to face away from, ready to strike at his most vulnerable.

He really needs to get this over with, just so he can keep an eye on them and their whereabouts.

He gasps as he takes the mascot head off, feeling as though he’s been unable to breathe this entire time. He knows the bright lights lining the mirrors will only burn his eyes more now, once (if) he turns around.

He keeps an eye on the door as he warily shambles out of the mascot costume, not knowing if he should be slow and careful about it or hasty and frantic. He soon opts for the latter, clumsy hands forcing the thick padding off his body. As soon as the cool air hits his sweaty skin, he shivers again.

He reaches for the costume with no hesitation now, fumbling with the confusing pieces of it and trying not to focus on how wrong it feels to wear it. He already knows he would never belong onstage.

After he fastens the last piece of the costume, he makes the mistake of turning around after all. His own reflection scares him just as bad as any ghostly figure would.

Somehow, he worries about Hermie’s judgment just as much as he would an entire audience of people. If they thought he was stupid before, one look at him would confirm that ten times over. His sweaty, flushed face, his greasy, untameable hair, his awkward, unknightly physique. They’ll understand why he needs the mascot suit for more than just his own safety.

This isn’t about them seeing him, though. It’s about him seeing them.

“You can come in now,” he announces before he can regret it. “Make your grand entrance.”

He watches the door with bated breath as it opens… but nobody shows up on the other side. Not a hand holding the handle, not a head poking in, nothing.

“What the—” He’s about to march over and chase Hermie down, when all of a sudden, he hears a shuffling sound beside him.

When he turns, he watches with horror as the pieces of the mascot suit reassemble on their own, staggering to its feet, until Teeny the Teen is now standing in front of him, his body hollow as seen through his gaping cavity of a mouth.

Normal wishes his knight costume came complete with a sword and shield, but all he can do to defend himself is hold his arms out in front of himself and shriek like a child in a haunted house. Seeing Teeny standing on his own without Normal inside is more horrifying than he could've imagined.

“Ah, it feels so nice to finally have a body again,” Hermie’s voice speaks through Teeny’s smiling mouth. “Although I must say, I wasn’t expecting it to be so heavy. And awkward. You really run and jump around in this thing all day?”

Normal feels like he’s going to be sick, just watching Teeny’s limbs stretch and twist experimentally, mockingly. “What the fuck?!” he spits out at last. “You— You tricked me!”

“That is what I do,” Teeny— Hermie replies nonchalantly, flexing his fingers as if still trying to gain feeling in them. “I'm honestly a bit surprised you gave in to your curiosity so easily. Just couldn’t resist a chance at seeing my lovely face, huh?” He tilts his head, looking amused even with Teeny’s dead-eyed expression.

Normal purses his lips and looks away, finding it hard to keep eye contact even with the mascot. This is ending up even creepier than he thought it would be. “Not cool, man. You are soiling the good name of Teeny the Teen. And wasting my goddamn time.” He clenches his fists, fuming but unwilling to attack his beloved Teeny. “Now get outta there and never show your ‘face’ in this school again.”

“Oh, but the fun has only just begun!” Hermie stretches his arms out wide, and Normal feels threatened by how big the mascot really appears. “If you really want to get rid of me, then the solution is simple: We put on one final performance of Hamlet, in which I die one more glorious death… a real show-stopper.”

Normal looks up at him again. “You really spent all that time tormenting me and shit… just because you wanted to put on a silly play? One you’ve already just done?”

Hermie drops his arms to his hips. “There is nothing ‘silly’ about it. I want the recognition I deserve, just as much as you do, Mr. Mascot,” the mascot himself says. “Can’t you just let me have one last dying wish? Can’t I have one last moment in the spotlight before you erase me from existence yet again?”

Normal is about to object, but Hermie steps closer and grabs his hands. Feeling the gloves touching his hands from the outside feels so strange.

Teeny’s face is massive in front of his own, almost looking like he’s about to swallow him up. “This is all I ask of you, Normal. Let me have this closing show, and then you will never have to deal with me again.”

Normal grabs one of Teeny’s big fingers and lifts it up, like his mom holding up a piece of his dirty laundry. He looks the mascot suit up and down, feeling for the first time ever like he’s judging the mascot he has chosen and defended for himself. “And you plan to do this… as Teeny?”

Hermie snatches his hand back, clearly offended. He’s already getting too comfortable accepting this body as his own, but Normal supposes he himself was just as guilty of that. “Well… not exactly. It’s not the ideal scenario, at least.” He looks down at Teeny’s bulky frame. “I suppose I could make anything work, but what I really want… is you.”

When Normal faces Hermie again, his eyes mirror Teeny’s wide, buggy stare. The ghost’s sinister tone suggests something he doesn’t dare let himself even think about— His mind involuntarily flashes back to Taylor talking about that stupid anime.

Instinctively, he holds his hands out in front of himself again, as if that could possibly shield him from supernatural forces. “Whoooa, no no no, nuh-uh, no way, José. What the fuck.” He shakes his head, his face burning. Because he’s angry. “You think, after all the trouble you’ve gotten me in, that I'm just gonna let you—?!” He chokes on his own words, and crosses his arms over himself in almost a self-hug. He feels even more exposed than he did when taking off the mascot suit. Because he’s scared.

Giving up the mascot suit, his secondary body, was already desperate enough. The thought of letting a ghost, the ghost of the theater kid that’s been haunting his thoughts for weeks, take control of him like they did with Teeny…

Nope, he’s not even letting the thought enter his mind. Nothing and no one will be taking over his mind today, thank you very much!

Hermie immediately backs up and holds Teeny’s hands up, much to his surprise. “Okay, okay, chill out. Jesus. I’m not just gonna possess an unwilling person, what kind of monster do you think I am?”

There’s no way he’s being serious right now. “Uh, the kind of monster that, like, plays cruel tricks on me and makes everyone think I'm crazy for it, and then… then traps me all alone in a haunted building and forces me to do its bidding? Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Hermie raises a finger as if to object, but they’re interrupted by the distant sound of a door swinging open, and they freeze.

Normal spins around and realizes with alarm that that must’ve been the entrance to the auditorium, and it sounded like someone forcefully pushing their way in. “Who is that?!” he hisses. “No one’s supposed to be in here at this time, right?”

“No, no one’s used this auditorium since that assembly you tried to hijack last week.” (It was a very useless assembly anyways, in Normal’s defense).

There are footsteps echoing across the stage floor, and Normal flings himself at the mascot suit and grabs it like he’s trying to fight someone. “Gimme this back, I can’t be seen like this!” 

Teeny goes limp in his hands surprisingly easily, and he wastes no time shoving himself back inside of it, where he belongs. But it feels cold and wrong on the inside now, like his mom just washed it but didn’t dry it.

“It’s Margarita Pizza,” the spirit's voice returns out of nowhere, scaring the daylights out of him for the millionth time. “Her dad must’ve sent her. You know he’s after you. And you’re after me, so Normal, I beg of you: Don’t tell her, or him, or anyone about me, now that you know.”

The desperation in Hermie’s voice is more startling to him than anything. Up until this point, the ghost seemed overconfident and snarky, making Normal fall for all their evil schemes, but this is the first time they’re the one who’s afraid. “Why wouldn't I? This is the big break I’ve been waiting for.”

A strong wind seems to push Normal back slightly. “Normal, no, please. I— I can’t be remembered like this. She was my Ophelia, I need her to perform with me again. Don't try to scare her with this. She might not believe you anyways. I'm going to be gone soon anyways!"

Normal doesn’t like hearing the ghost talk about one of his fellow students like she’s something precious to them, but he does have to remember that those two were once classmates, maybe even friends, as weird as it is to think about. He understands not wanting to be seen as a freak by his peers. He wants so badly to prove himself right, especially when it could lead to Pepperoni Tony finally having an ounce of respect for him, but… something tugs at his heartstrings, telling him to keep Hermie—keep this secret—to himself.

He walks out of the dressing room without another word to Hermie, who turns the mirror lights off and the ghost light back on. When he spots Margarita, he notices her glancing around suspiciously. “Ah! Hey, Margarita Pizza! What brings you here on this fine morning?"

She jumps when Normal addresses her. “Oh. Teeny. Hey. I was just, like… looking for a script I left in here. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, y’know…” Normal tries to lean on a set piece to act casual, but has to catch himself from falling when it starts to roll away. “Just, uh… Teeny stuff. Preparing for the next assembly. So… a script, huh? Does that mean you guys’ve got your next play already started?”

Margarita, noticeably still empty-handed, twiddles with her fake nails. “Errr… not yet. I meant, like, an old script.”

“Oh, is it for Hamlet?” Normal feels like it’s a dangerous game mentioning the winter play to her with Hermie listening, but the ghost makes no interference yet. “You did great in that, by the way.”

The compliments successfully flatters her, and she twirls her hair with newfound confidence. “Ah. Of course. Ophelia was one of my best roles.”

The urge to ask what she thought of the main character’s performance is incredibly strong, but he can’t push it any further. He needs to get out of here and clear any suspicion around him as soon as possible. He can’t even remember what period it is, he feels like he’s been trapped in this place forever. “Well, it was nice seeing ya! Gotta run!”

When Normal finally escapes out the door without ghostly interference, he feels the same rush of adrenaline he gets when running out onto the soccer field to mark the beginning of a thrilling game. This time, though, when his peers see him arrive, gasping for breath, all they do is cast weird looks over his way before returning to whatever it is they’re doing.

They don’t know, he seethes. They don’t know the torture I’ve been through.

And now, they likely never will. Because there is no way he is setting foot back in that auditorium, if he wishes to remain the only one in control of his body.

Trying his very best to forget the horrors he just witnessed, as well as the oddly alien feeling of the mascot suit now, Normal continues the rest of his school day. He’s never been more grateful to be able to sit in class and learn.

He wonders if he’s somehow late to algebra, or if he walked in on the wrong class, because he shows up with everyone’s eyes on him again, giving him those looks again. Hearing the teacher call everyone’s attention to make them look at triangles and stuff instead is a relief.

The same phenomenon happens in his history class, even though he knows for a fact that he’s on schedule this time. He has a harder time paying attention to whatever era they’re in when he has to keep glancing around to check if he’s also being side-eyed.

And then it just keeps on happening. He walks into the room, the vibes are off, the vibes stay off. No flickering lights, no floating objects, no spooky shadows, just wrinkled noses and whispered giggles and the prickling feeling of being scrutinized.

He wants to jump up from his seat, slam his hands on a desk, and scream at everyone like he’s demanding them to beware the supernatural. But he can’t do that now. Not when it’s something they already know. Not when it’s something they’re doing themselves. Not when it’s something they might be doing on purpose.

Is this what Sparrow was talking about…?

He goes home and talks to no one. He shares not a single detail of his day, except that it was okay. He takes dinner to his room. He barely eats it. He takes off the mascot costume. He plans his next move.

He feels sick.

Which is why it’s not entirely a lie when he decides his next move is to do the unthinkable and stay in bed all through the next morning, because his stomach does hurt and his muscles do ache and he really can’t go to school.

What he doesn’t explain is that he’s been cursed.

Chapter Text

It must be a curse. There's no other explanation.

Normal realized this as he stared up at his ceiling last night. Hermie was taking revenge. They were sick of being forgotten by everyone, so they cursed him to be judged by everyone. That’s why everything felt different, why he felt hyper-aware of his classmates’ reactions and the way it felt to wear the mascot suit and everything. They must’ve placed a curse on Teeny when they possessed him. They made everyone hate Normal, and he would like to argue that that feels way worse than being ignored by everyone.

When sunlight starts to creep into his room, he has to cover his eyes with one of his many pillows to avoid looking at all the ridiculous San Dimas High merch littered everywhere. For once, school is the last thing he wants to think about.

Unfortunately, though, there really isn’t much else for him to think about. He’s never dared to fake being sick before, and he never realized just how painfully boring it would be. To his surprise, he finds it too still and quiet at home compared to the chaos of school.

He texted Rebecca earlier that he wasn’t feeling well and for her to drive to school without him, which she thankfully didn’t question. She did check in on him once to leave some breakfast and wish him a normal one, but that was all. It was way easier than he thought it would be.

He can hear the others making some noise downstairs, but he can’t find an excuse to go hang around them. He wants to avoid anyone in the house as much as possible so as not to draw any suspicion, because he is not prepared to answer any questions. Today will be a rare day of silence from him… which, now that he thinks about it, might just come as a relief to them all.

The front door eventually opens and shuts, and one last person walks up the stairs. What he doesn’t expect is for that person to wander all the way over to his room and open the door.

“Okay Norm, everyone’s gone now,” Hero says with mild annoyance in her voice, as always. “What’s up?”

Normal ignores her and just pretends to sleep. Why is she even coming to bother him, anyways? It’s not like she’s one to hang out with him in her free time anyways, so what business does she have with him while he’s sick to swing by and ask him what’s up?

He then feels the bed dip under her weight nearby, and he decides to remove the pillow from his face to glare at her. “Hero, I'm sick. You can’t be in here.”

Hero just rolls her eyes and makes herself even comfier. “Yeah, right. The way Mom explained it sounded more like period cramps, so it’s not like I'm gonna catch anything. But no matter what it is, I’ve seen you fight to go to school even during borderline medical emergencies. Something must be up if you're choosing not to go today.”

Normal rolls onto his side so he doesn’t have to face her. “It’s none of your business what’s going on with me. Go away.”

“Uh, I think it is my business if no one else is helping you during your little crisis.” She hits him with a pillow. “Who hurt you? Who do I have to hurt back?”

Normal curls in on himself, actually feeling physical pain again just from the reminder of Sparrow’s bullying assumption. Knowing that Hero believes in it too just makes it hurt even more. Don’t they know that he believes in and stands up for himself enough for him to not let something like that happen? Do they really think he allows bullying at his beloved school?

“It’s nothing,” he says instead. It’s not entirely untrue. The person that’s been haunting him is nonexistent, barely a breeze in the wind. Just a voice in his head. Forgotten. But he can’t help but grumble under his breath, “...Not like you would believe whatever I say anyways.”

Hero barks out a laugh at that. “Oh, you’d be surprised what crazy shit I'm willing to believe. Hit me, dude. I'll at least be your sounding board. I won’t say a word to anyone.”

As much as Normal could ignore his feelings about this whole situation, all he’s really needed this whole time is for someone to listen to him. It’s not like he has much else to lose. Missing school is already rock bottom for him.

He lies back with his hands folded over his stomach like a corpse in a coffin, because this might as well be a death sentence. “...I finally met the ghost yesterday.”

He’s never talked to Hero about the ghost situation before, but he knows she must’ve heard about it already. He’s always expected her out of all people to make fun of him for it, so he never wanted this news to make it back home. Naturally, though, with Rebecca being a staff member and giving Lark and Sparrow updates about everything, the information was bound to be leaked at some point.

“Really?” It’s hard to tell if she sounds more curious or just amused. “What do you mean, you ‘met’ it? Did you talk to it? Did you see it?”

“I mean, it trapped me in a building for like a whole class period and talked my ear off about its whole tragic backstory.” He still shivers at the memory. “And now it wants me to help it.” He laughs, looking back to search her face for her reaction. Her wide, unreadable eyes only make him feel less sure of himself. “And for what, right? I mean, that kid— That thing has been bugging me every day since getting back to school, making my life hell, and all because, what, they’re a little lonely and sad their classmates forgot them? I mean, who would… That would be dumb, right?”

“Normal, are you saying you spoke with a dead student yesterday?” She places a hand on the mattress as if to brace herself, and the weight of it feels like an interrogation. “And you, Normal Oak-Swallows-Garcia, did not want to help a fellow student?”

Of all things she could be grilling him about, he was not expecting it to be his willingness to help Hermie. Is she not even going to question the ghost’s existence? “It’s… It’s complicated.” Sure, he’s angry at them and is avoiding them so he doesn’t have to be forced into their plan, but he did do as they said and kept their secret from the school… “Why, do you think I should?”

