The Ghost

It had started as a perfectly normal day for Kurt, well, almost anyway. He hadn't ended up in the dumpster, for once, but everything else remained the same, slushies were aimed in his direction at least twice - simultaneously. After changing his outfit, he took one last inspection upon his face; Looks fairly clean… needs moisturiser.

Now, Kurt wasn't one to switch between different brands of moisturiser too frequently, (not good for general skin health) but this new one, he had come across it at his favourite boutique in the mall while shopping one weekend. After just applying a dab to his finger to test it, he found that not only the test area on his hand was much more supple, but so was the tip of his finger from just touching it; without even rubbing it in! (Impressive, and it left his skin ten times softer then the cream he was already using.) After replacing the new product with the old one, he discovered that his skin was softer; FAR softer then usual, (almost eerily soft, like, the skin of a one year old couldn't compare to this: this was a new born's skin.) and this was after his full moisturising routine, which did say a lot; It told him that he might want to change his routine a little bit; if the new cream could do that all on it's own, then the rest was just redundant. (Unless you wanted to get into the Guinness World Book of Records for having the world's softest skin in your teens'.)

After rejuvenating the freshly clean canvas of his complexion, he emerged from the bathroom, with his head held high as he strutted towards his first class of the day.

Between classes, and breaks, everything else went nice and smoothly, he was happy to say. It wasn't until shortly after lunch that… it happened:

"Hey Lady!" was the second greeting he had received from Azimio that day, and his first real warning to run before it was too late.

"Oh, perfect." Kurt sighed. He decided that one harassment a day was his limit, so with out a response, he turned away from his locker and began to walk in opposite direction. He knew that if he faced them again he wasn't likely to leave with his sanity in tact. His flight or fight response was naturally to fly as far away from the crap-storm as possible. However, it was not going to be that easy, of course; Azimio was pretty much your typical dumb-ass.

"HEY! Don't walk away while I'm talkin' to you!" The bully pursued.

Kurt rolled his eyes, sighing quietly to himself, why didn't things ever go right when he needed to leave?

"Oh, I'm sorry… I didn't realise you owned me." Was Kurt's dry retort when he decided that enough was enough; he turned on his heels to face the bully.

"Well, with all due respect," replied Azimio's tweedle-dumb: a.k.a Karofsky, "We really couldn't afford you!"

Azimio's roaring laughter could be heard from corridor to corridor, and, knowing him, he'd be heard in Seattle and Montana too.

In retrospect, the boy really should have seen that coming; his own choice of words betrayed him in his "witty" response.

"What, you buy many man-whores lately? I never realised that was your preferred taste." He did realise this, of course. He just didn't feel it was his business "Outing" Karofsky (and he's not just saying that because his death threat scared him to pieces). Anyway, continuing:

Kurt realised his words may be betraying him more then he realised, as he, metaphorically, began to sign his own death warrant.

"Wot chu say, homo?" Barked Azimio.

"Oh, I'm not implying anything," he replied smoothly, lying completely by this point and, daringly, blanking Karofsky despite the glare and mouthed words 'Shut UP!'-

"I just find it peculiar how your friend seems to know how much I'm worth; which, in some respects, is more than you anyway!"

And that was game over.

Crap… Bad idea!

"Oh, that's it… YOU BETTA HAUL THAT SKINNY ASS OF YOURS!"

Kurt didn't need any more of a hint then that-

With a hard swallow, he turned and, without a second thought, ran like merry hell.

What felt like five minutes of running, was probably only a minute and a half. He sprinted down the halls, turning corner after corner, with the two oafish jocks following; surprisingly close. He knew that he had gone too far, the minute he had opened his mouth. He should have walked away like he intended to, they probably would have left him alone once they realised they weren't going to get a response out of him. Now, Kurt was praying wildly that someone, hell, even Coach Sylvester, would stop this madness, and soon. Otherwise, he was a dead man running right now...

Well, he supposes he should be grateful; if it wasn't for his newfound abilities, he probably would have been driven to the hospital in pieces, or worse, he'd be a pale smudge on a wall. He may not have known what caused his powers to come into existence, but he will never forget how and where they first came to him:

It was on the final turning he made-

He had managed to pick up his pace enough to get some space to think about his next move. Granted, his next move wasn't his greatest idea; but he decided to look back before he stopped, and when he turned back… a wall greeted him.

'NO. Not now!' he thought desperately. As he instinctively shut his eyes and put up his arms in defence, the actual impact came as quite a shock, but not for the reasons one would expect:

Before the hit of the wall, came the sensation of falling, and then… well, that's not right. With his eyes still shut, he felt as though he had fallen, and then hit the floor. But… wasn't he just inches away from the wall at the end of the hallway? What the… he wasn't in one of Finn's damn comic books, right? He was dead, surely… or… no. No, that wasn't real.

When he opened his eyes, his first realisation was that he had landed on the floor, but as he looked at his surroundings, which he observed had become darker and more closed in as opposed to the brightly lit and white tiled hallway, he found that… well, that was just it; he wasn't in the hallway anymore –

Judging by the contents of the room: boxes, film projectors, lighting equipment and cameras from hand-held-for-amateurs to professional, he made a educated guess that he was in the A.V club's supply closet. How was he here? WHY was he here, and worse, what the HELL was he going to do about the jokes when he left?

Groggily, he turned onto his back, following his natural curiosity to face the wall that should be behind him, or at least see where he had fallen from. It was… Oh… HELL! He was going insane!

There was the wall indeed, but… as logic would dictate, there should have been a hole where he fell through. Well, he was at least certain that he fell through the wall… but…

How he had managed to do it with the wall, and he, still in one piece was… Impossible. This just could not be real!

But there - in the wall, was his proof that… he was, or had become part of an unnatural phenomenon.

Well, he recognised this long after the event, but he does recall at the time, all he could think of was the fact that one of his favourite jackets was hanging from the wall; half in, half out. –

It had, somehow, gotten stuck in the wall, and… it looked as though it had morphed into said wall; becoming a part of it!

Though, it was hard for him to take it all in at the time. And, some where on an instinctive level – on both survival and fashion (survival to avoid going insane and fashion because… well, come on! Does that one really need explaining?) – All he could acknowledge, was the fact that he had now lost one of his favourite coats and there was no chance of getting it back, because he didn't know how it got stuck there in the first place!

All he could do, was mutter mournfully at the loss of his elegant white mini trench:

"This coat is Dior!"