A/N: A new chapter to get you through the Monday blues. I've loved reading everyone's reviews so far! Keep it up :)

6 A.O. (After Orihime)

Wednesday

4:15 p.m.

The concept of ghosts dates back thousands of years, each culture having its own particular views about the manifestation of these spirits. The Ancient Egyptians are one of the oldest cultures with written record of their beliefs in the form of hieroglyphs (see glossary: pg. 37) in which the soul of a deceased person would travel to the netherworld and continue a way of life similar to that of the living. Relatives made offerings to these spirits to provide comfort and prevent incurring the wrath of the recently deceased.

Orihime looked on the opposite page, briefly examining the simple illustration that depicted the outline of a bird. She thumbed forward a few pages and began to read the text under the heading What is a Ghost?

Many believe that a ghost is the soul or spirit of a deceased human or animal that rejects or is unable to accept death, and lingers behind in the physical world, sometimes appearing to living humans. It is a common belief that ghosts are tied to the earth because they suffered a violent or tragic event, harbor regret or resentment, or have business they were unable to complete during life.

The opposite picture featured a creepy depiction of what Orihime assumed was supposed to be a ghost. She covered that page with another book so she wouldn't have to look at it, then picked up her pencil and rested the eraser on her cheek as she thought.

"Still working on your research project, Orihime?" Love asked, appearing suddenly over her shoulder.

"Yep," Orihime replied, beginning to write. Her pencil made a squeaking noise as she moved it deliberately and carefully across the page.

Orihime's teacher's announcement that she would be assigning research projects was met with a collective groan from the class. She saw Tatsuki slump in her seat in disappointment in front of her, but Orihime stayed sitting up straight in her chair. She loved writing, especially if she got to choose what it was about.

She did. Orihime had drawn the straw for number three, and was therefore the third person to sign up for a topic. She carefully wrote down "ghosts" in the slot next to her name. She was not surprised to see "ninjas" as the first pick and "samurais" as a close second. She happily dragged Kensei to the public library to check out several books on ghosts and begin her research.

In truth, Orihime's obsession with the supernatural had begun long before Taro had told her, Tatsuki, and Michiro the infamous story that one afternoon during lunch. It was the only thing she wanted to read about, and frequently borrowed (without permission) Love's Shonen Jump to read a popular manga about a boy who could see ghosts. She was becoming a faster reader, and most times she could borrow the thick magazine and put it back before Love was even aware that it was gone.

Kensei wasn't sure whether or not to be concerned with the sudden intensity of her interest, but didn't forbid her from reading about it. He did forbid horror movies though, to Orihime's disappointment, and she was caught and forcibly taken back to her room after sneaking out to peek at the scary movie Love and Shinji were watching one night after her bedtime.

But Orihime did not scare easy, a fact that she prided herself on.

At least, that's what she told herself as she jumped six feet in the air and screamed at the top of her lungs as Shinji jumped out at her from behind a corner, making her spill her tea all over his shirt.

Friday

8:37 p.m.

"And they say that one day, the angry robot ghost will return to earth and destroy the world with his laser eyes. The end."

Shinji finished his story dramatically from where he was crouched underneath a blanket, flashlight held beaming under his chin to cast severe shadows across his angular face.

It was a rainy night, and Orihime had begged her family to let her stay up late and tell ghost stories. She had even gotten Kensei to join the circle, though he looked unhappy about it. Then again, Orihime mused, that was his normal face.

"Here, I've got one," Lisa announced. "Pass me the flashlight."

He did, and she held it up so that the light cast deep shadows on her face just as it had on Shinji's.

"This is a true story," Lisa began in a voice so low that they had to lean in to hear. "I know it is, because it happened to me."

"It was a dark and rainy night, just like this one," she began. "I had just finished doing some exercises in my room and grabbed some clothes to take with me to the shower. It was late, and I didn't want to wake anyone, so I kept the lights off and tried my best to manage my way through the pitch black hallway."

She paused and adjusted the flashlight.

"When I got outside the bathroom, I heard a strange noise, so I cracked open the door and peered in. I couldn't see anything in the darkness, so I flicked on the lights and what I saw will haunt me in my nightmares until the end of time. It was Shinji naked, coming out of the shower!"

She shone the light in Shinji's face as she dramatically announced her last sentence.

"That was you?!" he exclaimed, squinting at the sudden blinding light.

"I ran back to my room and decided a bath could wait until morning." Lisa ended her story.

"Geez, Lisa, I know the girl wanted to hear scary stories, but don't you think that was a little too frightening?" Hiyori asked from where she was reclined just outside the circle. Orihime could hear the smirk in her voice.

"You're right, Hiyori. Sorry, Orihime, I hope you don't have nightmares tonight."

"Seriously…" Shinji muttered, rolling his eyes.

"It's what you get for taking a shower in the dark and scaring a girl half to death," Lisa sniffed. "Who's next?"

"My turn now!" Orhime answered, reaching for the flashlight. Lisa rolled it to her and she grabbed it.