Hero leans back, releasing some of the pressure. “Well, I don’t know about that. I don’t know how dangerous this guy is. I just find it hard to believe you wouldn't immediately feel bad for them and do whatever you can to solve their problems.” Her face suddenly lights up. “Whoa, this is just like in Toilet-Bound Hanako-Kun… A haunted school, where you have to exorcise an apparition but end up sympathizing with his woeful tale of being forgotten by his classmates… Wow, you really are a lot like Kou, now that I think about it. Would that make me Teru…? Hmm…”

Normal hates that his struggles are once again being compared to a fucking anime. “Hero, this is not helping at all. You don’t know my situation. They’re trying to… to make me, like, their puppet. They want to put me on a stage. In front of everyone.”

Hero blinks, clearly not understanding what he’s saying. “What, is it for something really embarrassing, then? I thought you liked performing for everyone. Wouldn’t you want that attention?”

He grits his teeth. It’s not the play itself that’s embarrassing, and it’s not even like he’ll have to do the performing himself. It’s just that people will see him. But it’s really just someone else pretending to be him. It’d be like if he were Teeny the Teen, being controlled by someone else. Someone who doesn't represent what he stands for.

Deep down, he worries that… people will like Hermie’s version of him better than they actually like the real him.

Hero tries to look him in the eye. “Are you worried that they’ll hurt you, Normal?” Her voice is lower now, even though there’s no one else in the house.

Honestly, it’s what he wants to believe. Things were actually easier and less confusing before he knew who Hermie really was. It was easy to point fingers vaguely at things he couldn't understand and label them as evil, but it’s harder to face the ghost, the person, head-on, and realize how much of this is based on his own mistakes.

He fears that his issues may run deeper than a cursed mascot suit.

“They're not gonna,” he sighs in defeat. “I just have to be careful not to tell anyone about them anymore. But what if someone ends up asking me about it? What if they think I was just lying for attention? What if they hate me even— What if they hate me?”

Hero crosses her arms and shakes her head. “Man, this is why I switched to online school. I can’t imagine dealing with all this drama shit," she sighs, as if she wasn't the one to ask about it in the first place. "Look, Norm, if anyone gives you a tough time, just send them my way. I’ll make them regret it.”

Normal doesn’t think his sister can take on an entire high school, but he agrees to her plan anyway.

He can’t run from school forever, so the next morning, he tells his mom he’s feeling better enough to go back to school, and he does so… but this time, without the mascot suit.

It feels wrong even just being in the car without the extra padding. He pulls on his shirt several times, already hating the way he can feel it sticking to his sweaty skin.

“You feeling alright, buddy?” They’ve barely even made it out of their neighborhood, and his mom’s already noticed how uncomfortable he is. Great. “Not used to being out of character?”

He really hopes no one else makes a big deal out of him not showing up as Teeny. Best case scenario, people don’t even recognize him outside of the mascot suit and just treat him like a normal student. “I’ll be good.”

When he arrives at school, the very first thing he does is make his way over to the auditorium, with no hesitation other than to check how bad he smells. He needs to stop sweating so much, but he can’t exactly help it. Not since he came up with his new plan last night.

He knows it’s a risky move, but it’s worth a shot. This will help him in the long run. Ironically, this is the only person in the school that can help him.

Inside, he checks that the ghost light is on, confirming that no one is here. When he switches it off, he calls for Hermie by name.

“Fuck, you scared me,” the ghost ironically gasps. “I almost didn’t even recognize you. Where’s the mascot costume? And where have you been? I was so bored yesterday!”

Wow, this guy really doesn’t have any life outside of me. Sad. He decides to cut to the chase, instead of wasting his time like they always do. “Hermie, I need your help.”

“Excuse me?” Their anger was expected, so Normal doesn’t flinch. “You denied helping me, then outright abandoned me, and now you want me to help you?”

“I’m giving you permission to possess me, Hermie.”

“Honestly, what is wrong with— Huh?” The silence that follows is deafening, and in the cold darkness, Normal almost believes that they’ve already done it.

But when he awkwardly begins to rock on his feet, he realizes that they haven’t gone anywhere, and that they’re still waiting for an explanation. “Oh. Sorry. Basically, before we get into any of that play stuff, I want us to try this out first. For one,” he lifts a finger up for emphasis, even if it’s pointless in the dark, “day, I want you to teach me how to act like a normal teen. So that people will like me.”

The laughter starts off as a low chuckle, and builds into a maniacal cackle. Normal lets them have their moment, but stands his ground. “Normal… You… You really are something else. Oh boy. Oh, Normal… I like the way you think.” The way they say it with such delight sends a shiver down Normal’s spine.

Still. Normal won’t change his mind. He may end up regretting this, but there’s no turning back now. He’s already hit rock bottom. He’s starting over. He needs a new character to play, and who else should he learn from than an actor like Hermie?

“Are you sure about this, Normal?” Why they’re even asking for confirmation at this point is baffling. Clearly, they both want this. Nothing is stopping them.

Normal shrugs. “I mean, yeah. You must know my whole schedule already. And this way, I’ll know how to seem like less of a freak to my school once you’re out of my life.” It’s probably not the best thing he could say to keep them on his side, but isn’t that the endgame here, anyways? Getting rid of this evil spirit for good?

Hermie doesn't seem bothered by the rude implications, because all they say is, “Perfect. Well, just sit back and relax, my dear pupil.”

Normal doesn't really have time to do either of those things, because he nods his head as his last voluntary action within his own body before the rest of his senses go as dark as his vision.

…

It’s kind of nice.

It’s dark.

It’s quiet.

It’s empty.

It’s a break.

It’s better than staying home.

It’s nice.

It’s nothing.

“...Well, that was fun.” Hermie’s voice cuts through the white noise.

The lights flick on, and it pierces his senses like a splash of cold water. “Wh-huh…?”

His ears are ringing. His legs are tired. He can’t remember what day it is. Or where he is. Or what his name is.

“Normal, look alive. Your mom will be taking you home soon.”

Mom… Home…? The blurry remnants of Normal’s memory slowly meld together as his eyes adjust to the bright stage lights. Stage… Auditorium… Hermie…

Hermie possessed me.

“Wait… We're… done? But I don’t…” He yawns. “It just felt like falling asleep, I don’t remember anything.”

Panic sets in as he realizes what just happened, or what could’ve happened without his awareness. “I don’t remember anything. Fuck!” It at least helps to wake himself back up, but feeling the rest of his mind getting shoved back into his brain hurts like the worst headache.

“Hey, settle down before you hurt yourself,” the ghost says, although it’s too late for that. “If it makes you feel any better, people do seem to respect you a little bit more now. You were even able to convince the drama teacher to let you join in for one more showing of Hamlet!”

“You what?!” Normal roars, grasping at thin air instinctively as if to grab Hermie by the lapels and shake them. “I didn’t ask you to do that!”

“What do you mean? Isn’t that what this was all leading to, anyways?” They feign innocence, but there’s a smile in their voice.

“I didn’t want… I can’t…” His fears are all coming true. People do like Hermie better than him. They are raising their expectations of him. And now, thanks to his lack of control or memory, he will never be able to meet those expectations again.

Why did he ever expect anything good would come out of a deal with a vengeful spirit?

“I'm going home.” He begins to back away as the horror of what he’s done falls upon him. “I need the weekend to think this over.”

“Alrighty, but don’t think this little break means you really get to escape!” Hermie calls out in a sing-song. “Show’s on the 13th, don’t forget it!”

And just like a curse, Normal can’t get himself to forget it. As he flees to meet up with his mom, all he can think about is that day. That fateful day. Friday the 13th.

He only has two weeks.

He hardly speaks to Rebecca when she asks what took him so long, or to the rest of his family when they ask how his day was. He hardly sleeps that night, either, but when he does, he is plagued by more nightmares of theater and laughter and Hermie’s face, which becomes less clear the more he tries to remember it. Maybe it gets harder to think of someone as beautiful once they’ve revealed the ugliness of their personality.

Which makes it all the more frustrating that people like his ugly face better with Hermie’s ugly personality. Of course, the ghost might have been lying about that, but there’s no way of knowing until maybe when he comes back to school on Monday.

Saturday morning greets Normal rudely, with Hero waking him up for breakfast and trying to pry further into his business as they make their way down the stairs together. He hopes the adults didn’t hear any of the shushing he had to do to get her to drop it.

Eating pancakes does do a little bit to help brighten his mood, especially since these ones don’t have the little bits of fruit that they usually put in that ruin the texture for him. It’s perhaps a mistake to mention that, though, because he doesn’t realize that something as simple as talking about his food preferences might come across as rude.

“Oh, yeah, we ran out of blueberries yesterday,” Sparrow mentions. “That reminds me, I need to go to the store to get some groceries today. Would you like to come with me, Normal?”

Normal freezes when he hears the invitation. Seeing everyone’s eyes turn on him makes the bite of food in his mouth turn sour. There’s something heavy in the air, but he can’t figure it out. He just barely manages to swallow, and he realizes there’s no escape. “S-Sure.”

Usually, Normal likes going out and doing errands with his family, because it's not very often that they invite him along. He always offers to give them directions and carry their things and be on his best behavior, but most of the time, they prefer to take Hero over him. Even though she probably doesn’t even lift a finger for them and just sits on her phone in silence the whole time.

But this time, Sparrow is taking him. Alone.

Something tells him this outing is going to be more than just a simple grocery trip.

The first confirmation of this comes from the fact that he does not remember the grocery store being this far from the house. He planned not to breathe a word on the drive over, but when it gets to a certain point that the route feels unfamiliar, he can’t help but ask, “Weren't we, uh, gonna get groceries…?”

“I noticed you haven’t been wearing your costume anymore,” Sparrow answers, sounding way far off from what he was asking. When they stop at a red light, she gives him a gentle smile that makes his skin prickle with unease. Time slows to a crawl.

“Y-Yeah…?” He gives an unsure smile back and rubs his arm, now even more self-conscious about being exposed to the world like this. He doesn't plan on giving an explanation. If this is what’ll make her happy, then he’ll just have to grin and bear it.

The light turns green, Sparrow faces the road again, time resumes. The dread doesn’t leave. Normal considers rolling the window down for fresh air.

Unfortunately, Normal’s plan to stay quiet means he doesn’t get any proper answers until they’re pulling into the parking lot of a giant store that is… most certainly not their local grocery store.

“I just thought that, before we go grab our groceries, now would be the perfect time to go shopping for clothes too!” Sparrow claps her hands together after parking. “It’ll be fun! A good, y’know… a bonding experience.”

This sounds like the opposite of fun and good to Normal. This feels like marching into battle without armor.  “I already have clothes, though…?”

Sparrow takes one quick look at his school t-shirt and gym shorts and tilts her head with a more strained smile. “Oh, I mean, like… Y’know the clothes we bought you for middle school? Like those. You’ve probably outgrown those, so it’s time for some new ones."

Normal folds his arms over himself, and over his seatbelt. He needs to find a way to match his mother’s energy and let her down in the gentlest way possible. “I’d feel bad making you spend more money on me than you need to.”

“Aww, there’s no need for you to worry about that!” Sparrow gives a carefree laugh, while not realizing just how deeply Normal does care. “I’m happy to do these things for you.”

To his dismay, she’s already unbuckling her seatbelt and opening her door. He’d feel less trapped being locked in the car.

If only Hermie could take over for him for this.

He reluctantly tails his mother as she leads him into the clothing store, and the feeling of wrongness inside is as instant as that which he felt when returning to school. He swears the mannequins greeting him are staring at him and judging his outfit, too.

It really has been years since he has been in a store like this, and he does not remember the process of clothes shopping feeling so utterly demeaning. Not only does nothing he looks at appeal to him in the slightest, but he doesn't feel like he even deserves to look. He feels like he’s trespassing, like he’ll be caught at any moment and asked to leave.

His mother keeps pointing out different options and trying to keep his attention, but all he can focus on is how uncanny it feels to weave through this maze surrounded by statues judging him from every angle. Stylish or not, they’re creepy as hell.

His eye catches on a mirror as he passes by… A big mistake. One glimpse at himself reveals just how much he doesn’t belong here. He stands out like a big, ugly stain in this pretty and pristine store. A trashy thrift store would be more his style, maybe. If he had any style outside of his school spiritwear.

He wanders over to a random wall to pretend to observe a selection of graphic tees, and he grimaces at the amount of Valentine’s Day themed designs. He physically has to look away when he finds one that reads “Don’t GHOST your feelings - talk about them!” with a cartoon white-sheet ghost holding a heart.

In another section across from the one he’s standing in, he sees the men’s clothing, where Sparrow is shuffling through dress shirts. He barely pays attention to what his mother is doing, though, because he locks eyes—wait, he swears the faceless thing had eyes for just a second—with one of the mannequins.

He stares, and he rubs his eyes, and he pinches himself to check if he’s in a dream. Maybe all the poor sleep is causing him to see things.

Because before he turned his head fully, he would tell you that that mannequin looked exactly how Normal remembers Hermie from last year.

But that makes no sense. Sure, the figure is tall and thin like them, but it’s clearly meant to resemble an adult man wearing a more modern formal outfit, and it most certainly does not have a face, now that he’s looking at it dead-on.

He barely even notices his own feet carrying him over closer to inspect the mannequin, until Sparrow calls out to him. “Oh! Something caught your eye, Normal?”

Normal backs away from the thing like he just got caught doing something terrible. He splutters a lie that he likes its shoes, even though he was clearly staring directly at its blank face. He just can’t bring his eyes any further up from the floor to meet his mother’s eyes.

Even when Sparrow tries to redirect his focus from the “shoes”, he can't get the image out of his mind. He remembers seeing Hermie as Hamlet up on that stage, so stunning that he felt unworthy in his presence, like he had no right to be in that theater watching him… but also drawn in, like he couldn’t look away.

He needs to get rid of it.

He wasn’t expecting this furious urge to reawaken so suddenly and so violently in him outside of school, especially while spending one-on-one time with his mother. As soon as he thought he was cooling off from the horrific events of yesterday, he is once again fired up and ready to take on the next school week. An idea is creeping up on him now, like a face in the corner of his eye, in the back of his mind.

In two weeks, he will be rid of the ghost for good.

The awkwardness doesn’t end after the clothing store. Sparrow manages to make even grocery shopping a humiliating experience, just as he feared. 

He keeps having to dodge question after question, all while pushing their cart with such recklessness that he nearly slams it into a wall of jams and jellies. He’s lucky he didn’t get in trouble for another glass-breaking situation, but it does raise his mother’s suspicions even more. When Normal hears the classic “You know you can tell me anything” line in the produce section, he’s tempted to head over to the butchery just to keep her away from him.

When he comes home carrying all the bags for Sparrow, Lark gives him a snarky compliment for how strong he is, which he ignores while rushing to put food away in the kitchen. Sparrow thanks him for his cooperation, to which he only hums in response and quickly escapes upstairs with his useless new clothes.

He hears the two siblings beginning to have a conversation about him as soon as he disappears, but he chooses not to eavesdrop this time. He’s had enough.

He drops the bag, still full of clothes, underneath his bed before flopping on top of the mattress. Maybe now, he can finally get some much-needed sleep. He doesn’t even get this exhausted after performing an entire cheer routine.

When he falls asleep, he finally frees himself from thinking about Hermie for a moment.

But even without any dreams this time, he still sadly finds that regular old sleep just doesn’t feel like quite as good an escape as having his soul replaced by another. Under the spirit's possession, he felt peace unlike any he’s ever felt. Emptiness had never made him feel so full before. He never knew all he needed to feel complete was to simply stop being himself.

He hates how much he longs to experience that nothingness again. He knows it can’t be good for him.

Which is why this new plan is just what he needs to save himself, to redeem himself, to keep all his worst fears from coming true. Teeny will be safe. He will be safe. And Hermie will be gone before he knows it.

Weekends have never been Normal's thing, but he has been particularly anxious to get back to school after this one. He marches over to the auditorium on Monday way early and with actually no hesitation this time. He doesn’t care about how he looks or smells or anything, because this is not about him anymore. He doesn't need Hermie to possess him anymore, and soon, they will not have the need, either.

