A/N: The day just keeps getting weirder for our boy Norman.
The walk to school was taking longer than usual.
Greeting every ghost he saw on his way had the effect of slowing his progress considerably, but he couldn't bear not to do it. He understood the ghosts. He'd always understood them. Most of them just wanted to be acknowledged. They just wanted someone to see them and accept them as they were.
Kind of like him, actually.
His natural empathy would not allow him to ignore them. To do so would be to be self-centered and just.. wrong. He couldn't deny them some basic human interaction. Not when they looked at him with those eyes; those startled, hopeful "Oh my gosh, you can see me!" eyes.
Today, however, the ghosts seemed agitated. A few, he noted, seemed to be missing altogether.
The typical greet and gone approach didn't seem to be working, and he found himself pausing at nearly every specter he encountered, trying to make sense of the sudden sweeping dread that seemed to have them unsettled. The machine gun-toting mobster in his cement-filled washtub was still there, watching the sky with narrow eyes as his frightened fishy companions skulked close to the ground below him.
Harriet, the former heiress-turned-daredevil-turned-ghost was also in her customary spot, but didn't return the greeting that the boy shouted at her. Instead, it was the old hippie who meditated below Harriet's tree greeted the boy with tired eyes.
"Harsh vibes comin' in, man." The old hippie greeted Norman with a thoughtful frown. "You feel it? Lotta folks just lit on out this mornin'. It's like, bad news. An' it's comin' on real fast-like. Mebbe it's already here, an' we're jus' now feelin' things get un-groovy, y'know?"
Norman shrugged cautiously. The hippie was prone to fits of pseudo-deep babbling, but there was no denying the unease that hung thick in the air.
"Yeah," he finally agreed. "It's almost like something is.. watching us."
The ghosts still milling about in the streets all stopped their nervous watching of the skies. The figure of a cranky old man muttered "So it's real" so softly that Norman almost missed it due to the mobster beside him panicking. "I'm getting outta here, capiche?" the mobster dude began bouncing down the street, washtub and all. It would have been hilarious if several other ghosts didn't also take flight, apparently spooked into motion by Norman's observation. Soon he was alone with Harriet and the Hippie.
"Well that's new," he sighed. "Now I scare DEAD people."
"Be careful, kid," Harriet suddenly called down to him. "I can't say what this feels like, but it sure don't feel good."
"I will," he replied, breaking into a jog as the alarm on his phone began to tweet insistently with questioning text messages from his friend Neil. His absense would soon be noted in an official manner, it seemed.
He'd made no progress figuring out what was wrong with everyone, and now he was really and truly late. He pushed himself into a sprint as the school building loomed into his sight, hopeful that he'd beat Mr. Davison to locking the exterior door. Luck seemed to be with him as he trotted through the abandoned school courtyard and cautiously darted inside the building. He silently sent his thanks to whatever had kept the man from sealing the entrance.
Norman now moved just barely as fast as he dared, trading some speed for stealth as he scurried for home room. The empty halls testified that class had already begun, and the memory of the last time the Assistant Principal had caught him attempting to sneak into class made his left eye start to twitch.
As he gently eased open his classroom door, he noted the teacher, one Mrs. Parks by name, attempting to interrupt the student's chatter with a small amount of gentle dignity. His sister had suffered through the cantankerous old harpie's class when she was his age, during which time she'd bestowed the nickname "Dammit Janet" on the teacher for reasons he could only guess at. The notion that the woman had been around so long and still looked the same made Norman suspect that Mrs. Parks was either a ghoul or perhaps a vampire who'd developed a middling tolerance for sunlight.
For the moment, Mrs. Parks seemed to be paying him no mind. Thankful for the distraction, Norman slid into the room and ducked his head a bit as he sidestepped around the frustrated teacher and headed for his desk. As he sat down, he noted an unfamiliar face. A girl his age with cinnamon-hued straight hair in thick braids and large dark green eyes was standing next to the teacher's desk as though waiting to be introduced by the irritable instructor.
