A.N.: So here it is another chapter already. Thank you for you kind reviews. I'm going to refrain from answering questions, as they will be answered eventually, and I don't want to give too much away in author's notes.

I need to seriously consider getting a beta reader…

So…please let me know what you think.

End Author's Note

"Nice of you to show up," Tucker hissed as I collapsed in a breathless heap in my chair next to him. He was wearing his trusty red beret as usual and had his PDA at the ready on his desk. "Where've you been, man? What happened to our 'master plan?'" Well, that was one way to greet a friend in the morning, he hadn't even said so much as 'hello.' Mr. Latchet's morning speech must've been particularly grueling this time around. I settled into my seat and fished out a notebook and pen from my backpack.

First period with Mr. Latchet.

Now, if there was one silver lining to this morning, it was missing that guy's morning rant. He seemed to think he owed it to the world to educate and enlighten his homeroom class in all matters not pertaining to his subject. Last week it had been 'matters of the heart.' Trust me; you don't really want to know the details.

Too bad I didn't miss his whole class. I mused ruefully.

Finally, I turned to Tucker. "I was at home," I told him. And what plan was he talking about?

"Home?" Tucker half-whispered, half-shouted incredulously. "Dude, we were going to get that free breakfast at Nasty Burger before class today! Did you forget or something?"

Oh. That plan.I shifted guiltily, "It…must've slipped my mind after..."

But he wasn't buying it. "Um, maybe you didn't hear me right, Danny. I said 'free food' at 'Nasty Burger,'" at this he mimed quotes with his first two fingers for emphasis, "How could you forget that?"

He was right. Don't let the name fool you, Nasty Burger was a perfect restaurant where every teen could feed their inner greasy-food needs. They had the best breakfast combo in town and they had a special once-a-year event going on now. Tuck's favorite three meat breakfast combo was free until noon. Tuck and I hadn't missed a year for the past three years. Until now.

Some friend I was. I hadn't even thought about it this morning. "I'm sorry, Tuck. It's a long story, I'll explain more la…ter…" I stopped short when I finally became aware of a presence hovering behind Tucker and me. I was pretty sure I knew exactly who it was, too. I swallowed nervously as a feeling of deep dread gripped me. I didn't want to look, but I couldn't not look. Woodenly, I turned around.

It was Mr. Latchet, just standing there, glowering at the two of us with a pretty unhappy look on his face. He was probably one of the tallest teachers I'd ever seen. And he was big, too. Not big like Mr. Lancer, who had a pot-belly grown from middle age, but big in a Schwarzenegger body-builder kind of way. He shaved his head bald too, and right now I could see a muscle twitching at his temple. I swear this guy had to have been some pro-wrestler or biker gang member before he ever became a teacher. He had this anger he seemed barely capable of keeping in check. He didn't talk like one, though. His voice was about ten octaves lower than a normal human's, and it dripped with malice as he finally spoke. "Ah, Fenton, so nice of you to join us today. Please, I see that Foley and yourself need to finish your lovers' spat," I heard several appreciative snickers at this, "And you can do it in detention today after school."

"Hah hah! Yeah, Fenton," my favorite person in the world, Dash Baxter, chimed in, "I always knew you and Foley were close. I just never realized howclose until now." The class seemed to think he was a real riot. You can see why he was my favorite.

I had always thought TV exaggerated jocks and their undesirable qualities until I met Dash. He was the school's blond-haired blue-eyed idol and star football player. Translate: untouchable. Last week, he and I had sort of gotten into a fight (that had been entirely hisfault), and he had gotten away with it with just a slap on the wrist. The only reason I hadn't gotten a call home and a week's detention was because my sister was the school's pet academic success and had managed to smooth things over with Mr. Lancer. A small part of me wanted to stand up right then and there and give him what he gave. But the smaller yet more vocal and logical side of me won out. I didn't need to get in to trouble again; Jazz was already intolerable as it was.

Instead, to my surprise, Mr. Latchet turned to Dash, "And while I appreciate class participation, I don't need your commentary, Baxter."

