TUESDAY NIGHT-

Scott Summers turned over in bed, still half-asleep. Clumsily he swiped at his cheek with the back of his hand. His own hair was probably to blame, tickling him with a feather-light touch. He vowed to go to the mall and get a haircut.

-WEDNESDAY NIGHT-

Scott was back in the tepid ocean water of Santa Monica, paddling out to the waves. The surfboard was rough and tacky with wax under his chest. The water should have been chilly this early in the morning but it was a comfortable lukewarm. He let the first few waves pass by, feeling the swell rise and lower beneath him. He was waiting for the big one.

The Pacific was never quite warm and the waves were never that big on that particular beach. Somewhere in his mind, Scott knew he was dreaming but he didn't care. He longed to be back in the surf.

Scott. Help me.

He woke with a start in his twin-sized bed in a dorm in upstate New York. The hint of an erection pulsed just this side of his awareness. A familiar voice had called to him. It sounded distressed, almost pained. Reflexively, he put a hand to his eyes and checked that his custom ruby quartz visor was still firmly in place. Intruder or not, if he accidentally punched another hole in the roof, Professor X would be pissed.

"Hello?" He whispered into the dark room. "Is someone there?"

The only sound that answered was the soft beating of his own heart. Maybe he'd imagined the voice. He had been dreaming, after all. It wouldn't be the first time. Ever since he moved into the dorms at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, Scott's sleep had been uneasy, his dreams more vivid. Often he had a feeling that someone or something was in the room with him. Whoever or whatever it was didn't seem malicious, just curious.

Professor X said the mansion was old, that it had been in his family for a few hundred years. Perhaps there were a few wandering ghosts in residence.

"It's probably just old pipes or something," Scott told himself, unconvinced.

He resolved to try and get back to sleep, but when he shifted into a more comfortable position he was distracted by the nagging tightness in his boxers. He sheepishly hoped the ghost couldn't see in the dark as he reached into the fabric and worked himself to release.