She was obviously new, taking in both the students and the teacher with little short of open horror. She fiddled with her blouse cuffs, nervously hoping to be shown her seat. Her gaze caught his eye and she blinked in surprise at his scrutiny, but then favored him with a soft giggle and a shy wave. Norman raised his own hand in greeting, wondering what the new girl must think of them all.
"Quiet!" Mrs. Parks bellowed, all pretense of quiet dignity gone with her patience. Janet Parks liked to pretend at being an august lady, but everyone who had ever had her class knew that a man-eating dragon lurked just below the surface. Norman had the misfortune of experiencing her as his home room teacher for three years. It was just one of those little non-joys of his life that made him certain that some higher being had it out for him.
"Nice of you to join us this morning, Mr. Babcock."
Oh yes, someone up there really didn't like him. He gave the perturbed instructor a sheepish smile. She favored him with a glare that brought to mind rancid milk before continuing the lecture on behavior that the class was paying little to no mind to. From the disinterested way she rushed through the material, Norman guessed that this was her third attempt at getting through the whole thing.
"As I was saying, you all know the policies on new students, so follow them. We have certain standards that we follow, and I expect you all to adhere to them!"
Norman fought the urge to roll his eyes. Where had these high standards been when someone filled his locker with cottage cheese, which someone had creatively labeled as "ghost diarrhea" last year?
The new girl sidestepped around Mrs. Parks, throwing Norman a parting smile as she headed for an empty seat across the room. He wasn't entirely sure why, but he blushed.
"Well, um... like I said, I'm Lucy. I-I look forward to meeting you all later," she announced hesitantly to the class. She picked absently at the brown plaid skirt she was wearing. "I hope we'll all be great friends!" The class ignored her in favor of watching their teacher stare them all down, grumbling about the years she had yet to serve before retirement. The girl made a last nervous grin at them all and slid down in her new desk.
Almost as soon as the red haired girl found her seat, the classroom door swung open again. A short, glowering figure stalked into the room beside the Assistant Principal, allowing the door to thump loudly into the wall as the startled Mr. Davison scrambled to catch it.
For the second time that morning, Norman found himself examining a new student. The newcomer had messy dark hair that partially hid the scowl on her face. Her clothes were ill-fitting and looked a little out of date. Dark brown eyes moved over the classroom as though searching for potential prey. They paused at the formerly cheerful Lucy before continuing their relentless scan. They stopped on the stunned Norman for a moment, then returned to Lucy. The bubbly girl stood and waved at the newcomer, giving her a broad grin like a toothpaste advertisement come to life.
"Hi! I'm Lucy! I'm new today too! Come sit by me, okay? We can be best newbie friends!" The dark haired girl's lip curled in a sneer of distaste.
"Transfer students this late in the year are always trouble," Mrs. Parks growled, striding over to the door and flinging it shut almost on top of the retreating form of Mr. Davison. "You can all engage in your mindless chatter at recess! Seats! NOW!"
Unlike the rest of the class, the new girl didn't jump at the dragon-lady's roar. She stood there in her shapeless clothing, silhouetted against the marker board that dominated the wall behind her, giving every impression that she'd move when she was darn well good and ready, and no force on Earth would move her until then. Norman squinted slightly at the girl. Was it his imagination? No, something was there, just over her left shoulder. A soft, foggy, shimmering distortion that could have been a trick of the flickering fluorescent light that she stood under.
The fog shifted a little, and Norman discovered that the somber girl was staring straight at him once more, meeting his startled gaze with one like ice. She moved forward, and Norman gave a slight jump of surprise. As she headed for a vacant seat in the back of his row, she paused beside him. Out of reflex or out of subconscious recognition of her body language, he did not turn his head to look up at her.
"There are none so blind as those who can see," she hissed softly, emphasizing the final word so that it might as well have been formed out of three story tall letters right there in front of him.
A/N: Yeah, this isn't going to be typical. Promise.