He switches on the backstage lights and walks with purpose, like he’s here for routine maintenance, over to the costume rack. In the moments before he turns off the ghost light, he is left in blissful quiet, without Hermie questioning what he’s doing.

With the little refresher he got looking at the mannequin at the store the other day, he has something of an idea of what Hermie’s Hamlet costume looked like. As he cycles through different pieces of clothing, he gathers together his best approximation of the vague image in his mind.

The mannequin used here is not very humanoid compared to the uncanny ones standing around the store, as this one only has a smooth, undefined head and torso, but that shouldn’t be too much of a problem. He glances between it and the clothes he’s laid out on the floor with a hand on his chin, trying to determine if this will be suitable.

He sighs once he accepts that the only way to determine that is to ask for the spirit's opinion.

As he approaches the ghost light, he raises a finger in the air and announces, “Just so you know, I do not give you permission to possess me this time. I'm trying to help you, so just cooperate with me here, okay?”

As soon as the light is off, Hermie is on his ass. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? I’ve been patiently waiting all weekend for you, and then when you come back, you make me wait even longer? And now you’re throwing random costume pieces on the filthy ground? How about a little respect, huh?”

Normal crosses his arms defensively. “They're not random.” He pushes past the curtain to stand above his project again and gestures toward the carefully curated outfit he’s designing. “This is pretty close to your Hamlet costume, is it not?”

Hermie laughs in disdain, and he wishes it didn’t get on his nerves so badly. “God, if this is what you think the Prince of Denmark wore, then I’d love to see your rendition of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

Normal doesn’t have time for their cynicism. He taps his foot, hoping they’ll be able to respect that he doesn’t have all day this time. “I’m trying my best, okay? This is all for you, almighty smartass.”

“Well, if I am able to offer some… critiques,” Hermie hisses, lifting the pair of boots Normal chose off the ground, “Do you really think I would be literally caught dead wearing these?” Then, the cloak begins to rise. “And look at these colors. What do you think this is, a comedy?”

Normal keeps trying to get a word in through the constant barrage of criticism, but Hermie won’t listen. Clothes are flying off the rack and being swapped with his original choices, and pretty soon so much of the outfit has been replaced that he can’t tell if it even counts as the same character anymore.

“And besides,” Hermie scoffs, as soon as the costume is “complete”, “No offense, but most of this stuff wouldn't even fit you!”

Here it is. His grand plan, finally about it make its reveal. “That’s because it’s not for me.”

As revenge, he doesn’t listen to anything the ghost tries to say to interrupt. He picks the clothes off the floor and fits them onto the mannequin one by one, pulling a stash of safety pins from his pocket to fasten certain pieces into place, like the gloves into the sleeves and the pants into the vest. Even the new shoes dangle from the pant legs, more deflated than the mannequin at the store but still attached.

When he steps back to inspect his work, there’s still something missing. The figure is still bald and lifeless, unable to look back at him.

“Hamlet’s blonde, right?” he asks. His memory may have sort of failed him so far, but he hopes he can still get at least one thing right.

“Hamlet actually has no assigned hair color in Shakespearean canon, but if you’re referring to my personal version of the character, then yes, I did die with an atrocious bleach job.” Normal doesn’t remember it looking “atrocious” in any way, but there’s still a shiver of shame in Hermie’s voice. “At least nobody remembers that.”

“How would you like to be remembered, then?” Normal’s tone is far softer than he intended it to be, but he can’t help his curiosity. What did Hermie look like outside of the show? What was their natural hair color? Did they bleach it themself, and when? And why didn’t they like it?

“Normal, what are you getting at?” Their voice also lacks the same bite as before. Now, they just sound tired, and somewhat wistful. Like looking at their costume again and remembering the play is taking a toll on them.

Normal wanders over to where he remembers seeing some old wigs, hoping that Hermie is following. “I'm making you a new body,” he explains simply. “So you don’t have to be Teeny, or me. You can just be yourself. Or, y’know, Hamlet. Now, which hair matches your vision for the character?”

Hermie stays quiet for a bit, and for a second, Normal wonders if they’re still over by the mannequin. He still doesn’t really understand how they occupy space, actually.

But then, a black wig rises and is placed into his hands. “This one will do.”

Normal fits the wig carefully over the mannequin’s head, although it’s a bit odd due to the shape of it and its lack of ears. He decides to pin it in place (hoping that having safety pins stuck in their head somehow won’t hurt), and then begins combing tangles out of its light curls. He likes the way the hair flows back and falls just barely over the shoulders. It was a nice choice.

Still, it leaves the mannequin’s face, or lack thereof, exposed, even highlighting the blankness of it more than before. When he looks at this thing, he still doesn’t see Hermie.

Something grazes his hand, and he jumps with a start before hearing a whispered apology. Not taking the time to acknowledge the novelty of hearing the ghost actually apologize for something, he takes a look at what Hermie gave him.

A classic drama mask, with a joyful smile. “I know this isn’t a comedy. It’s just the only one we have here.” They sound surprisingly shy explaining themself.

And Normal feels surprisingly shy putting Hermie’s new face on for them. He reaches up with trembling hands, careful to fit it on just right, tucking the string away to keep it hidden and tying it snugly in place. As he begins to pull away, his fingers hesitate, lingering, ready to catch it if it falls.

But his hands fly back when, without warning, the mask’s expression morphs into a horrific snarl, and the mannequin lunges forward with its hollow gloves grasping at his own face. He screams and falls to the floor, shielding his face.

From behind his hands, he hears Hermie begin to laugh hysterically, and when he finally has the courage to look back up, he finds that the delighted smile has returned to the mannequin’s face. Normal’s terror fizzles into annoyance. He has heard Hermie laugh at him before, of course, but for some reason, it is far less spooky when he can see them physically doubling over and slapping their knees. It makes them seem more human. And even more obnoxious.

Right when he thought he and the ghost were finally on the same page, they decided to scare the shit out of him. Worse than they ever have before. Real funny.

“Oh my god, I don’t know how you didn’t see that coming!” They wipe an imaginary tear from their eyehole. “I just couldn’t help myself. Forgive me.” They don’t sound one bit sorry. In fact, they’re now hugging their sides and still squeezing out the rest of their giggles.

Normal stands back up and dusts himself off, even though he really doesn’t care about how this new outfit Sparrow made him wear looks. He’s mostly just trying to rub the sweat off his hands. “I think I at least deserve a ‘thank you’.”

“Ah, yes! Thank you, indeed!” The mannequin twirls in front of him, their cloak swaying behind them gracefully. They do look a lot more comfortable in this body than the mascot suit. “This is far more suitable for me. A real genius move on your part. I applaud you.” They clap for him, and they appear delighted to be able to do so.

Something twists in his stomach as he finally makes the closest thing to eye contact with Hermie for the first time. He suddenly becomes extremely aware of his own body being outside the mascot suit, and how he is now backstage with the mysterious student he could only watch from afar before. And now they're the one applauding for him. He feels nauseated when memories of his nightmares flood back into his mind, but this feels more like a dream.

This feeling bubbling inside of him spills out in the form of a stupid giggle. He hates how he’s acting like a starstruck fan, so he tries his best to shut it down. He clears his throat and looks away. His work is done here. He can make his exit now. “Well, I wish you good—”

This time, the thing to shut him down is a finger against his lips. Hermie has lunged forward, far too close, and now all Normal can hear is his own heartbeat instead of his voice as he looks up at the mannequin. They’re taller than he anticipated.

They still wear a smile as they stare down at him. They lean in even closer, and Normal doesn’t think his heart should be going as fast as it did when they scared him, but they can probably both hear that it is. “You still have a lot to learn, don’t you?”

Normal just blinks up at them. He doesn’t dare let another stupid noise try to escape his throat.

“We shall be breaking legs together, my dear scene partner.” They remove their finger from Normal’s now very dry mouth, and give him a condescending little tap on the nose.

“‘We’...? ‘Together’...?” he echoes, practically feeling his soul leaving his body (but not literally, in this case). “What do you mean, ‘scene partner’?”

Hermie tilts their head. “Is that not what this whole plan of yours entails? You giving me my own body so that you may perform alongside me, instead of needing to be possessed yourself?” When Normal is too shocked to respond, they chuckle, and would probably be rolling their eyes, if they had them. “Do you not remember me explicitly telling you that I specifically enrolled you in the play?”

“But I can undo that! I’ve gotta be able to!” Normal is so desperate, so ready to do whatever it takes to keep his name out of this entire mess and return to a life of normalcy, that he can hardly think clearly. “They don’t want me! I’ve never acted in anything like this, ever! And besides, the whole theater department must hate me at this point, just like the rest of this fucking school! The last thing they want is to put me on a stage and give me a microphone again!” 

His voice is becoming hoarse from all the yelling, and his breathing is getting out of control, but right then, another wave of panic washes over him. “God, but who knows if they’ll even listen to me now that you’ve talked to them…? What will they think of me suddenly backing out? Will that make them think I'm—” He waves his hands in the air, like he’s swatting all the bad thoughts away. “Whatever, I’ll figure it out! You’re on your own with this! You don’t need me!"

“Well, I can at least disagree with that last statement,” Hermie interrupts calmly. They’ve had their hands politely clasped behind their straightened back while they listened to Normal spiral, waiting for their turn to speak. “In order for my curse to be broken, the one who cursed me must be part of the reversal process. So, if that part is not as the body I deliver my final line in… then it must be as the character who delivers his farewell to me. Horatio, Hamlet’s closest friend and confidant.” Their grin widens. “Would you not be satisfied being the one to put me to rest at last, my friend?”

Normal feels like he may pass out at any moment. The only thing keeping him grounded is the refusal to allow the ghost even a second around his unconscious body. “What if they…” Turns out there’s also only one thing keeping him from crying, and that’s the refusal to do so in front of Hermie. “What if they hate me…?”

“That won’t matter at all,” Hermie says, notably not denying it. “Because they will love me.”

Normal sniffs back way too much snot and glares at them through watery eyes. “I am gonna be… so happy once you’re gone.”

Hermie just continues to smile, like he just gave them a compliment. “That’s the spirit.”

Normal turns to leave, and he regrets giving Hermie a physical form when they grab his wrist to make him stay. “Dude, what? I have a class to go to.”

“You also have a show coming up in only two weeks,” Hermie reminds him, again, as if he was ever able to forget the dread of it all. “And, if you count today, that only gives you nine days to learn and rehearse.”

Normal seriously might not be able to make it to his class conscious at this point. “Hermie, this is impossible.”

“Not if you have a master of acting by your side. I will teach you my ways.” The mannequin grabs Normal’s other wrist before he can try to break away, and gives him another close, intense stare. “If you want to not be an utter disappointment to all your peers, I suggest listening to me.”

Normal shuts up and nods. He has no other choice, it seems. When Hermie lets him go, he drops his backpack right on the ground in surrender. 

Surely his homeroom teacher will understand in the end. Everyone will.

Hermie gives him their old script, because they apparently have every line burned into their unliving brain already. “I do think you will find your way easily into this role,” they say as they hand it to him. “In fact, your first appearance will be to encounter a ghost and try to communicate with it.”

They sit together on the edge of the stage to read through his lines together, and Normal feels like his head is spinning as the words all jumble together in front of his eyes. He trips over his own tongue, and his fingers tremble over the pages, but Hermie remains shockingly patient. With poetic precision, they recite the other characters’ lines without breaking the rhythm even when Normal continually does. They even have different voices they shift into with each one, making their perfect diction all the more impressive.

There’s no way Normal can ever keep up with all of this.

“These words don’t even make any sense,” he interrupts in the middle of a scene. “Nobody talks like this. Why don’t we just, like, translate it into something our, y’know, Gen Beta teen audience would better understand?”

“Frankly, I don’t appreciate this slander,” Hermie sighs with folded arms. “The language of Shakespeare is an art form that must not be tampered with. Were you not able to follow at all during my last performance?”

Normal couldn’t even repeat the last line he just read, let alone a single thing Hermie said as Hamlet in the last showing. He remembers watching them with his full, rapt attention, but the actual plot? A mystery to him. “N-Not really. I was kinda just… listening to your voice.”

Hermie shifts a bit further from him, and it is only just then that Normal notices how unnecessarily close they’ve been sitting next to him, when they don’t even need to look at his script. “Well. Maybe try to actually engage with the text this time, then. Now, stop forcing me out of character so suddenly. It’s bad for my health.” Ironic for a literal dead person to say.

Which is funny, now that he thinks about it, because he actually forgot for a moment, or however long they’ve been going over lines, that Hermie is a ghost. Sitting side-by-side like this, even in an otherwise empty room, feels a lot less lonely than the other times they’ve met. Maybe even less lonely than Normal’s felt in general in a long time.

“Well, do you think you could walk me through it, then?” Normal sets down his script, signaling for them to take a break from reading. “I feel like it’s only fair that you explain the plot to me before we just jump right into this.”

And then, like he just unlocked something deep within them, Hermie stands right to their feet and begins pacing around the stage. “Ah, but of course. My own eagerness and concern for time has led me to forget myself. Normal, dear, I would be honored to illustrate this wonderful work to you through my own words, though they may pale in comparison to the sacred original text.”

Normal feels goosebumps forming as the ghost speaks, although it’s not the same as the chills of horror they usually give him. Hermie seems to really come alive not just when they perform, but when they share their passion. It’s kind of admirable, actually, that they care so much for what they do, that they put their whole heart and soul into it. It’s not like most students he knows, who usually just get into electives for a grade.

“And it’s not just the fact that his father was murdered that pains him so,” Hermie is explaining, gesturing with their new hands with animated energy. “It’s the fact that he was forgotten. In only two months, the King of Denmark was cast aside, his wife moving on and loving not just any other man, but the brother whose hands are stained with her former husband’s very blood. Young Hamlet not only hates the treachery of it all, but he fears the world’s indifference, the way they plunge their own king into obscurity with such easy acceptance. This is why Horatio’s loyalty and secrecy is so special to Hamlet. Because while the rest of the world calls him mad and disregards all he has to say, Horatio is there to hear his final words and share his story with the world, so that he may not follow his father’s fate.”

Normal only half-follows, still reeling from their situation and the amount of information hitting him all at once. He needs this all dumbed down to a level more fit for a C-grade English student with slightly below-average reading comprehension.

“So, can you be that for me, Normal?” Hermie leaps back down to his level with a hand on his shoulder, too far into his space, and waits for his affirmation. “Can I trust you to tell my glorious story, to turn this tragic prince into a revered king?”

Normal can’t look right at their face when they’re staring at him so intensely. “Y-Yeah, I guess. If it means you’ll give me my space afterwards.”

Hermie takes the hint and removes their hand from his shoulder, but doesn’t scoot any further away. “Of course, good sir. Shall we continue, then?”

The added context does do some good in helping Normal understand what it is that he’s reading, even if the words still feel strange and fake coming out of his mouth. Hermie doesn’t interrupt him whenever he makes a comment now; they simply ignore his grumbling and carry on without missing a beat. He understands their desire to keep the flow going and make sure he gets this down in time, but at times it feels like they’re just showing off. It’s ironic that the only time Hermie shuts up is when Normal’s character talks to the fictional ghost—or “charges” it, as the text stupidly puts it.

After reading through more walls of text than he has ever willingly read for a class before, Normal feels his eyes starting to glaze over. After he finally reads his last line, he leans back to stretch, only just realizing how sore his back was getting from sitting hunched over a script like that.

Hermie rises to their feet with much more energy than he has. They offer their hand to help Normal up, which is a strangely kind gesture after all the hell they’ve put him through.

Normal unthinkingly takes it, too exhausted to scoff at them or slap their hand away or jump down onto the floor. He still can’t figure out how their hand can feel so solid in that glove. It’s like the air inside of it has filled it like a balloon. If only he could simply pop the ghost out of existence, and then all his problems could be fixed.

