Everyone has secrets. It's a natural part of being alive, to want to keep something to yourself. I'm no different.
The thing that sets me apart is that the secrets that only I know about are much less impactful and worthy of secrecy than the ones that a few others are in on.
I'm not a human, at least, not fully. I'm a half-ghost. I have given up a huge amount of my personal, human pleasures in order to be a better protector for a town that doesn't even treat me well. My own parents and my ex-girlfriend are the three ghost hunters who most want to destroy my ghost self. My bully worships me. The teachers and other adults I risk my neck to save ridicule me for my species or my family's reputation, depending on form.
People already know that though. My two best friends and my sister have stood by me through almost all of that, so of course they know. At the same time, there are countless ghosts (friends and foes alike) who are aware of who and what I am. As huge as it is, this secret… well, it isn't really all that secret.
But I do have another secret. It's smaller, thank goodness, but so far I'm the only one who knows.
Despite the dreams, friendships, and opportunities ghost fighting has stolen from me, I do have a realistic plan for my future.
Have you heard of the EIDOLON Project?
You know, I never really thought of myself as a person with artistic talent. To be fair, I've never taken a class, and between the ages of eight and thirteen my "art" never really extended beyond little doodles in the margins of my notebooks at school. I had no reason to consider myself artistic.
But, even as an avid stargazer, I will admit that the bird's-eye view of Amity Park at night is one of the most beautiful sights I've ever seen. On a whim, I decided to make something inspired by it. I figured it would be good practice for the precision of my ice powers, at the very least.
Making an ice crystal model of my city block took a while, but it wasn't all that hard. What was difficult was the color. For the glow of the windows at night, I froze a little ectoplasm under the ice. For other, darker areas, I tried to adjust the opacity of the ice itself. That was time consuming, and a few miniature buildings had to be redone, but I think it was worth it in the end.
That first sculpture was almost small enough to fit neatly in my palm, and was simply a scale model of an area I knew well. I was proud of it, though, and kept it on my desk to use as a paperweight or something like that.
I didn't try a different kind of art until Sam mentioned the paint on the dresses she "fixed" a few weeks later. It made me curious about what else I should try out.
Now I'm mildly famous as an aspiring artist who uses the properties of ectoplasm to add hidden parts to paintings and so-called crystal sculptures. Ectoplasm will glow brighter when a person is nearby than it does when left alone, so I like to paint in galaxies in ectoplasmic material, hidden behind seemingly normal landscapes. Painting in ghosts that way is fun, too. People are becoming interested in the special paint technique, and apparently my angular, unrealistic style is appealing. If things go well, I might have enough profit to afford a place to live in a few years, when I have to move out.
It's nice to have a secret. It means that if I fail, no one will know to be disappointed in me, but I can still hold out hope for my future.