I couldn't resist a satisfied smirk in Dash's direction before Mr. Latchet turned his attention back to Tucker and me. I plastered on what I hoped was a placating smile. I was just about to speak up when I felt my foot go intangible. I knew that's what it was because it felt just like my hand had when it had passed through the pillow earlier that morning. It felt like it had been numbed, but it also suddenly felt very cold. I blanched. I suddenly had no idea what I had been about to do or say. I just knew that I hoped everyone's attention was so focused on the me above my desk that they didn't notice anything weird going on with my foot. Tucker, seeing my apparent stage-fright, opened his mouth to cover for me.

Before he could even speak, though, the classroom door flew open and in burst Sam Manson, our resident goth and supporter of all causes lost. She was dressed in her usual uniform of doom. Today it was a green and black plaid miniskirt and a black tank top. The whole thing was made complete by her purple tight things (or 'leggings' as my sister would knowingly correct) and boots she wore. Her backpack was slung carelessly over one shoulder, and in her other hand she carried a picket sign that read 'Stop the Cruelty!'

Mr. Latchet was now directing his wrathful gaze in her direction, Tucker and I completely forgotten. Saved by the goth. I sighed inwardly. Mr. Latchet's voice was getting dangerously quiet when he asked, "Miss Manson. Can I ask you why you are, yet again," the muscle spasm in his temple gave a particularly violent lurch, "Coming into my classroom late and disrupting all the students?"

Sam was either unaware of Latchet's barely-contained anger, or was just plain unrepentant. From what I'd seen of her, I was guessing the latter was true. "Somebody had to give a voice to those poorly-treated animals Nasty Burger was giving away as food this morning," she proclaimed passionately, "They don't have a voice of their own."

Mr. Latchet took a deep breath and closed his eyes, as if to calm himself. "While I'm glad to see a student so civically engaged, Miss Manson, I don't appreciate it on mytime. That's why I think it'll do you some good to give back some of your time in detention. I'll see you after school. Now," Mr. Latchet stepped out from behind Tucker and myself and went back to the front of the room, effectively cutting off any response from Sam, "Maybe we can do some actual learning today."

Sam fumed but sat down without a word in the only empty seat left; the one behind me. Great. The first and last time I'd talked to her, we hadn't exactly hit it off. Still, she had saved us from a long-winded lecture from Mr. Latchet, even if she didn't know it, and I felt like she deserved some sympathy. I turned around about to try and do just that. Instead, I saw her eyes widen and then narrow when she noticed Tucker sitting next to me.

"You." She had managed to fill that one word with enough loathing and scorn to send a small shiver down my spine. I was glad I wasn't the object of her attention at the moment. Had I missed more than free food this morning?

Tucker didn't look overly concerned as I was, instead he looked just as happy to see Sam as she did to see him. "Oh hi, Miss-"

"Can this wait?" I asked before things could go any further, "I think we've all gotten in enough trouble for one class period." They both glowered at each other for a moment before finally relenting. Sam turned and stared resolutely forward, pretending to pay attention to Mr. Latchet. Tucker turned to me and rolled his eyes and pointed and Sam with one hand while swirling his other finger around his ear in the universal sign for 'crazy.'

I had been right. Today was turning out to be incredibly and mercilessly interesting.

Fortunately, neither Sam nor Tucker were in my following two classes before lunch, so things were relatively peaceful until then. Well, peaceful, unless you count multiple incidents where a limb or two of mine decided to go intangible. At one point, on the way up the stairs to third period, I felt both of my legs going intangible. To my absolute horror, I had started sinking towards the ground, and I had a horrible thought of myself sinking deep underground. In desperation, I latched on to the handrail and pulled myself up. Still panicked, I willed my legs to turn solid again and to my surprise, they did.

Okay,I thought, That's one good thing. It seemed like I actually had some sort of control over all this. I hadn't realized how scared I had been about how utterly out of my hands it all seemed until I felt a wave of relief with this new knowledge. Then another thought occurred to me. If I could will my legs to go tangible,was it possible to do it the other way around? I decided to experiment with that later, in a less public place.