Once they’re on the same level again (not really, since the mannequin is still pretty tall compared to Normal), Hermie claps their hands together. “Now, from the top!”

Normal blinks. “Huh?”

Hermie picks the script that Normal left beside him back up and hands it to him again. They step back and take on a defensive stance. “I think I hear them. Stand ho! Who is there?”

Normal blinks harder. “What are you doing?”

The mannequin's face shifts in the blink of an eye, as well as their voice. “Act I, Scene 1, Line 15. Now, your line is ‘Friends to this ground’.”

Normal’s eyes widen, and he drops his hands to his sides. “Hermie, you are not making me go through this again.”

“I am indeed, until the night of the 13th.” Hermie shifts again, and now he’s Marcellus. “And liegemen to the Dane.” And now he’s Francisco. “Give you good night.” It’s honestly one of the scarier things about this ghost; that he’s able to switch from person to person so seamlessly.

Hermie continues this rapidfire back-and-forth between himself until they reach a pause, and Normal realizes it’s because it’s time for his line.  He groans, and he reluctantly opens his script, and he finds where Hermie’s at. “...A piece of him,” he speaks in a deadpan voice.

“Welcome, Horatio,” Hermie (or Barnardo, apparently) greets with a smile that disgusts Normal. He never smiled like that when he saw him play Hamlet. He turns and nods to an unseen third person, played by himself. “Welcome, good Marcellus.”

They carry on like this, Hermie acting with all their mind, body, and soul, and Normal standing and reading from his script like his unenthused principal at the podium of a ceremony. Hermie isn’t even giving any instruction to help him perform better. They’re just having the time of their life performing for a one-man audience that might as well be a brick wall.

Hermie marks the start of Normal’s part in Scene 2 with a startling out-of-character shout and clap, like a movie director, and in an instant, Normal watches him morph into someone most familiar to him. Even after standing in front of him this entire time, in the same costume, with the same mask, Normal has been unable to recognize Hermie—Hamlet—until now.

“H-Hail to your lordship.” Normal hates that his voice is now shaking, after he just started getting better at delivering his lines without stumbling. He feels like he can’t look at Hamlet’s face, but can’t look away at the same time.

“I am glad to see you well. Horatio—or I do forget myself!” He reaches out to grab Normal’s hand, and before he can even react, he pulls him into a hug. He feels bony through his clothes.

Normal doesn’t remember his next line. Or that Hamlet is just a mannequin in a costume. Or the last time he was brought into a friendly embrace like this.

Every scene like this one, in which Horatio and Hamlet interact, feels so… personal to Normal, so familiar. Even though he feels so out of place acting, having the Hamlet himself in front of him immerses him into the world of the story in a way that almost makes him forget that this is all just pretend. His eyes are still kept mostly on his script throughout, but whenever he looks up, he feels less like he’s acting and more like he’s reacting.

What especially surprises him is the final scene, in which Hamlet fully falls to the ground in front of him, and by cheerleading instinct, he goes to catch him. For a moment, he wonders if Hermie left the mannequin’s body, until he lifts his head to look up at him again.

“Horatio, I am dead,” the ghost groans, sounding more lifeless than he ever has before. The realism is unsettling. “Thou livest; report me and my cause aright to the unsatisfied.”

Normal swallows a lump in his throat, and realizes that he dropped his script behind him when reaching to grab Hamlet. He then realizes just how far deep he’s gotten into this, that he’s cradling this wretched spirit in his fucking arms, and he drops them to recover his script as well as his dignity.

That is finally enough to break Hermie out of character, since they cannot disguise the yelp escaping them as their body makes impact with the floor. It’s unclear whether or not they can feel pain in this body, but it does spark some brief pity. “Well, looks like you’re leaving me unsatisfied.”

“Sorry,” Normal calls without meaning it, just like all of the lines he’s recited before. Now that he’s managed to pull himself out of the moment at last, he decides to check his phone, and only just then realizes how late it is. “Jesus fuck, how have we been doing this for this long? I missed, like, all my classes because of this shit!”

“You know what they say…” Hermie begins to stand back up on their own behind him. “Time flies when you’re having fun."

Frankly, the time did not fly by, so Normal doesn’t know what they’re even talking about. This was some of the most agonizing… god, five hours of his life. “I wasn’t, actually. You do know I’m only doing this because you’re making me?”

“At least one of us is having fun, then.” Hermie is somehow still bouncing on their heels with energy. “I do wish we had more time. And you will too, very soon.”

Normal steps further away when he notices them starting to approach him again. “I doubt it,” he says bluntly. “I can’t spend another full school day here. Ugh, this is a disaster.” He covers his face with his free hand.

“It all depends on where your priorities lie.” The ghost is still following him as he makes his way to the exit with his backpack. “But I will warn you: The more time you spend in boring old class, the more you’ll have to deal with me nagging you to come back.”

Normal doesn’t respond. If he’s going to have to deal with Hermie annoying him all day at school, then he’d better leave school as soon as possible.

If there is any god above, it’ll make sure that his parents don’t receive a phone call about him missing his classes today, or at least not until he settles into his bedroom for the night. After speaking from a script all day, he won’t be able to improvise any excuses if prompted.

When Rebecca drives him home and asks him about his day, he is unable to share much detail. She seems suspicious of his silence, because she also asks if he’s still feeling ill after last week. Overall, it’s a very uncomfortable car ride, but it’s still relaxing to be able to rest his voice at long last.

At home, he decides to take no risks. He speaks only the truth when he says he’s tired after a long day, and he retires to his room for the night early to escape. His bed is calling his name, and it doesn’t take long for the sweet release of sleep to claim him.

He’s going to need the rest. These two school weeks are going to be some of the roughest he’s ever had to endure.

Chapter Text

If Normal thought being haunted was annoying before, then he had no idea what was in store for him once he agreed (was forced, rather) to the ghost's crazy plan.

In spite of Hermie’s warning, he chooses to prioritize his classes the next day at school. This spirit has already done enough distracting him, and it hasn’t caused any of his grades to drop yet.

It just sucks that his first class of the day is English, because the last thing he wants to do right now is read even more boring old literature. He can hear the ghost whispering critiques the whole time, making it even more difficult to comprehend the words on the page, and eventually he rests his head against his book to have a break that ends up becoming a nap.

Hermie wakes him up in time to head over to his next class, which he would almost be grateful for if it wasn’t by scaring him. He expects algebra to be just as boring, but Hermie keeps him awake and afraid, interrupting the class with his embarrassing little yelps. When a strap on his backpack wraps around his ankle without warning and makes him kick his own seat in the middle of silent work time, the teacher has him go sit out in the hallway.

“What the fuck gives?” he hisses as soon as he shuts the door. “Is this funny to you? Do you want me to hate you more than I already do?”

“If it means you’ll feel more inclined to work on the play, then yes.” Not having Hermie standing in front of him in a physical form this time is disappointing, because they sound so strangleable right about now.

Normal allows himself to take some deep breaths in order to calm his rage, because he knows if he goes back into that class, he’ll want to start kicking shit all on his own. “I will meet you at lunchtime, and for lunchtime only. That is all the time I have today. Sound good, asshole?”

At the mere sound of them breathing in to answer, he adds, “Doesn't matter what you think. Now, shut up and let me do my formulas.”

He can still feel the ghost’s presence during his next couple periods, but they do, in fact, oblige and keep quieter now that they have a time set in place. He just hopes it’ll be enough to keep them content. And enough for him to somehow learn all his lines and… blocks? Whatever Hermie called it.

He’s at least lucky to have his lunches packed instead of having to wait in the long lunch line, because he’s able to sneak right into the auditorium on time, having already snacked on his food beforehand between classes. He sets his backpack down on the floor, grabs his script, and turns the ghost light off. “Alright, Your Highness, I am at your service.”

The mannequin emerges from behind the curtain with their grin wide as ever. “Splendid. Act I, Scene 1. Action!”

They jump right into the story without a moment’s hesitation. Although Normal struggles to keep up, he is comforted by the fact that this practice won’t take nearly as long as yesterday’s.

There are nine different scenes in which he has to speak, and more lines to remember than he can count. Why couldn’t Hermie have just given him one of the minor roles, like a background character? Someone who wouldn’t have to stand under a spotlight at all?

“What art thou that, uh… usurp’st this time of night, together with that fair and warlike form in which the majesty of buried Denmark sometimes— did sometimes march? By heaven, I change— charge thee, speak,” he reads, already tripping over his words, even though this isn't nearly the longest of his lines he has yet to read. He dreads the upcoming long-winded monologues he has to read. And in the very first scene of the play, too? Give me a break.

Hermie suddenly folds their arms in front of him instead of saying the other two characters’ lines. “I can tell what your problem is, Normal,” they say, interrupting the flow of their practice for once. This change of character is more startling than the ones they do between the characters of the play. “You are only trying to read the words from the page instead of trying to feel them.”

Normal lowers his script, frustrated that he can’t just keep on reading. He needs to get this over with, for heaven’s sake. “What good will that do? I'm just trying to memorize words. Isn't that what this is for?”

The mannequin shakes their head solemnly, and Normal hates the patronizing way in which they walk over to his side and place an arm around his shoulders. Even as he tenses up, they sigh, “Oh, Normal. You truly do not understand, do you? You poor, poor thing. It seems as though I need to take even more steps than I originally planned to educate you on the art of theater and all it represents.”

He opens his mouth to object, but Hermie walks away again, hands behind their back, head lifted high, completely ignoring any opinion he may have. “To be an actor, you must not recognize yourself as an actor, but as your character.” They stop and turn from the center of the stage to face him. “Your entire life becomes confined to the story you are a part of. You are not merely telling it; you are living it. You must become Horatio, and abandon that sniveling mascot kid you once were."

Normal feels the pages of his script starting to crumple as his hands tighten around them. “You can’t ask me to do shit like that. I'm not a stupid actor like you.”

Hermie raises a finger, like the condescending asshole they are. “Ah, you may think that. But as the great Shakespeare once wrote in another famous play of his…” They turn to face the empty seats of the auditorium, raising their hands out to an audience that isn’t there.“‘All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players’.” 

And then, they’re back to facing him again. “You, Normal, are one of those players, or actors. You have played many roles throughout your life— and clearly, there are some you favor more than others, but I am not here to judge you on that. At least, not right now." They look him up and down briefly, and he feels exposed outside of his comfort zone in more ways than one. "What I am saying is this: When you wear the Teeny the Teen costume, you would say you are the mascot, and not just ‘the guy who wears the costume and pretends to be the fictional mascot character’, would you not?”

Normal… hasn’t really been prepared to acknowledge that. The degree to which his own identity has intermingled with Teeny’s.

The way taking off the mascot suit felt like tearing off his own flesh, leaving his ugly insides exposed for all the world to see and exploit. The way he feels his sense of self slipping out of his grasp with every day, trying his best to push his eventual graduation day to the very back of his mind, as if he could push back the date in reality as well.

Who is he, if not Teeny?

“Let’s make this easy.” Hermie snaps their fingers with a new idea, snapping him back to reality. “Normal… Horatio is now your new mascot, and this play is your school. You must be the best Horatio you can be—loyal, rational, stable—to serve your school, and carry your classmates, your castmates, to victory.”

It’s the stupidest thing Normal’s ever heard, which makes it all the more worse that it actually works to get him more onboard with this whole thing.

“You may even draw upon some of your own personal experiences and feelings from your real life, in order to connect more with your character. Like in this scene, for instance.” They point at his now-wrinkly script, and then to themself, cheekily. “You have experience with this kind of encounter. Why don’t you try dipping into that well of frustration and fear I know you have within you?”

As if on cue, those very feelings begin to bubble up inside of him, and he looks down to the page again. Horatio is being faced with the spirit of the dead king. He wants to be listened to. He wants answers.

“Stay!” he shouts, louder than he even expected from himself. “Speak! Speak! I charge thee, speak!”

A smile flashes across Hermie’s face, before he slips back into character. “‘Tis gone and will not answer.” And then, the other character. “How now, Horatio, you tremble and look pale. Is not this something more than fantasy? What think you on ‘t?”

He is trembling, naturally, without even having to think about it. He leans into the fear of losing himself to drive the point home. “Before my god, I might not this believe without the sensible and true avouch of mine own eyes.”

Once they make it to the second scene, where Hamlet makes his big reveal, Normal feels as though he’s meeting Hermie all over again, in a new but somehow familiar context at the same time. He meets Hamlet, whom he saw onstage before winter break. But now, he is not Teeny, the elusive audience member, but Horatio. Hamlet’s friend. He wishes that meeting him filled him with icy-cold fear like the king’s ghost did, instead of this friendly warmth.

There are still times in which he slips up or Hermie decides to step in with commentary, but even though it feels jarring to have all these interruptions, it does help him settle more into his role. The more Hermie takes the time to explain this character, his role and his intentions, the more Normal’s able to convince himself that he really is his—

In the short silence of an embrace between them, Normal hears a buzzing sound that breaks him out of the hold his character—and the mannequin—has on him. He jumps away like he just got caught doing something he shouldn’t, and looks toward the sound to a tiny light by the edge of the stage. His phone is ringing.

He leaves Hermie standing with their arm out to go check what the deal is, and realizes with dawning horror that it’s his mom calling him. He picks it up as quickly as he can before it goes to voicemail, even though he has nothing prepared to say.

“Normal? Hello?” Rebecca’s voice calls from the other end. “Where are you? I’ve been waiting outside for you and I called so many times. Are they keeping you in class late? Oh, don’t tell me you got another detention…?”

Normal can barely form words right now, his mind scrambling to catch up with whatever goddamn time it is. When did I— This was a lunchtime thing, it was only supposed to be lunchtime, how did I…? “I'm—  I'm sorry, Mom, I was… I'm just finishing up right now! I'll be over in just a sec. Don’t worry.”

He hangs up, crams his script into his backpack, and swings it over his shoulders in a hurry. How the hell did I let time get so far away from me, again…? “Look what you did, jerkface, you made me miss my classes again, and now my mom’s worried. Thanks for nothing.”

He may have made progress in the play today, but that doesn’t matter. He’s digging himself a deeper grave with every class period he spends playing pretend with a ghost.

He storms off, feeling every last trace of the loyal, rational, stable man he was leaving his body as he leaves the auditorium.

If only he had more time to stall before meeting up with his mom, because his stomach is cramping while he runs like he knows it would if he actually went to P.E. today. The worry spreads through his body like a sickness, and there’s no way to escape it. The only way out is through.

“I told them to go ahead and start with making dinner,” Rebecca says after a long, awkward silence in the car. “You should probably expect some questions when we get home.”

That’s just what he was fearing. And he knows this car ride won’t be enough time for him to come up with a story to cover his ass. If only he just had more time, he could find out how to simply explain this in a way that wouldn't make this into a huge deal. Because it doesn't need to be.

The delicious smell of hot food doesn't do much to mask the air of tension in the house. As much as Normal wishes coming home was a comfort, he doesn’t know when it ever will be.

Lark pauses stirring a pot on the stove to cast a sharp glance at his nephew over his shoulder. If only that stern look was the worst of what Normal has been preparing for.

And just then, there Sparrow is, rising from her seat at the table. “Normal, there you are.” She walks over to meet him, hands lifting just slightly toward him, but stops short before she can get too close. “Where… Why are you late? What happened, bud?”

She’s trying to play it cool, but even he, who’s “not great at reading people”, as Sparrow herself has pointed out before, can notice the unmistakable glimmer of concern—and maybe even worse—in her eyes.

“I, um…” All eyes are on him, including Hero, who makes no move to save him from this situation. He desperately wants to say he’s not hungry, to excuse himself to his room for the rest of time. “I was… with a friend.” The word tastes sour in his mouth, spoiling his appetite for real now.

Something else flickers in his mother’s eyes now, something he frustratingly can’t read. “Oh! You… You made a friend?”

Please don’t sound so surprised, he thinks with a wince. “Yeah… Sorry…"

“No, no, don’t be.” Sparrow pulls a chair for him. “Well, you shouldn’t make your mom worry and wait like that, so next time, just let us know, please.”

