If the story was darker and he had never made a friend or anything. . . .
"AH!" Norman yelped in the middle of his sentence.
"JEN! Don't scare me like that!" he raged when he saw the floating, misty shape of his friend.
She giggled and twirled in mid air. "But it's fun!" she whined.
"Who are you talking to?" one of the jocks, Mitch, asked with a sneer.
"It's just my friend, Jen. She likes to scare me all the time." Norman replied—he had repeated the same thing over and over before.
It was true. While Norman saw a cheerful ghost in front of him, the other students all thought he was crazy. In fact, everyone thought he was crazy. Norman didn't care what others thought of him.
Jen disappeared in a flash of light, a giggle echoing in Norman's ears.
"As I was saying, my name is Norman Babcock. I—" Norman tried to continue, but he was interrupted by the blatant bell.
All the kids got up and raced for the door, the jocks pushing everyone out of their way. Norman sighed and trudged towards the door. As he rounded the corner, Mitch pushed him to the floor.
"Weirdo! Looks like you need to take more pills, might stop those hallucinations of yours," he sneered.
His cronies, with looks from the others in the hallway, snickered at him. Norman glared at the ground and got up.
He had barley made a step, however, before Mitch picked him up by his shirt.
"You're so small! Maybe I'll be kind enough to show you to the kindergarden classes?" he snickered.
With that, he harshly threw Norman onto the floor, making a bruise form on his shoulder, where he had landed. The threat of tears washed over the boy's face, but he gritted his teeth and stood up.
Norman, with narrowed eyes, walked towards his locker, an angry fire in his heart.
Norman could not put up with all this. Lots of the town bullied him horribly, going out of their way to hurt him, both mentally and physically. What was sometimes even worse, they went out of their way to avoid him, even switching streets to get away from him. Norman was either a punching bag or a ghost.
Most every day, Norman cried himself to sleep. Listening to his parents arguing over him and his instability had not been helping to get rid of his depression.
He wondered if there was an escape.
One day, his parents had had enough. They forced him; he kicked, screamed, cried, and pleaded with them. He was fine, okay! He wasn't schizophrenic, bipolar, or depressive! His parents shook their heads and drove him off to Blithe Hollow Psychiatric Hospital.
It was his first week in his new home. Norman had no friends, but at least the spirits came to play with him. They caused more harm than good, as even the insane people stayed away from him. He hated how the techs tried to act like they cared. He was sure they didn't. All they did was increase his medicine and act like he was a fragile, little baby. They were all fakes, they thought he was annoying, and they laughed behind his back, he thought.
Norman had both fire and ice in his heart. One minute he would feel uncontrollable anger, the next a horrible wave of depression would wash over him.
The ice was slowly freezing his heart over; Norman was beginning to believe that he was truly crazy. No one else saw dead people. He remembered how they executed young Aggie. The rope, the snap. . . .
Norman was starting to get worse nightmares than before. He dreamed of himself, clearly insane, muttering to himself. He was being led up to the noose with jeering faces surrounding him. Norman felt the rope tighten around his neck. Then, the chair was pulled away, and snap.
Sometimes, Norman wished he would die.
Sometimes, Norman wanted to murder everybody.
"I can help you," the ghost offered.
This ghost was different. He had a red mist surrounding him, so thick that Norman couldn't see any of his features.
Norman recalled the laughter, the horrid laughter, the laughter that haunted his nightmares.
He narrowed his eyes, and nodded.
The fire and ice had stopped fighting. The ice froze over his heart, so he would not and could not love again. The fire boiled and broiled inside him, filling him with anger.
His powers had increased to such an extreme. Norman could become invisible to the regular human eye, excluding all who had the power of seeing the dead . . . if there were anyone. . . . He'd become how he felt.
He could get revenge on all those people now. The ones that hushed when he was around, hurt him, kicked him when he was down. He could. He wanted to. He did.
Note: By "techs", I meant the psychiatric technicians. They're mental heath employees, basically. I'm sure they care greatly about their patients and their well-being, but Norman just thinks they don't care.
Geez, Norman's school is full of jerks. I wrote this a long time ago; no idea why I never published it. Also, the custom and really cool cover I created for this story in After Effects just won't upload. Maybe it's too big? It's not even one MB, though.