Finally, after a riveting hour of Geometry, it was 11:40. Time for lunch.

Finally,I thought with a sigh of relief after third period, A chance to tell Tucker about these bizarre things that have been happening since last night.I decided I'd take the less-used hallway to lunch. It was a longer and more out-of-the-way rout, and it had kind of a bad reputation. None of the classrooms in the hall bad been used in years. Partly because less students went to Casper High than there used to be, but also partly because it was the oldest wing of the school. And when you combine an old building doing what old buildings do with a population of gossiping, irrational teenagers, you got a haunted hall. My parents had actually spent the night collecting data here once, but nothing had turned up. The rumors would mean more privacy just in case my body got any more ideas about going intangible though. I was trying to figure out where to start with Tucker about all the weirdness when something strange happened.

I was inexplicably struck with a fierce and pervasive chill and my body started shivering uncontrollably. I breathed out, my teeth chattering, and saw my breath mist in the air. Beneath it all was that feeling from back in the lab again. That feeling of wrongness. It was in that dream I'd had afterwards too, I realized as it came back to me in fits and starts. Disturbing images passed behind my eyes. Images of meat. All kinds of it lying around in various stages of preparation. Giant gutted pig carcasses hung off the ceiling on hooks. And there were the knives, old rusty things that had hung on the walls. And it was vague and distorted, but I swore I saw something that looked suspiciously like a…a body. I stopped and searched the hallway around me. It was deserted, and it immediately hit home how isolated and vulnerable I was. If I shout for help, will anyone hear me? I wondered. I continued to shiver, but I wasn't sure it all had to do with the cold anymore.

I started and whirled around at a noise coming from behind me. Sssssst, step. Sssssst, step. It went. It sounded like someone was dragging something across the hard tile floor. I peered, struggling to see down the hallway, but I didn't see anyone. After a moment of concentration, I realized it sounded like the sound was coming from down the stairway to my right. I peered down it, my heart racing, and my breath coming out short as I continued to shiver. I couldn't see past the last step, as it was obscured in darkness. Oh, no. I had seen enough teen slasher flicks to know better. I was notabout to go down and investigate some creepy noise coming from some creepy basement.

I was not.

And yet…

Something about this felt familiar. I can't really explain it. It was as if something primal and unchanged in me rememberedthis. You know that feeling of déjà vu you sometimes get, where you feel like you've done something before, but you know you haven't? Well, multiply that by about one hundred, and you have an idea of what I was feeling. I was standing there, contemplating whether or not I was about to do something really stupid, when I noticed I could make out a vague shape moving at the bottom of the steps. It was hobbling forward, as if it was laboring under a heavy weight. I couldn't tell what it was, but it looked like it was dragging some sort of sack behind it.

"Hello?" I asked, rather than said, uncertain of what else to do. The figure paused for a moment, and what I thought was its head looked up at me. Then it just started shuffling forward again, as if I hadn't said anything.

I tried a different tact, "I said 'hello.' Usually people respond when someone says hello. And honestly, you're kind of freaking me out down there." In a normal situation, this would be true. So maybe if I just played it off like that, things would be okay. Easier said than done when every cell in your body is telling you something about this was not right.

The figure stopped again when I said this. This time, it set down the sack and stood up straight. It happened so fast I didn't even see it coming. One second I was standing at the top of the stairs, alone. The next second the figure was rushing up the stairs so fast they were a blur. I jumped when the figure stopped on the step just in front of me, its face right in front of mine.

And what an ugly face it was, too. I'm not being mean. It just was. The figure was an old woman whose face was so gaunt and lined with age, it was barely recognizable as human. She had several cuts on her face that were still bleeding, too. I wasn't really willing to look closer, but I was pretty sure I saw puss seeping out of a few of them. The wisps of white hair that clung to her discolored skin in small patches around her skull were contained by a hairnet. A white apron clung loosely to her haggard frame, as though it had been tied when she had been larger, but she had since lost weight. Tied around it was a belt that held several sheathed knives. She looked emaciated, like some sort of starved prisoner of war.