Normal bites his tongue and nods before he can apologize again. He was taking care of important business; why should he feel sorry? By next Friday, he won’t even have to worry about this “friend” of his.

He leaves his backpack slumped against a table leg and sits in the seat next to Hero, who kicks his ankle discreetly and shoots a look at him that he thinks means “We are going to talk later”, but in more of a gossipy way than a lecturing way. He hopes. Still mostly wishes he didn’t have to talk to anyone, though.

Lark eventually calls everyone over to get their plates, and Sparrow still has questions for her son, even as he’s scooping pasta onto his plate. Even just the question of his “friend”’s name is a difficult one, because although he knows Hermie wants to be remembered, he doesn’t think it should be as Normal’s friend, and potentially, the ghost that’s been haunting him this whole time.

He can’t call him “Hamlet” either, that’s dumb. Why does the character have to have such a dumb name? Why would people take the Prince of Denmark seriously with that name?

“Den…nis,” is what eventually slips out of his mouth. Just as dumb. It sounds fake coming out of his mouth. The idea of being tormented by a spirit named Dennis almost makes him laugh.

Hero does laugh. Of course she does, the little fucker.

Whatever he says, he refuses to mention the play at all. It may be a reasonable explanation, but it seems like a bad idea. It’s probably for the best that he doesn’t interest his family in showing up for the performance and becoming even more disappointed in him.

His cover story is that “Dennis” is in his English class, and has been paired up with him for a partner project. He realizes that this can make it easier for him to ask to “go over to his house after school tomorrow”, because how would they be willing to turn down his “studying” time?

After he finishes speaking and tries to keep eating, he feels a vibration through the table. Everyone looks over to see Rebecca turn over her phone, and Normal’s blood turns colder than the pasta he’s been letting sit on his plate.

“Oh, the school is calling. What could this be?” She goes to accept the call, but Normal interrupts her, nearly choking on noodles and sauce.

“It’s gotta be one of those dumb automated calls,” he splutters, which will tell you I’ve been missing a shit ton of classes. “They’ve been sending those out like crazy lately.”

“Yeah, and we’re at dinner, Mom,” Hero adds, pointing at her with a chopstick. The fork laid out for her has been cast aside, as always. “Manners.”

“Well, if we’re talking manners, you shouldn’t be pointing, either, Hero.” Sparrow sets her fork down gently and politely, while Lark slurps up his pasta messily and loudly beside her.

Crisis averted. For now.

By the time this long and awkward dinner is over, Sparrow asks Normal to help his uncle out with dishes, to make up for being late. Hero lingers in the kitchen, clearly wanting to talk now, and very badly. Again, she doesn’t lift a finger to help.

Normal finds that he much prefers dunking his hands in icky sink water and scrubbing gunk off of plates than dealing with any confrontation right now. If only he could clean up his conscience this thoroughly. “So, Uncle Lark, you’re getting more into cooking lately? Did you use those tomatoes Mother’s been growing for the sauce?”

Lark looks over at Hero, trying to scope out what’s going on (why his nephew is stalling), but he just shrugs and returns to drying dishes. “Yep. They were good, huh? Just you wait until those peppers are ripe enough, I’m thinking about making something tasty with those.”

“Ooh, can’t wait!” Normal chirps, choosing not to look away from the sink when he hears his sister loudly clearing her throat. He slows down what he’s doing even more just to spite her.

Once he runs out of dishes to clean and he begins to drain the soapy water, his stomach begins to sink. He knows Hero’s not just going to let him run off to his room. He knows she knows he’s been with Hermie, and that she’s about to drill him for every detail.

And just as expected, trying to push past her up the stairs doesn’t work. She squeezes herself in right beside him, taking two steps at a time with her longer legs to move herself in front of him. “Norm, you gotta give me the deets,” she whispers, but her voice still slightly echoes in the stairway. “What’s going on with you and your Mitsuba?”

“My what?” he responds dumbly. He thought this was going be about the ghost, not… “Like the car?”

They reach the top of the stairs, but Hero places her hands on the rails to block him. “No, dummy, not Mitsubishi. Your little ‘friend’? ‘Dennis’?” She raises her eyebrows at him conspiratorially. “What’s going on with that? You finally agreed to go along with him? Without telling me?”

He cringes under her scrutinizing gaze. “Stop, it feels weird enough just calling them my friend. And besides, I don’t have to tell you anything.” He ducks his head and pushes his way past her under one of her arms, and begins booking it through the hallway.

Just as he’s about to make it to his room, she catches his arm. “Dude, please, I gotta know. This is the juiciest gossip a poor online schoolgirl can get.” She pouts at him pathetically, as if just last week, she didn't say she couldn’t deal with the “drama”. “What happened between you two? Is he showing you off in front of everyone yet?”

He just groans. This whole thing was supposed to be a secret. Why did he ever think it was a good idea to rope his sister into this? “We’re not there yet. This is just meant to be a private thing, for now.”

“Uh…” Lark’s deep voice makes both of them jump, and they see him standing a few feet away, holding Normal’s backpack. So much for privacy. “Sorry if this is awkward. You left your backpack downstairs, kid.”

Normal blanches. How much did his uncle hear? Will he connect it back to all the ghost stories? He takes the backpack from him, praying that he doesn't suspect a thing.

Once he reaches for it, though, Lark leans in closer to whisper, “Don’t worry about me knowing about your little relationship, though. I'm cool, I got you.” He gives him a wink, and it makes Hero giggle.

Normal’s face begins to burn up, both in humiliation and anger, and he covers it when he turns in his sister’s direction again. He cannot have her thinking that he’s blushing over a dead person. “What the fuck, why would you make him think that?!”

“I didn't do anything,” Hero snickers. “This is for the better that he thinks that anyways, isn’t it?”

“No! Absolutely not!” He may be trying to protect Hermie’s identity as the ghost, but them being… anything more than a scene partner is not the cover-up he had planned. He doesn't need his uncle assuming that he’s going to their “house” tomorrow to…

His mind involuntarily flashes him the idea of the mannequin’s plastic lips smushing against his, and he flees to his room and locks himself in so he can go bash his head against his door in privacy.

Taylor said it’s impossible. Taylor said it’s impossible. He knows he only said that because he was referring to spirits without tangible forms, but he needs to repeat it to himself like a mantra, because it’s the only way he can soothe himself to sleep.

He hopes with all his might that once he wakes up in the morning, he never, ever thinks about kissing a ghost, ever again.

Normal is lucky that Rebecca doesn't seem to suspect anything about his “friend”, because he doesn't need to start his morning off being bombarded with more questions than necessary. All he has to do is lie that he’s getting a ride to and from Dennis’s house, so she doesn’t need to drive him after school, and that’s good enough for her.

In class, he tries his very best to stay engaged in his schoolwork and not anxiously bounce his leg in anticipation. Even when he’s stuck watching a boring slideshow or working on confusing make-up homework, he has to remind himself that this is what he’s wanted. He’s taking back what Hermie’s taken away from him.

He's not watching the clock. He likes being in class. I love school.

At lunch, he sits alone outside against a tree, choosing to catch some fresh air since he knows he’ll be spending awhile in the auditorium later. The tree doesn’t really provide much shade, and it’s hotter out here than he would expect for winter, but it's better than the coolness of the auditorium. Anything is better than being in there.

He’s about to take a bite of his sandwich when something else hits him right in the face. Stars spin in his vision for a second, and he drops his food to grab his face. It feels wet. It hurts.

When he blinks his eyes open again and readjusts them to the blinding sunlight, he can’t see anyone coming to his aid, but he does spot twelve soccer players laughing in the distance. He looks down at his lunch in his lap, now allowing blood to drip into it. He feels sick. It hurts.

He knows he could go to the nurse about this. He knows he could go to even the principal about this. But will anyone believe him, after all the times he’s cried wolf? Who can he even blame? Not a ghost, because they refuse to believe it exists. Not a bully, because he refuses to believe it exists.

So he dumps his food in the trash and hides in the bathroom alone.

He hates school.

Staring down at the dirty floor with toilet paper shoved into his nose, Normal wonders what he possibly could've done to deserve this. He’s too afraid to leave the stall, because he doesn’t want to catch his reflection in the mirror and see how fucked up he is. Not just from the nosebleed and maybe a bruise, but as a person overall.

What has he gotten himself into? What is so wrong with him that everyone treats him like a joke, like a plaything, like nothing more than a stupid kid with an overactive imagination?

He doesn’t know what to look forward to now. He can’t look forward to his classes, or to play practice, or to going home, or to sleeping. He’s living in a neverending nightmare.

He doesn’t know if it’s just the blood loss making him a woozy idiot, but he really misses being possessed right about now.

He wanders through the rest of the school day much like a ghost himself. He haunts the hallways, frightening others with his ghastly appearance whenever they’re not ignoring his pitiful existence.

Even Hermie after school has a reaction to his injury, as if it’s the first time they’re seeing it. “Dear heavens, your face.”

“Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what this is about,” he grumbles, dropping his backpack to the floor, which somehow has felt like a heavier burden to carry than usual.

It’s at least a relief knowing he has time tonight, and won’t have to deal with his family’s even more unfavorable reactions. But that doesn’t mean he can get too comfortable and take his sweet time. He is here to work, not play.

They waste no time before starting to rehearse scenes, though not without some of Hermie’s critiques sprinkled throughout. Today, they seem to be focusing more on “blocking”, which is apparently just where Normal is supposed to stand and how he is supposed to move.

It would be helpful if not for the fact that Hermie keeps physically grabbing and moving him like he’s a dumb child and can’t do it himself. The more their gloves touch him, the more overstimulated he feels, especially after his long school day and all the pain involved.

There are times throughout, he won’t deny, that he believes it would be better if he just let the spirit do everything for him, if he wasn’t so stubborn about staying in his own body. But, then again, wouldn’t Hermie then be without a Horatio…?

What was Hermie’s original plan, now that he thinks about it?

The questions grow too loud in his mind for him to fully invest himself in the story, and as much as he may want to just get through this without interruption, his curiosity breaks him out of character. “Hey, Hermie?” he asks in the middle of a scene. “About that time when you possessed me…”

“It will not speak. Then I will follow it.” The mannequin’s face is still that of Hamlet, determined to see his father’s spirit.

Normal glances at his script to give his next line. “Do not, my lord. Hey, so I had a question about the—”

“Why, what should be the fear?” Hermie responds, almost as if answering him. But no, this is still Hamlet. Hermie is not listening. Hamlet is looking out into the distance at some imaginary figure instead of at him. “I do not set my life at a pin’s fee. And for my soul, what can it do to that, being a thing as immortal as itself? I waves me forth again, I’ll follow it.”

Normal doesn’t bother giving the long speech that awaits him. He simply sets his script down and folds his arms. “Hermie. End scene, dude. Who am I replacing? What happened to the old Horatio?”

“It waves me still. Go on, I’ll follow thee.” Hamlet wanders off, and to Normal’s shock, he seems to be nearing the edge of the stage.

Before the mannequin manages to walk right off, Normal lunges forward to hold him back. Just like it calls for in the script.

“Hold off your hands,” Hamlet growls, struggling against him. The stage is clearly about to end right in front of him, but he is still fully committed.

“Be ruled. You shall not go.” The words slip out of Normal’s mouth naturally, without even needing to look at the script to recall them. He surprises himself, but Hamlet is unshaken, a solid weight in his arms threatening to fall.

Somehow, the two are able to finish the scene smoothly, without another look at the script or question about… What was Normal wondering about, again?

“Marvelous job, Normal.” Hearing Hermie finally talk as themself again startles him out of whatever daze he was in. “Only our third day of practicing together, and you already have lines memorized. And you said you weren't an actor.”

The compliment makes his skin prickle, and he scratches his neck to rid himself of the feeling. He can't tell if it feels weirder to be ignored or acknowledged. “It was only, like, four short lines. No need to stop everything just to point it out.”

Hermie nods, satisfied. “Very well, then. Act I, Scene 5, Line 120. Action!”

And just like that, they're right back to it. Normal seems to be riding on some kind of high as he carries on acting, because even after everything that’s happened today, he feels an energy and lightness in his body that he hasn’t felt all day. It’s almost enough to make him forget about everything and everyone else… including his awful self.

There’s still an itch within him, though, something that he can’t decide is being soothed or irritated whenever he scratches it. Every word, every touch, in and out of character, back and forth, Normal and normal…

He feels his head spinning—or maybe everything outside of him is spinning around him—when he stares down at Hamlet, who is now being held in his arms once again, after he drank the rest of the poison.

He doesn’t know how he ended up here. He doesn't want to remember what happened before. He wants to keep going. He doesn’t want to be himself. Horatio doesn’t want to be here. He wants to be with—

Despite the liquor poisoning him, Hamlet’s eyes widen with a sense of urgent lucidity, more sober than the man holding him, who remains untainted by the king’s poison. It stains his parted lips, and when Horatio’s thumb goes to gently wipe it away, he does not speak his final dying wish.

This is when he realizes that the face looking up at him is not Hamlet’s.

Hermie gasps like they just woke up from a dream. “Normal, you’re bleeding again.” Another red droplet lands upon their mask. Apparently not poison. Apparently from Normal’s nose.

All at once, Normal becomes hyperaware of his own body again, of the way his arms are curling around a mostly-hollow figure of someone already dead, of the shock and embarrassment and pain of being Normal Oak-Swallows-Garcia.

Panic floods his brain, and his hands lurch back to grab his nose, to cover his face, to fight back the feeling, because the itch has now become an ache. Hermie follows right on cue, lifting themself up so as not to be dropped, and grabs Normal back.

“Hey, hey, let's just take a break.” The spirit's voice is uncharacteristically soft as they tilt Normal’s head up at the ceiling, and the blinding bright lights remind him of the uncaring sun blazing down on him earlier. 

They can't afford to be taking a break right now. They don't have the time to waste. Normal needs to just get over this and shove who he really is to the back of his mind, but now he can't. He can't forget. He can't do this.

His face hurts and his hands are wet and gross and Hermie is holding him close, and everyone is wrong, wrong, wrong because Hermie is real and tangible and he can feel them right there, he feels like he’s going crazy because he’s not crazy, not like everyone treats him like he is.

“Normal, it’s okay, it’s okay, just pinch your nose and breathe through your mouth.” They keep his head back, looking away from them, watching the spotlight on him.

A disgusting sob chokes him as he tries to breathe. He can’t. The only one here to save him is a dead person. He’s all alone.

Hermie grabs his wrists before he realizes what he’s even doing. “Stop trying to wipe it, you’re getting blood on your sleeves.”

Against their attempts to help him, he looks down at his sleeves, which he doesn't recognize at first. But once he remembers, his tears begin to flow even heavier than they already apparently were. This is a jacket Sparrow bought for him. It was one of the only ones he could stand to wear, because he liked the blue color and the padded texture of the inside, but now the sleeves are stained a dark red and it itches and burns against his skin. He ruined it, just like he ruins everything.

“Alright, Normal, let’s just take this off, okay?” Hermie’s voice is distant, but their touch is so close, right there, on his mother’s jacket, oh god, he balls up his fists but the mannequin is holding his bloody arms while also trying to peel the jacket off of him, every touch a scratch.

“Normal, I am so sorry about this,” Hermie is saying, but it’s barely a whisper on Normal’s ringing ears now, and growing fainter with every frantic beat of his heart, “and you’re absolutely allowed to hate me after this, but I’m only doing because I need you to…”

It itches and it hurts, god it hurts so bad and he’s bleeding, there’s too much going on, there’s—

…

There’s nothing.

There’s no more pain.

There’s only silence.

There’s something peaceful about it.

There’s nothing to worry about anymore.

“Apologies again.” Hermie’s voice hits him like a headache, and the rest of his body pain slowly follows. “I promise it was a necessity. I won’t do it again.”

Normal, not understanding what just happened, tries to sit up to get the light out of his eyes, but he feels hands holding him back, against the bare skin of his arms.