"Alright," she began. "I heard this story from a friend of a friend, so that means it's true."

She flicked on the flashlight and appraised her family, making sure they were paying attention. Hachi, who easily took up a fourth of the circle himself, looked curious. Hiyori looked bored.

"One time, five years ago in a neighborhood not far from here…"

The vizard listened to Orihime's tale in growing alarm, exchanging troubled glances that their young ward didn't notice. After Orihime had finished, Kensei announced that scary story time was over and it was time for bed. He took the child to her room despite her protests, bidding her a stern goodnight as he flicked off the lights and shut the door.

Orihime cocooned herself in her blankets, and drifted off contentedly to sleep, unaware that she had just finished telling her own story.

2:05 a.m.

Perhaps, Orihime thought, she shouldn't have insisted that everyone tell scary stories right before bed.

She dreamed that she was walking down a long, narrow corridor, the darkness so thick that she had to keep a hand on the wall to help guide her way. The more she walked, the narrower the hallway became, to the point that she had to crawl to keep her head from scraping the low ceiling.

After a few minutes of crawling, she bumped into the end of the tunnel. She felt with her hands the wall that she had just run into and her fingers found a slender doorknob, the metal cold to touch. She turned it, pushing the door open and creeping forward.

After she had crawled through, she stood up and looked around. The room was dim, but the weak lights seemed bright compared to the ink black tunnel she had just emerged from. Orihime went to sit on the little bed in the corner, knowing what to expect. This was the place where all of her dreams ended.

Sure enough, the familiar commotion began to swell in the next room, barely muted by the paper-thin walls. But this time Orihime was not alarmed. She looked to her right and sure enough, the familiar man was there, ready with his comforting lullaby. Orihime relaxed into it.

The song was barely loud enough to mask the sound of distant arguing, which was getting steadily louder and closer. The man's humming became louder, too, to match the voices. But there was a desperate tone in his song that frightened Orihime more than it comforted her. She could feel a terrible sense of foreboding and wanted nothing more than to leave.

Then, without warning, Orihime's dream twisted into a nightmare.

The man's once gentle song, becoming steadily more anxious and unsettling, suddenly erupted into horrific screeching. Orihime wanted to scream too, as well as cry, but could neither move nor make a sound. The man writhed in agony as a milky white substance burst forth from his eyes and mouth, congealing onto his skin in a bleach colored mask. The arguing that had been in the background had turned into shrieking, and Orihime knew she was not the only one affected by this new terror.

The monster looked at her through crimson pupils ablaze with a voracious hunger that threatened to consume her. The anguish and horror that Orihime felt at this sudden turn of events threatened to shatter her tiny eight-year-old body into pieces.

The last thing she observed before the creature lunged at her were those eyes, sallow and sunken in its skull, the intensity of its hunger matched by an aching sadness that begged for release. Orihime wished she could give it to him.

2:27 a.m.

Orihime awakened to a pounding heart and sheen of sweat that covered her tiny frame. She could hear Mashiro's muffled snores through the wall and Orihime half expected the violent drumming of her heart to wake up her easily excitable family member. It did not.

She could not avoid thinking about her dream. While she did not remember every minute detail, the emotions were still fresh and raw and powerful, and their intensity frightened her. Orihime was still cowering at what she had experienced.

Her heart slowed as she remembered the sadness and desperation of the man who had tried to comfort her, a kind of grief she had seen mirrored once before in the eyes of an orange-haired boy. She wondered if he had known that beast had been inside of him before it tore its way to the surface. While his appearance had terrified her, she knew that the man was buried somewhere deep inside and needed to be saved.

And Orihime intended to save him.

She slipped out of bed, the rain beating down on the roof reminding her to put on her yellow rubber boots. She remembered the days where she would have donned her Anpanman cloak, but she grabbed her rain jacket instead. Even if she had not been too old, she realized that this was a mission she would complete as Orihime, and not as her imaginary superhero.

She crept down the hall as quickly and quietly as she could manage. When she came to the front door, she opened it a crack and slipped under it.

When she emerged on the other side and righted herself, she stopped in her tracks. Before her was not the empty street and rundown buildings she could see when she peeked through the shattered windows of the warehouse. In front of her was a wall of light—a soft, creamy yellowish orange that reminded her of melted butter on pancakes that Love placed in front of her for breakfast on special mornings. It was lovely and it was strange, but also familiar at the same time. She reached out a diminutive hand and lightly brushed the glowing barrier with her fingers.

When her fingers did not meet resistance, she pushed them further still, through the glow. Soon her hand was on the other side of the wall, and she was admiring the golden hue the extremity took through the filter of the pale light. The rest of her body followed, her barrettes shimmering and reflecting the soft glow as it passed through. When she was completely through the barrier, she turned back. The wall of light was gone from view, along with the warehouse she lived in. Even so, she could somehow sense that it was there, and she trusted herself to find it again when she returned.

She turned back around, pulling on her hood as she did so, and slipped out into the night.