I had to swallow the bile that rose in my mouth when I caught a whiff of her rank breath as she opened her mouth. Just the small glimpse I caught of the inside of it was plenty. There were several rotting teeth and I could see bits and pieces of food stuck between the sizeable gaps between them. It smelled worse than it looked.

And then she started to talk. "Where are my manners, dearie?" she asked sweetly in a voice that was anything but. It sounded like someone had taken an old woman's voice and sent it through a wood-chipper and tried to glue it back together again. It set my teeth on edge. I think she tried to smile sweetly too, but it just looked like a hungry grin when she did. "Are you hungry?"

If I had been before, I most definitely wasn't anymore. "Uh, no thanks," I stammered back, trying to create some distance between us. My body was screaming at me to get the hell out of there. Every synapse in my brain was firing danger signals. What was I waiting for? An invitation? When a creepy old lady with a belt full of knives smiled at you like that, it was time to get the hell out of dodge. Without a second thought, I made a break for it. Before I got two feet, however, a cold, bony hand clamped down around my wrist. I tried to yank free, but there was no budging. The old woman was stronger than she looked.

"Where are you going, dearie?" She sounded genuinely hurt, "I only asked if you were hungry." Then, with a malicious grin, she yanked my hand viciously and sent me tumbling downstairs. I tried to reach for something, anything to stop my fall, but my hands grasped at thin air. My body hit the first step. Hard. Then again, and again, as I tumbled head-over-heels until I finally landed face-first on the floor with a sickening thud. I lay there for a second, trying not to think too much about how much everything hurt. I also tried not to think about the weird angle my arm had been at when I landed on it. It was a wonder I hadn't cracked my skull open on the way down. I was definitely going to be sore in the morning.

If there ever is another morning. I corrected myself, because just as I was having these thoughts, the old crone glided down the stairway to land somewhere behind my feet. My stomach lurched when I heard the unmistakable scrape of a steel knife being pulled out of its sheath. Now would be a good time to move!I thought in a panic. As usual, this was easier said than done. I tried pushing myself up with my arms, but yelped in pain and fell back down the instant I put any weight on my right hand. Ow owow!

I know, pretty pathetic. But you try falling down a flight of stairs and then tell me how you feel about getting up afterwards.

"Oh, dear," the hag's voice rasped behind me, "It looks like I've already started to tenderize the flesh a bit! We need to free the blood before that!"

I wasn't exactly sure what she meant by that, but it most definitely didn't sound very pleasant. I desperately needed to run, and I was pretty sure I could once I got up, but that was the tricky part. I didn't have time anyway. My mind was going blank. I was out of options. I was going to die down there. For real. This crazy psycho lady out of some cheesy slasher flick was going to kill me and they were going to find my body cut to ribbons. I wondered how long it would be before anyone noticed I was missing. How long would it take them to find the body?

I shuddered. I could see her feet in front of my face now as she gingerly kneeled down. I tried pushing myself away from her with my legs, pulling myself with my good arm. She ruthlessly drove her knee down into my back, pinning me to the ground and send a spike of pain from my abused ribs. "So sorry you had to be here." She said apologetically, "I wasn't coming for you. Now, dearie, this might hurt a bit," she warned and grabbed my hair and yanked my head up to expose my neck. She brought a large rusty butcher knife out and I felt something cold and sharp prick the back of my neck. I had never been so painfully aware of the blood pumping through my veins, each heartbeat sounded loud in my ears. This was not happening. Not happening. She's going to bleed me dry! I thought in a frenzied panic.

I was momentarily confused when she brought her hand back until I realized she was pulling back to strike. This crazy psycho wasn't going to drain me, she was going to decapitate me first. Or at least try. It would take a long time to do that with the rusty-looking hunk of metal she was using. Right then, I desperately wished I could be anywhere else.

"Be free," she rasped with her reeking breath in my ear. Then her arm came swinging down.