“Easy now, take your time coming back.”

Coming back…?

Normal lifts his hand gingerly to his face and feels something stuffed into his nose. Then, he looks off to the side and notices his jacket folded up neatly next to him, and realizes that he’s sitting backstage against a wall.

He doesn't remember getting here.

There’s a possibility that he didn’t just simply black out, but he’s almost too afraid to ask. “Did… Did you…?”

“Yes, and again, I realize it was a rude thing to do without your permission.” Even without eyes, it feels like Hermie is avoiding meeting his gaze. “It was just the only thing I could think to do, since you were panicking.”

To soften the blow of his embarrassment over apparently having a full-blown panic attack in front of his enemy all because of a little nosebleed, he instead focuses his energy on being angry. “What the fuck?” It was so they could help him, yes, and he does feel a lot better now, yes, but… “What, is it just that hard for you to simply comfort someone? Were you too uncomfortable with seeing the person you’ve been tormenting finally crack under the pressure?”

The harsh words, which surprise even Normal himself, seem to land with great effect. The mask of Hermie’s face is able to pull off a hurt wince disturbingly well. “I admit, emotions are… not my forte, outside of performing them.”

“Yeah. Explains a lot.” He tries to sniff, because he still feels teary and snotty and gross, but those stupid tissues are in the way. “You also don’t seem to know a whole lot about nosebleeds, because you are not supposed to tilt your head back like that.” He can still taste metal in his throat.

“Ah. I see my error. I guess you could say the only nosebleeds I know about are the seats in the theater, hm?” When Normal doesn’t laugh at their joke, they just sheepishly hold out a box of tissues for him. “Need a fresh one?”

After finally getting himself feeling fully recovered and back up on his feet, Normal gathers the courage to check the time on his phone and… doesn’t like what he sees. “God, it’s gotta be dark out already… I really didn’t think this through."

“You scared of the dark?” Hermie, back to their usual mischievous self, hooks an arm around his shoulders to startle him. “That’s good to keep in mind.”

Normal shakes them off and turns his phone off before they can get too nosy. “I'm just saying I… don’t know how comfortable I’ll be trying to walk home this late.”

“Because you’re scared.” The mannequin’s face is looking extra punchable right now. If only they could be given a nosebleed. “It’s okay to admit it; I have already seen you shaking and crying today.”

Well, it looks like that’s something he’s never going to be able to live down, as much as he was planning on pretending that it never happened. “Stop, I'm being serious. What am I gonna do? My parents are expecting me to come home.”

“You could just say you’re spending the night after all,” Hermie suggests innocently, although nothing could be more sinister. Why would he want to stay locked in an empty, spooky building overnight with a ghost?

“What, are you expecting me to have a sleepover here? With you?” Normal spits, as if he hasn’t literally fantasized about school sleepovers before. Once upon a time, the idea of staying at school all day without ever needing to go back to his house sounded like a dream.

“Oh, is that too scary for you, either? Being stuck with the dashing prince who so nobly saved you from fainting at the mere sight of blood?” Hermie saunters over toward the backstage exit door, and gestures to it with a hand. “By all means, take your leave if the idea is just too frightening.”

That sounds like a challenge to Normal, and he refuses to back down. “Y’know what? Screw it. And screw you, too. I’ll fall asleep right here.” He marches down the steps of the stage and claims one of the seats with a defiant pout. “This is my school, my territory, and I won't let a dumb old transfer student boss me around.”

Hermie laughs and takes a seat on the edge of the stage. “Really upping your insult game, aren’t you, tough guy?” They tilt their head and kick their feet with far too much amusement. “Ooh, I'm so scared, I’ll do whatever you say, sir…” They really need to cut out the teasing before Normal bursts another blood vessel.

“Shut the fuck up, then,” he suggests, curling up on the chair in order to try to make himself even the tiniest bit more comfortable. He will find a way to fall asleep, even if he usually needs very specific conditions in order to do so. Hermie will not keep him any longer.

After he closes his eyes, he is surprised by the silence that actually does end up following. Horribly awkward silence. And beyond the curtain of his eyelids, the last of the remaining light dies out, leaving him in total pitch black darkness.

It’s dark and it’s quiet, but it’s anything but peaceful. He’s still very much conscious.

He misses his bed terribly, with all his heavy blankets and tons of pillows taking up every inch of his space, and he misses the nightlight on his wall, and the white noise of the house in all its lively nature. Now, he just feels cold and unsafe. He might as well still be on the stage, with the way he’s only performing the act of sleeping.

“Are you just gonna sit there all night?” he asks with his eyes still closed. Do ghosts even sleep? It seems like it would be ironic for the dead to never get any rest.

All he hears now is the sound of footsteps, light and slow, and it causes goosebumps to rise on his bare arms. He can hear Hermie wordlessly walking down off the stage, and even though he was planning on going straight to sleep, he’s prepared to jump up and fight if necessary.

The footsteps stop close to him, and with one woosh, he feels something fall upon him. It startles him at first, but it feels soft and comfortable.

The seat next to him creaks gently as something—or someone, he supposes—falls into it. “If you must know,” the ghost whispers out of nowhere, startling him again, “I didn’t actually officially cast you in the play. I simply offered your help, so that you could step in as an understudy when the time comes to perform.”

This information is what startles Normal into opening his eyes, but as soon as he turns to Hermie to ask them to elaborate, a light sparks to life in front of his eyes. In the mannequin's hands, placed limply on their lap, is the lightbulb from the stage. It illuminates their body, now just a slumped mannequin without a cloak, and their face, now just a smiling mask without a soul. The ghost light is on, and the ghost’s light is out.

He stares directly into the light in silence for a while, wondering what it all could mean. Why Hermie has roped him into all this in the first place. Why they keep making him think he has control over this situation, like he’s really going to be the one to end all of this, when he’s not even considered a part of the cast. When they’re the one holding their own life in their hands.

The blanket and the nightlight do help to soothe his weary mind to sleep, but it feels like he has lost to Hermie.

It is some kind of miracle that he is not haunted by hellish, gory nightmares after the day he has had, but instead, all he remembers is light and warmth and peace until—

A door behind him bursts open, and a cacophony of voices comes swarming into the echoing room. Normal jumps out of his seat with alarm, his eyes still bleary and drool still on his cheek, and remembers that he isn’t at home. He spots a teacher coming from the auditorium entrance, followed by countless students, and he ducks behind the seats so they won’t notice him with his blanket and messy hair.

He looks up at Hermie still sitting in the next seat over, and is baffled by the fact that they’re not moving out of the way, but their deflated body and the lightbulb in their hands reminds him that that’s not Hermie anymore. They can’t turn the ghost light off after turning it back on, so he has to dispose of the body himself.

As quickly as he can, he tries to pick them up to carry them, but is reminded that the mannequin has just a torso but no legs. He scoops them—it—up with less delicacy now, and rushes up and out of sight behind the curtain.

Backstage, he finds a dim corner to hide the mannequin, and places the cloak over them like a tarp for good measure. “Good morning and good night,” he whispers before creeping his way back into the crowd as inconspicuously as possible.

He has no clue what could be going on. He’s only just now starting to piece together that it’s Thursday morning and school must’ve already begun, but that tells him nothing about why it looks like the whole school is flooding the auditorium right now.

He ends up stealing a spot next to a jock named Billy Steezecake, who is certainly not in his class but who he hopes will be too dumb to notice. He’s seen him in the yearbook several times, as well as his awards in weightlifting class. Normal needs to be careful, because this guy could easily toss him around.

“I always hate these dumbass assemblies,” he hears him grumble to his classmate, who is also just as tough-looking. “I could be ignoring teachers anywhere else.”

An assembly? Normal doesn’t remember there ever being an assembly scheduled for today. “Hey, do you know why they never announced this?” he asks as casually as he possibly can. “How come they never told m— Er, how come Teeny wasn’t involved in this?”

For once, he feels ashamed to be associated with Teeny. It feels like a betrayal to hide the relation, like severing a core part of himself, but something deep inside of him tells him that he shouldn’t let these guys know who he is.

Billy scoffs at his question with amusement, confirming his fears. “Like they’d ever want Teeny involved in shit anymore. If that creepy thing knew we were having an assembly, you know he’d just try to preach to us about ghosts or whatever the fuck again.”

Normal feels all his muscles tighten as Billy and his friend laugh with each other. They’re laughing at him without even knowing it. He’s witnessing people’s opinions of Teeny behind his back but right in front of his face at the same time.

Haven’t they noticed that he hasn’t said a word about the ghost after last Wednesday? Haven’t they even noticed that Teeny has been missing since then?

He’s about to ask another risky question when Pepperoni Tony takes the stage and clears his throat very loudly. Most students don’t quiet down, but Normal has his full attention. What could this fucker possibly have to say this early in the morning (if he can assume it’s still early in the morning… How deep was that dang sleep)?

“Attention! Attention, students!” His gruff voice isn’t enough to shut anyone up, so he smacks his microphone, causing a loud boom and some agonizing feedback.

“Alright, attention whore,” Billy remarks under his breath, making Normal snort despite himself.

“I will thank you for listening to my important message today.” Tony sweeps his gaze across the whole audience with an even sterner glare than usual. “Now, by a show of hands, tell me: How many of you have been bullied before?”

Normal flinches. Of course, he doesn’t raise his hand, but he hopes his reaction itself doesn’t say too much.

And, by the looks of it, no one else has been bullied, either. Not a single hand goes up.

“Well, I would appreciate it if I could get some audience participation.” Tony puts his hand on his hip, but no one cares to move a muscle. “Because I assure you, you probably have.”

Again, Normal cringes at his poor choice of words. Why do the adults in his life always seem to assume that bullying is the root of all his issues? Why do adults love to pit other students against him instead of recognizing their own faults?

Tony begins to pace across the stage, probably choosing to ignore the fact that everyone is ignoring him. “Whether or not you are aware of it, bullying takes place all around you. And you are not immune to it. Because bullying comes in many different forms.”

Is this what the whole assembly is going to be centered around? Normal doesn’t want to be hearing about this first thing after waking up. If he wanted to, he might as well have just stayed at home.

“Now, can I get someone to volunteer to come up to the stage?” Tony asks, to no avail, because of course no one raises their hand. He squints out at the crowd, searching very closely, and finds someone to point at. “You. Come on up here.”

“Yeah, nah, I'm not doing that,” a voice pipes up. Normal can’t pinpoint where it’s coming from.

Tony wastes no more time asking again and instead walks down the stage, through the aisles, right up to the student’s seat. To everyone’s surprise, he grabs her and physically drags her back up to the stage with him.

What the hell is going on? Normal wonders as he watches Scary Marlowe being forced onstage. He looks around to gauge people's reactions, to see if anyone else is outraged enough to do something about this.

“Give it up for Teresa Marlowe, everyone.” Tony gestures toward her, and although most people are confused and uncomfortable, some do applaud her.

“Hey, my name is Scary,” she corrects him, already seething. “What’s the big idea, Pepperoni?”

“Well, I just figured, since everyone loves you, I thought I’d show you off in front of everyone. You all love Scary, right?” Tony raises his arms to the crowd, who gives some hoots and hollers. “But what do you think they’re actually saying about you, Scary?”

Scary crosses her arms. “Why do you think I care what society thinks?”

Tony circles around her, resembling some kind of villain in a movie. “Maybe because you’re scared that they know you’re a phony.”

Some gasps come from the crowd, and Scary glances over at them for a second before glaring at him again. “You’re the phony. Pepperoni Phony.”

“You’re only calling me names because you’re insecure.” Tony points at her, and she tries to act nonchalant. “And everyone knows it. You hear that, everyone? Your precious Scary is an insecure phony, not the cool badass she wants you to think she is.”

If Normal had been made aware of this assembly and all it would entail, he would've made sure it never took place. He wishes he could jump up and step in as Teeny, and tell Scary she is cool and badass and a valued student at this school, but not when the audience is starting to become amused. Even Billy, who he knows once went on a date with Scary, is snickering at Tony’s remarks. Even the people who are known to like her are laughing at her expense.

Even the vice principal seems to be getting too much of a kick out of this. “Oh, come on, don’t look like that. What’s the matter, Scary? I thought you liked getting attention?”

The laughter rises in volume, and Scary stamps her foot over the noise. “You jackass, I’ll sue you!”

“For what? Emotional damages?” he teases with the cadence of a comedy show host. "I thought you were all about emotional damage."

At this point, Normal feels like the only one in the entire room, other than Scary herself, who isn’t laughing.

“Come on, I'm joking around, it’s just an act!” Tony puts a condescending hand on her shoulder and gazes out at the crowd with her. “But you see, Miss Marlowe, this is just a little taste of what it’s like to be bullied. I singled you out, forced you to do something you didn’t want to, humiliated you in front of all your peers… and showed you that even the nicest people can be meaner than even you.”

The uproar in the auditorium howls in Normal’s ears, like a nightmare he cannot escape from. From where he’s sitting out in the crowd, he can see himself up on that stage, mortified as everyone he knows mocks him with great big smiles on their faces, the type that Normal just assumed were happy and kind. But they’ve all just been wearing masks, and underneath, they’re all just phonies. Bullies. Monsters.

And the biggest one of all stands right next to him onstage, wearing a literal smiling mask and holding a spotlight on each and every one of his flaws and insecurities… pretending that it’s all just one big, imaginary act.

And just like in his dreams, his first instinct is to run.

He’s up on his feet and rushing past rows and rows of students before he even knows it, now wondering how it got so full and loud and chaotic in here, in the blink of an eye, after it was so empty and silent and peaceful. But it seems that no matter if he’s with an entire school of students or one dead one, he is always the odd one out.

Opening the doors to the lobby does give him the empty space he’s been looking for, but the quiet now singles out his wet, heaving breaths. This can’t be happening. This can’t be true. He can’t be having another panic attack. He can't be this pathetic.

As much as he’s tried to deny it this whole time, his walls of defense are now beginning to crumble around him, and he’s running out of places to hide. He feels weak and exposed, and he doesn't want to be seen ever again, to fall for anyone else’s tricks ever again. He’s not safe, even in his happy place. Everyone hates him, everyone’s using him, everyone wants him to just go curl up and…

He hears a long exhale from somewhere in the room, and realizes he’s not alone. He chokes back a sob, as if he could do anything to be stealthy at this point.

“Yeah, don’t listen to him,” a voice says tiredly. “I can't stand his stupid lectures either.”

Blinking away tears so he can see, Normal looks up from where he’s curled up on the floor and finds, also sitting against the wall, Margarita Pizza. There’s a sort of mist hanging in the air around her, almost like a mysterious ghost.

Well, great. His own future costar(?)’s first impression of him is him running out of an assembly to break down like a little baby. That’s definitely going to make her think he’d be a great performer, sure.

“W-What…?” He decides he should probably clear his tears away before trying to talk to a popular kid, even if she’s still looking out into the distance instead of him. He sniffs and wipes his face with an arm, but it makes a gross sound, and leaves snot on his arm. “What are you doing out here?”

Margarita sticks some wand-looking thing in her mouth and breathes in, before sighing out a cloud of that mist around her. “Ignoring my dad. You?”

Normal watches her, mesmerized, and for a moment, he forgets what it actually was that brought him out here. “Uh… Trying to ignore him, too.”

“Sweet.” Even though she’s sitting a good distance away, she holds out her little device to him. “You want a hit?”

After a beat, Normal recognizes what’s going on. This is a drug thing. Fear grips him for a second, because he’s never been put in this kind of scenario before. It would be uncool to turn her down, right? When a popular kid looks down to a lowly “regular” student like him and offers him a chance like this, he should take it so as not to insult her, right?

And she does look pretty peaceful, enveloped in fog, like she’s gone in another world… but the idea of trying that out scares him. He knows that he likes to escape a little too much. He can’t risk losing himself to that void in yet another way.

If there’s one singular thing that this assembly taught him… it’s that he needs to stand up for himself more, even if people sometimes think he already tries to stand up for himself too much.

“No, thanks,” he croaks. The sweet, enticing scent makes his stomach turn.

To his complete surprise, she doesn’t laugh, or call him a wimp, or press him harder and shove it down his throat, like a bully in a movie would. She simply shrugs and goes back to doing her thing with an, “Okay. No prob.”

They sit in silence for a little while longer, and Normal is able to stabilize his breathing enough that it no longer sounds like he’s trying to huff and puff louder than her. “So…” He doesn’t know why he’s trying to make conversation with her, but it feels too awkward not saying anything. “Did you know he was gonna do this assembly?”

“Oh, yeah,” Margarita chuckles humorlessly. “It’s just recycled garbage he’s already hammered into me enough.”

Normal hadn’t even considered that, but it seems pretty plausible. Tony already has a history of making his own personal family issues into everyone’s business at school. He wouldn't be surprised if he’s had to lecture her at home about how to treat all the students underneath her.

“It’s so embarrassing. And unfair to both me and Scary.” Normal is alarmed to hear a hint of a tearful whimper in her voice, and even moreso when he sees her makeup starting to run. “I know me and her used to have our, like, squabbles before, but it’s different now. Why can’t he see that?”

Normal sits up a little. “Wait, what do you mean?” He doesn’t remember any relation between her and Scary, except that they’re both popular students.

Margarita shakes her head and takes another hit before answering. “He thinks she’s a bad influence for me. Like she’s, like…” A sob interrupts her words. “Abusing me or something. She would never! She’s not a bad friend, and certainly not a bad girlfriend!”

Girlfriend? This whole time, he could've sworn Margarita was single. For some reason, though, this brings him a sense of relief.

“And she wonders why I’ve tried to keep it a secret. That poor girl… She must think I, like, hate her. And my dad thinks I hate him, but I just…” She kicks the floor. “I just wish he would understand. I can take care of myself, I know she wouldn't hurt me. He’s just, like, projecting his own stupid relationship issues onto me.”

Normal never would’ve guessed that, after the personal attack he felt from Tony’s assembly, that it was meant to protect Margarita Pizza of all people, not him. Maybe Tony was right about one thing: “Whether or not you are aware of it, bullying takes place all around you. And you are not immune to it.”

“I'm sorry about him. I know what it’s like,” he says without thinking. But he means it. “I think parents find it easier to call other students bullies than themselves.”

She snorts at that, but this time, it feels… maybe a little less like laughing at him. But he’s not the best judge, clearly. “Truuue fucking that.”

Normal picks at a scab on his arm mindlessly, trying to think of what to say. When it starts to bleed, he’s reminded of yesterday, and then he remembers how that nightmare of a night ended with Hermie's confession about Normal's role in all this. That curious part of him wants to ask Margarita all his remaining questions, and dig deeper into what’s really going on behind the scenes.

And oh, he can. They’re still technically in the auditorium. The ghost is powerless to interfere.

“You, um… excited to do Hamlet again?” He decides to start as casually as he can, trying to wipe away the blood but only ending up smearing it.

Changing the subject does seem to brighten her mood a little bit, because she sits up straighter. “Oh, yeah. I just wish they didn’t make us wait so long after the last one.”

“Ah… Yeah, my bad.” Even though it was Hermie, your own classmate, who did it for me.

“What?” she giggles. “It’s not your fault, guy. The theater department just plans out our schedule super weirdly. And it’s not that bad, really, I just got tired of spending last month rehearsing it in class instead of getting to actually perform it.”

Everything inside of Normal freezes. What the hell does she mean? Were they already planning on putting on Hamlet again? Didn’t Hermie say they had Normal convince them to, just last Friday?

“Oh, that’s right, you’re the guy who offered to, like, help out, right?” She points at him with her magic wand thing, and then starts to twirl it around. “We could always use more techies. People keep backing out of doing behind-the-scenes stuff."

Normal can’t tell if he’s being pranked right now, and he’s too afraid to ask. “No, I'm…” What was the word Hermie used? “I'm an understudy.”

Margarita pauses her twirling. “Oh, really? For who?”

This is ridiculous. He really isn’t as involved as Hermie once led him to believe, is he? “H-Horatio.” He feels stupid for even bringing it up in the first place. Clearly, he’s missing out on something.

“Oh, damn! Okay!” If Normal didn’t know any better, he’d say she seems genuinely impressed. She laughs, which isn’t a great indicator, but then she lowers her voice conspiratorially. “Just between you and me, I do hope you can replace our current Horatio. He’s kinda, like, a pain in the ass to work with, but you seem like a nicer person.”

The unexpected compliment hits Normal right in his freshly-wounded heart. Not even Hermie has had much good to say about him, but this popular student he once thought was mean and intimidating thinks he’s nice after one tiny conversation. Maybe there is good in himself and others after all.

But before he lets their conversation fall into awkward silence again, he still has questions nagging at his brain. “What about… What about Hamlet? How is he to work with?”

To his dismay, Margarita lights up with recognition and excitement, confirming his suspicions. “Oh, he’s great so far! He’s a really good actor.” So Hermie has been working behind his back, after all. Whatever happened to wanting to stay in hiding? Were they lying about being forgotten in the first— “Have you seen any of Goth’s other roles?”

Normal blinks at her dumbly. She’s talking about an entirely different student. Hermie is replacing someone, too. “Um, I… can’t say I have.”

“Well, he’s really cool! I mean, Scary’s not a fan of him, and I wouldn't consider him a friend, but he and I like to get faded together sometimes.” On that cue, she takes another long hit, giving Normal a second to choose his next words carefully.

Curiosity gets the best of him, even though he’d really like to stop thinking about that damn ghost. “I meant, uh… the old Hamlet. What was he like?”

A cloud slowly escapes from Margarita’s lips, and within the veil of fog around her, her eyes are just as hazy. “...I don’t remember his name,” she replies blankly. “Who?”

For once, Normal is relieved to hear someone ignore the ghost’s existence. Perhaps he could learn a thing or two from that mentality. He sighs and shakes his head, staring out into the distance as well. “Nobody. Forget about it.”

After one more drag, Margarita stands up. At first, Normal is disheartened, thinking she’s about to leave, but then she walks over to where he’s sitting. “Is it cool if I sit here?” She points at the spot next to him. “I won’t vape right in your face, I promise.”

Normal, even with his growing trust issues, can’t say no to a chance to be close to someone. He looks up at her and nods, and as soon as she sits down beside him, feeling her warmth and breathing in her scent, he relaxes. It’s nice to have somebody real make the choice to be with him, without an ulterior motive (he hopes).

“Can— Can I hug you?” he blurts out, instantly regretting it. That is a step way too far. He’s been told many a time that he smells terrible by his family; he's lucky enough that someone is even willing to be near—

Margarita opens up her arms for him without questioning why. Looks like they both needed this.

For a fleeting moment as she holds him, he wonders if she would still be treating him like this if she knew who he really was. But then, for an even shorter moment, he wonders if Teeny isn't who he really is.

He pulls away, not wanting to cling on for too long and weird her out. A true friendly interaction like this is hard for him to come by. He can’t let himself ruin it. “I, uh, I hope you have fun performing next week…” He tries to give a friendly nudge, but it doesn’t come across quite right. “...‘phelia.” Okay, mission failed. He made it weird.

Margarita laughs, and Normal’s just about ready to go back into the auditorium with everyone in it just to escape the awkwardness of this situation. But then she says, “Well, I hope you get to be up there with me… Hor.” She bumps him back, and her laughter slowly spreads to him.

And for a second, Normal wonders if he has inhaled any of her vape secondhand, because his head feels light, everything feels lighter. But maybe it’s just that he’s happy. He hasn't had a human-to-human interaction like this at school in… God, he can’t even remember.

For the first time since joining Hermie in the play, he actually feels like a part of something.

And, in this whirlwind of positive emotion, he realizes maybe he doesn’t even need Hermie. Screw that stupid bully! He could just practice with Margarita, and maybe the rest of the actual living cast, and he could feel more like he belongs. After all he’s done to neglect the theater department, he might as well actually get himself involved hands-on, right?

He feels untouchable. Is this how it feels to have a friend?

He rides this high through the rest of his school day, free from the shackles of worry and responsibility the ghost placed on him. He doesn’t even remember his breakdowns from yesterday or today anymore, just the joy of being seen, and more importantly, understood, by another student. 

He can start his life anew, as Normal Oak-Swallows-Garcia, not Teeny the Teen! Now, he is no longer a mascot kid… but a theater kid.

Now, there is still the complication that he isn’t in a theater class, but he can work around that. Maybe he can see if he can invite Margarita over tomorrow after school, or over the weekend, and then his family could actually see his friend, his real friend.

He hopes it wouldn’t be too forward of him to ask that of her, but the excitement overwrites his worry. He finds her after his last class, where he knows the popular kids like to meet up, and before he can chicken out, pulls out his phone so he can ask for her number.

He stops in his tracks, however, when he checks his phone for apparently the first time today.

More notifications than he can count flood his screen, texts and missed calls, from both his moms, even Uncle Lark, even Hero… His whole family has been worried sick about him, asking where he is and if he’s okay.

Oh. Oh, fuck. He forgot to let any of them know about him staying the night.

He backtracks, looking up at Margarita in her group one more time, before focusing on the disastrous task at hand. What is he thinking? He should be meeting up with his mom right now, not wasting a single second longer at school.

He rushes back to his meetup spot with his mom, crafting his excuse on the way over. “Me and Dennis were just having so much fun at his house, I ended up sleeping over! And it was just so fun that I forgot to tell you!”

He hates how that sounds.

“I'm here, Mom,” he gasps as soon as he gets close enough to her. “So sorry about the radio silence, I just—”

Rebecca meets eyes with him, and he shuts up as soon as he sees the tears shimmering in hers. “Normal, what… What happened…?"

He tries not to seem rattled by the way she’s staring at his face. “It’s okay, Dennis and I both got plenty of sleep and made it to school on time this morn—”

She approaches him and grabs his cheeks to hold his face up. “What happened to your face?”

Now Normal feels like he’s the one who’s about to cry. He had blissfully forgotten all about that. He didn’t even realize it still showed on his face. Is he bruised? Is there still dried blood from his nose? He tries to explain himself, but all that falls from his lips are cracked little squeaks.

Betraying himself, he feels tears begin to trickle down his cheeks, and Rebecca wipes some away before leading him to the car to sob in more privacy. Why is I crying again? Things have gotten so much better, he may have a friend now, he can prove he has a friend now.

But going home right now feels like being arrested and taken away.

When they reach the house, his mom takes his backpack for him and asks him to wait in the car for a moment while she goes inside first, and Normal feels like he is going to suffocate. He wishes she left her keys in here, so he could start the car again and floor it the hell away from here. But then Rebecca is waving him over from the front door, and he has nowhere to go but inside.

And Sparrow is waiting right there for him, like a judge ready to deliver his sentence.

“Hi, I'm home,” he tries to begin, but there is no casual greeting in the world that could cut through the unbelievable tension in the house.

His mother stands from the couch, wringing her hands, and she and Rebecca exchange a silent nod that Normal has no clue the meaning of. She watches Rebecca step out of the room, still sniffling, and once she lays eyes back on her son, it feels more and more like she’s about to give a death sentence.

“Normal, love.” Normal knows from experience that Sparrow will call him “love” only when she’s trying to soften a blow. “I have spent… far too long avoiding things in order to spare your feelings. But I think I’m only hurting you further by doing so. I… I think something needs to be done here.”

Normal swallows hard, but it only leaves a big lump in his throat. “I— I’m sorry I didn’t text you, I swear we were just hanging out at the house and—”

“Normal, please.” Sparrow’s voice shakes, and her face is pressed into a tight expression of anguish, as if just being in his presence is causing her immense pain. “Your face is all ruined. Your mom showed me your new jacket, covered in blood.”

“It was—” His mind races through a bunch of different innocuous explanations he could give, but his thoughts trip over themselves before they can reach his mouth. “It really—”

“Last week, you got a detention for damaging school property. You asked to stay home from school for maybe the first time ever. You also had a day at school where your teachers all reported that you were acting ‘nothing like yourself’.” She shudders as she takes in a breath, and Normal can barely even get one in himself. “You were marked as absent on Monday. You missed the second half of your classes and came home late on Tuesday. You asked to go to your ‘friend’s’ house yesterday, and you don’t come back until the next day later looking like this…?”

Normal’s blood is rushing in his ears, and he wishes for nothing more than to turn invisible and disappear forever, hiding away where no one will ever find him ever again. This can’t be happening. After all he's done. All the progress he’s made.

“But I also heard you ran out crying in the middle of an anti-bullying assembly today,” Sparrow adds. “And that alone tells me enough.”

“It's not what you think,” is all he can say. Pathetic.

“I don’t know what else to think, Normal.” She shakes her head, and grabs it like she’s combating a headache. “If you aren’t willing to talk to me about this, then you need someone else.”

Not this. Anything but this.

“There are people at your school, you know.” No. “Professionals. Whose job is to listen to students’ struggles, like yours.” Not happening. “They have a… a psychologist there, if need be. Which… I think there is a need, in this case.” Never. “And if she is unable to help you, then I will be… I think I may have no other choice but to… take you myself to another psychologist. Outside of school.”

Oh, fuck no.

“What if I’m fine, though?” His visible shaking surely doesn’t help his case. “What if this is just a misunderstanding?”

Sparrow stares into his pleading eyes for a beat too long, and shuts her own, a tear falling out. “...Then you’ll just have to hope she’s someone who does understand,” she whimpers. “Because I don’t think I can.”

Something like an icy breeze rushes through Normal, through the empty cavern inside of him. Even his own mother can’t understand him. She’s given up on him. He feels unheard, unseen, abandoned... like a ghost.

“I promise this is for your own good.” Her words sound just as hollow to him as he feels on the inside. They go one ear and out the other. “What you say to her is completely between you and her, so you don’t need to worry about me hearing, I just need to know that you went and spoke with her. I think it could really help you.”

There is nothing that sounds less helpful to him.

“Fine,” he complies. “I’ll tell her about just how fine I'm doing. Maybe she’ll be happy to hear about the new friend I made today.”

Without another word or glance in her direction, Normal walks past her and up the stairs. Good fucking night.

Normal refuses to talk to anyone the next morning, even while Rebecca is driving him to school. After all, the only person Sparrow cares about him talking to is that damn psychologist, right?

He’s sure the look on Rebecca’s face must be pitying when she tries to call out, “Have a—” but Normal slams the car door behind him and just faces forward. He has no desire to be at school right now, but dealing with his family is decidedly worse.

Every time he turns a corner around the school, he wonders if he’ll run into Margarita. He imagines a scenario where she bumps into him and offers to save him from this whole shitshow, and invites him into the popular kid friend group where everyone likes him and no one is worried about him being crazy or gross or pathetic. 

But she’s nowhere to be found, and Normal realizes he can’t keep stalling much longer. There’s another woman he has to find today. But this one won’t be able to save him.

He wanders into the administration office with his head down, and it feels strange to be greeted like he’s just any other student instead of their mascot. It’s what he wanted, he supposes, but it still makes him feel helpless.

He knows where the school psychologist's room is located, but it is a place he has avoided like the plague. He has already had a hard enough time meeting with a regular old educational counselor. He can’t imagine what it’d be like telling a random adult about his feelings and shit. Other than his feelings of excitement and passion for his school, of course.

Today, there's no one waiting on the bench outside her room like there typically is. There’s no wait, no time to think over his words and possibly back out with the excuse of it taking too much time. Why can’t there already be some troubled teen crying their eyes out in there…?

He knocks on the door, after standing in front of it like a creep for perhaps a bit too long. It opens instantly, to his chagrin.

“Well, hello there!” the woman inside greets him, a big smile on her face that doesn’t make her presence feel any less threatening. “I'm Lisa. Come on in.”

The room is small and cramped, with a desk filled with too much paperwork and fidget toys and a low couch across from it that looks like it was meant to be for a child. There are tons of sticky notes with motivational quotes and pictures of presumably Lisa’s family up on the wall behind her desk. Fairy lights are strung up to make up for the fact that the room has no windows to bring in natural light. When Normal closes the door behind him, he feels like he has to adjust his eyes to the warm lighting.

When she gestures for him to take a seat, he awkwardly crouches almost all the way to the floor and squishes into the cushiony couch that yeah, definitely wasn’t made for him. He hates that she has to look down on him when she asks, “So, tell me about yourself. What’s on your mind?”

He fidgets with his hands in his lap. This whole setup is even more uncomfortable than he imagined all night before. “...I’m Normal,” is all he says.

She clicks a pen and pulls out a clipboard to write on, humming like he just said something very profound. “Interesting, very interesting that you think that. Tell me, how do you define ‘normal’?”

Normal grits his teeth. She’s already grinding on his nerves just as bad as his family does. “Me. That’s my name. Normal.”

“Oh!” Lisa looks up and makes long, awful eye contact with him, before returning to her paper to scribble out whatever it is she just wrote. “I see, I see. Perfect. That’s a very unique name. Or— a very normal name? Hm.” She brings the pen to her lips and taps them thoughtfully (or perhaps thoughtlessly, if Normal were to judge). “What a paradox. You… are a paradox.” She lights up like she just made a genius discovery, and jots it down.

Do I even need to be here right now? Normal wonders, looking more at all the distracting stuff on the walls than at her. Is this really who Mother thought would understand me?

“So, what brings you in today, my extraordinary Normal?” She folds her hands under her chin and bats her eyelashes at him. “My delightful little oxymoron?”

“What’d you call me?” he exclaims in bewilderment.

Lisa cackles loudly, and Normal suddenly wonders if the room is soundproof (and hopes that it is). “Oh, you’re funny too! My entertaining little new friend!”

Normal has never felt so threatened by someone calling him their friend… Well, except for Hermie. Wow, he hasn’t thought about them at all today. That’s wild.

But now that he’s just reminded himself of the ghost, his blood pressure only worsens. He needs to get this over with. “Listen. I'm only here because my mother needs a second opinion about me being okay or not. And I am, I assure you. I'm more than okay, really. I'm great!”

“That’s great!” To his surprise, Lisa begins fidgeting with one of the toys on her desk, without even offering any of them to him. “I’d love to hear about what’s going so great for you!”

Normal worries that her being trapped in this tiny space with no access to the outside world except through mentally unwell teens might’ve driven her a bit mad herself. A part of him deep down feels the instinctive urge to somehow save her.

He has to be careful how much context he shares, before she starts jumping to crazy conclusions. “Well, you see, my mother thinks that I am… not being treated well here at school. But that isn’t the case!”

“And why would she think that?” The spinning noise of Lisa’s toy is almost as grating as her voice.

“I, well…” Okay, now he needs to be extra careful. “I guess I’ve had some issues with a… former student…” He stares at the ceiling, feeling judgment from all angles, not just from the desk in front of him.

“What kind of issues?” Lisa leans in like she’s listening to juicy gossip. “Have you been fighting with someone?”

“In… a way.” His mind flashes through all the play practices with Hermie, and then all the times before they had a physical form. He remembers the way they’ve made him feel and it makes him squeeze the spongy armrests of the couch like stress balls. “They just… won’t leave me alone. They follow me everywhere, and constantly force me into stuff I don’t want to do. They seem to find it fun getting a rise out of me. They act like they’re the only person I can spend my time with. They drive me crazy. And they just don’t seem to be getting the hint.” He raises his voice a bit louder, in case the ghost is listening. And, knowing them and their weird obsession with him, they probably are.

“Oh, wow. Sounds very toxic.” Lisa seems to have totally forgotten about taking notes. “You’re, uh… saying all this in the present tense, though…?”

Oh, right. He’s okay now. He doesn't have to get so worked up about Hermie anymore. He clears his throat. “Well, yes, but not for long. My point is, they're going to be leaving soon, and I have someone new to help me get over them!”

“Oh?” Lisa raises her eyebrows and lowers her glasses. It kind of reminds him of his sister. “Do tell about this new someone."

“She… Uh, she…” Normal bites his tongue, realizing that he probably should avoid exposing who he’s talking about, or her personal issues. “She’s really popular and cool, and really talented, too, and, uh, she was real nice to me! I really like her!”

Lisa leans back in her chair, observing him, examining him, and he feels his excitement morph into something more like desperation when he wonders if she’s actually starting to see through to him. If the way her eyes pierce through him should be a warning that he’s said too much.

He scratches the back of his neck, which is slick with sweat by now, and feels just as small as the child this couch was designed for. “So, uh… You see how I'm…? Everything's…?”

A grin spreads across Lisa’s lips from behind templed fingers, like a cartoon supervillain. “A rebound, eh…?”

Normal doesn’t understand what sports has to do with any of this, but it’s not like sense is really what he’s expecting from her at this point. “I'm sorry, I… don’t get what you mean.”

“Ah, maybe I need some more info. Some clarification.” Lisa waves her hands in the air like she’s swatting away bugs.

“About…?” What more is there to be said?

“Well, I just… Am I wrong to assume that either of these individuals are people you’ve had romantic feelings for?”

Before Normal can answer, or even process the question, all the power in the room completely cuts out.

And he knows exactly who the culprit is.

Using this opportunity to escape before he can blow a fuse of his own in anger, Normal storms out of the building and plans to never speak to that sorry excuse for a “psychologist” ever again.

But there’s another sorry excuse for a person he planned to never speak to again… that he has to go speak to.

He swings the front doors of the auditorium open dramatically and marches in like he’s taking over the place. “Spirit!” he shouts from all the way out in the aisles, glaring at the ghost light like he could shatter it with just his eyes. “I'm here to give you that attention you so desperately want!”

He climbs up to the stage and snatches the ghost light’s stand forcefully, like the scenes where he’s had to hold Hamlet aggressively. As soon as the light is shut off, he waits for the mannequin to come crawling back to him.

But after a moment, when he doesn’t see them stumbling out from behind the curtains, he decides to go check for himself. He finds them sitting where he last left them, motionless but evidently awake due to the cloak tossed back off of their head and their arms hugging their knees.

He kicks their foot, or rather, their empty boot, to make them look up at him. “Hermie. What was that all about?”

The mannequin sighs, and slides their legs out in front of them, still just slumped against the wall instead of standing to face him. “Shouldn't you thank me for getting your sorry ass out of that awkward situation? You seemed mighty uncomfortable.”

“I will thank you for nothing,” he spits back, ignoring the pit in his stomach telling him he’s being a bit too unfair. “You just couldn’t stand to leave me alone for one second? Are you not used to me telling everyone and their class pet about the ghost who’s been making my life hell?”

“I'm certainly not used to you talking about me… like that,” they grumble vaguely, offering no sort of context.

Normal doesn’t have time for their moping. He grabs their sleeve and yanks them up so he can meet them (a little bit closer to) eye-to-eye. “What is your problem?” He delights in earning the tiniest flinch from them. “Did I really say anything untrue? Because I don’t think any of it was unearned.”

Even without eyes, he feels like they’re looking anywhere but at his face right in front of theirs. “I'm not going to deny anything you… did say about me. That’s not the real issue.”

“Then what is?!” Normal’s hands fly up in the air, letting go of them. “Is it because you’re jealous that I'm trying to make an actual human friend who’s actually nice to me?”

Or are they mad that it’s because that friend is Margarita? Something clicks in his brain, and Hermie now looks a lot guiltier to him. He knows they were attached to her. “My Ophelia”, they called her. He knows now that Ophelia is Hamlet’s love interest, and he also knows how much Hermie commits to their roles…

And even though he knows Margarita is already taken, that doesn’t necessarily mean that Hermie knows. He never asked her how long she and Scary have been together, and even then, they’ve been secretive enough about their relationship that even he wasn’t aware before.

“Ohhh, I understand what the problem is.” He grins like the original expression of the mannequin's mask, but right now, he’s never seen the mask look more terrified. “You’re just as dumb as that Lisa lady. You don’t seriously think I’m like, in love with Margarita, right?”

Their expression changes to a grimace. “What? No, I didn't say that.”

“You implied it, just like you thought I implied that I was in love with Margarita.” Even just saying it sounds ridiculous. Why would he ever fall in love with someone so hopelessly unattainable? With a theater kid, no less? “Listen, man, I don’t have any feelings for her like that, and you have no reason to worry about me taking her from you. In fact, there’s someone else that’s the real concern here.”

Hermie backs themself further into the corner, shaking their head. “No. No, don’t even say it. I don’t want to hear it. Please, I just want to get this play over with.”

This is actually pretty sad to see. Are they just going to stay in denial until the day they die… again? “Fine, live in your little delusional world, then. Just know that whatever you thought about me and Margarita isn’t true.”

Hermie tugs at their hair, like they’ve forgotten it’s a wig and could easily come right off. “I don’t give a fuck about how you feel about Margarita. You can do whatever you want with her. I’ve had my share of crushes on girls out of my league.” This information startles Normal more than he thinks it should’ve. “She’s not who I'm worried about.”

Are they saying… that he assumed wrong? Do they really not care whether or not he’s in love with their scene partner, their love interest? “What do you mean? Who is, then…?”

They just at him like he’s an idiot. “Don’t… Don’t make me just say it. You said it yourself, already, didn’t you? That there’s… someone else involved in this…?”

Is he allowed to say it, then? Didn’t they just say they don’t care about someone having feelings for Margarita? Or is it just the fact that they think Normal specifically wouldn’t have a chance with her? “...Yeah, uh… Margarita has a girlfriend.”

“...Okay? Good for her?” Hermie replies with an annoyed shrug, surprising Normal and confusing him even more. “But isn’t there someone you’re… forgetting?”

Someone else? Normal wracks his brain, but he has no idea what they could be hinting at. Why are they dancing around this? Why won’t they just tell him anything directly? Why do they have to just make him feel like he’s stupid? “...Who?”

Hermie drops their arms in utter defeat, with a groan that could rival Scary Marlowe herself.

And then the rest of their mannequin body drops with them.

“Hermie!” he demands. “Come back! Explain yourself! You’re making this way harder than it needs to be! Geez, man, I have a class to go to!”

“Then go,” they say. The mannequin still lies lifelessly on the floor. “Just forget it.”

Normal kicks the useless thing and stomps away in a hurry. Like always, the ghost has done nothing but waste his time.

Back in class, things seem to run… suspiciously smoothly. The lights stay on at all times, the only voice he can hear is his teacher’s, the stuff on his desk stays on his desk… He doesn’t remember class being this startlingly average since before winter break. It feels empty, even while full of students.

And the rest of his classes are the same. The ghost’s presence is nowhere to be found, and it feels almost… wrong. He would’ve expected them to come back at some point, once they got bored enough, but no.

He finds himself flipping through his script at some point, pretending he’s reading for class. In the back of his mind, he seems to hope that it will trigger Hermie to come out of hiding somehow. But instead, all he’s doing is reading Shakespeare on his own time for fun.

In a weird way, it’s actually proving to be even harder to focus when the ghost isn’t there. When he sits tensed in anticipation, waiting for any sign of them, everything else gets drowned out.

He has the feeling that he really screwed up this time, but he tamps it down; that’s exactly how Hermie wants him to feel. This is all to prove a point, surely. Their absence is all one big guilt trip over something he doesn't even understand that he did wrong.

By the time the last bell rings, he feels oddly empty. He watches the other students pick up their things and leave the classroom, but he remains glued to his chair. Waiting for something to happen already.

His teacher, Ms. Delgado, looks back over at him after the classroom has been cleared out. Maybe a little too long after the fact. “Normal? Is there something you wanted to ask?”

He stares at the nothing on his desk for a good while. At first, all the questions in his head are for Hermie. Who is the mysterious person you were referring to before? Do you really not care about who Margarita likes? Why are you avoiding me, shouldn’t I be the one having to avoid you?

But he can’t just call out to them from within his own mind, as much as he feels that should be a possible thing at this point. He’s left alone with nothing but his thoughts. It’s strange, to feel the lack of a presence as if it were a presence of its own. The ghost of a ghost, haunting him even when they’re not.

And the fact that he’s the only one who feels it… only makes the loneliness feel that much more real.

He looks up at his teacher finally, and decides on something to ask her, after all. “How many absences would it take for you to notice that a student is gone?”

Ms. Delgado blinks at him puzzledly. “Um… One? I do take roll every day.” She shuffles through the paperwork on her desk. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed all your recent absences.”

That’s not what he means, though. He wants to know how anyone could possibly forget Hermie Unworthy. “No, I mean gone as in… not coming back.”

Her papers drop to the floor, and her wide-eyed expression gives Normal the tiniest hope that he’s somehow gotten through to her. Do you remember now? he wants to ask, to press further. Was Hermie one of your students? Do you know about their death? What were they like? Who was Hermie?

His teacher stands and walks all the way over to his desk, and he notices that she’s shaking when she places a hand on his shoulder. “Have a good weekend, Normal, okay?” she says instead of answering his question. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

Seeing as he’s clearly being kicked out without an answer, Normal gives up and takes his backpack with him out the door. He doesn’t miss, however, the haunted look still in her eyes when she returns to her desk.

On his way to meet up with his mom, he casts one last look over at the auditorium. For a moment, he considers checking back in there one more time, trying just one more time. His unfinished business still seems to rope him in.

But he decides that it’s a pointless plan, especially when he can’t afford to waste any more time if he wants to clear himself of suspicion from his parents. Hermie will have plenty of time over the weekend to stew in their own personal issue, whatever it may be. May their last weekend of non-existence be slow and painful.

When he is met with Sparrow once again, he knows exactly what to do.

“So, how did talking with the lady at school go today?” she asks him, almost as soon as he walks through the front door.

“Good,” is all he says.

She stares at him, waiting for him to say more, but he refuses, because he doesn’t need to say anymore. “She… was able to help you?”

“She understood my situation, so yes.” He shrugs his backpack off to hold it in his hands, as a way to subtly hint that he’d like to go settle into his room now.

Sparrow grimaces like she just ate something rotten. “Lovely. Do you think she's someone you like to talk to?”

One of the least likeable people to talk to, actually. “I don’t think it’s necessary, really.”

“And… why is that?” His mother’s gaze feels heavy, like a test. A great judgment.

But he meets it dead-on, because he has a point to prove. He puts on a smile to show that the answer is plain to see. “Because I'm already doing great.”

“You’re doing… ‘great’,” she echoes, almost menacingly. “Though I think at least one of your teachers would beg to differ.”

His eye twitches, looking away from hers for a second, betraying himself. What are his teachers saying about him now?

“Normal, Ms. Delgado called me right before you came home.” She grabs his shoulders, emphasizing the weight of the situation, because she almost never initiates touch with him. “She sounded… very concerned about your current mental state. She believes you may be having thoughts of hurting others or…” She can barely even keep looking at him. “...yourself. And as your mother, I have to take that very seriously.”

Normal opens and closes his mouth, trying to find some explanation for this wild accusation, but nothing comes out. Why does literally no one understand him?

“So, no. You won’t be speaking with the school psychologist anymore.” Her grip on his shoulders tightens, just slightly, but noticeably. “I will be taking you to a real one, because a real one would be able to acknowledge that there’s actually something wrong here.”

No.

Normal feels tears, traitorous, ugly tears building up in his eyes, and holding them in only closes up his throat and keeps him from saying anything to defend himself. He wants to scream the word No, no, no as many times as he can to convince her and everyone that I am not fucking wrong, but the silence choking him up damns him to a guilty sentence.

“Can I give you a hug?” Sparrow offers extremely gently, noticing that he’s about to break. The rare invitation is like a dangerous temptation to his fragile heart.

But he gives in, falling apart in her arms. She starts tangling her fingers in his curls and whispering tearful apologies, and he simply cannot hold himself together anymore. His carefully crafted act, coming apart at the seams in an instant.

He is not as good at keeping up a character as Hermie may lie to him that he is.