Untitled (sorry just starting!)

Wyatt had a secret.

Not just any ordinary old secret. It wasn't the kind of secret like a secret crush, or a fact somebody wasn't supposed to know, or a surprise birthday party--nothing like that. Hers was a dark, mysterious, somewhat frightening secret--the kind you lock up in the very furthest corners of your mind so no one can get at it, and it becomes cobwebbed and dusty, and almost forgotten. Almost. You can't kill a thought, though, not once it's made a home up there in the attic of your brain and curled itself up like a cat expecting fish and cream. So almost, but not quite, forgotten. Wyatt, at seventeen, was a practical girl who hid her sadnesses and covered her dispairs, and so she knew exactly how to handle this out-of-the-ordinary secret. She brought out her chest and locked it away in the recesses of her heart and head. With chains.

And what was this dark, mysterious, out-of-the-ordinary, and much-wanted-to-be-seen-and-known secret?

Wyatt Amelia Lucie Short was a ghost.

Not just any ordinary old ghost. If she was to be a ghost, she was to be an inordinary sort. Normal is boring, she asserted. She wasn't the normal sort of ghost that everyone pictures: A white figure floating around the house at the witching hour, making eerie sounds and saying BOO! upon meeting a mortal--no, Wyatt was different. With pale skin and dark shadows under her strange violet-colored eyes, always wearing black with her shaggy brown hair in her face, most just assumed she was a Goth. She was quite morbid, but of course, as you've realized by now, being a Goth wasn't the correct assumption. Even her parents had no clue; they just expected that their daughter was going through a phase, and however odd that phase might be, the Wyatt they knew was still seemingly normal. Her friends had the same thought.

They had no idea how wrong they were.

Wyatt went to meetings every new moon for the Council of Supernaturalists. She also went to night school in the clouds, where she had friends who understood her. Her best friend was, coincidentally, a werecat named Jack. I say coincidentally because normally, ghosts do not get along very well with any shape-changers, but Wyatt and Jack had been fast friends since they were small--like, toddler small. On weekends she had off of school, so she could sleep all day and haunt all night. She had a part-time shadowing job three days a week--technically, she became a shadow and floated around behind someone from three in the morning till four in the afternoon, when another ghost took over. Sometimes being a shadow was boring. Sometimes it was okay. And sometimes it was just plain wrong and disgusting, especially when she started at 3am. But she didn't have work or school on weekends, so basically her agenda was: Saturday--day: Sleep, night: Haunt; Sunday--day: Sleep, night: Haunt!!!! Haunts were the best part of any teenage Supernaturalist's life. They were parties at mortal places where mortals and Supernaturalists intermingled without the mortals knowing, just party and dance till dawn, and possibly find yourself going blood-crazy in the process.

So that was part of her secret. I told you, she, being a practical girl, had chains put on that chest, and only the smallest mouse cracks let anything slip. The chest was lined with satin. Memories and secrets can't stand cloth, especially smooth cloth. It goes totally against their nature. So they avoid touching it whenever possible. It gives them a sensation such as you or I have when we hear nails down a blackboard, or a knife scraping against a glass bottle. She had the chest lined with satin so nothing could get out, and only the bravest scraps and shreds came creeping through the gaps like Gavroche under carriage wheels. So there was only some that escaped. I, being clever, have enticed more, but that's the rest of the story. Be patient; that's the only way you'll hear it later.

wyatt pov

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I yawn, stretching my whole body out and feeling the muscles in my long legs reach out beyond their comfort zone, my feet feel cold as they move to a new spot that hasn't been warmed by me. I glance out the window, and am not surprised to find that it is almost dark. My internal clock teels me it's 6:30pm. Just enough time for me to shower, get dressed, and head off to a Haunt. It's Saturday night! Hell, I'm not staying in! I wouldn't if you paid me a million bucks! I pick up my iPod off the bedside table, slide it to unlock, and text my friends Jack and Marika. Jack's a werecat, and Miki's his twin sister. "hei guyz, Haunt 2nite @ Moonlite lounge, u up? Evaporating love from a broken <3, ~~PetrichorWyatt" a reply comes in under 30 seconds with a vworp vworp sound. It's from Miki, and there's a symbol of a grinning cat on the screen before the message shows. "ya sure lemme ask jacko" I grin and jump off of the bed, which is seven feet off the ground, so it's quite a jump for a mortal, but I just float down. I like to have a bit of fun every once in a while. Before I can touch the ground though, I hear the ringtone from my iPod and sigh. Oh, me. I've forgotten it on the bed. I accelerate upwards, zooming up and grab the iPod, then sit still in the air for a moment as my auburn hair floats around my head like there's an anti-gravity bubble around me. I slide the screen with my thumb to see a message from Jack: "sure c u there @7?" i grin, then send a group message to the brother-sister pair: "c u then! Miao!" Running lightfooted towards my closet (I have a HUGE room) I fling open the doors and unexpectedly laugh, startling myself. I haven't been to a Haunt in AGES! I'm so excited! But... as I stare around my gigantor walk-in closet, I face a difficult situation: What to wear? I float up past the rows and racks of clothes, past suits and dresses and shoes and garments that even I don't remember what I wore to. Finally, I arrive at a rack that I could probably classify as my favorite. I finger the clothing, paging through like a dictionary that I can't seem to find the right word out of. Then I see it. A beautiful gray colour, this dress is like nothing else but a thundersnow cloud. I smile again, feeling like my werecat friends, and unhook it from the hanger. I lay it on my bed, then hurry into my adjoining bathroom to shower. I've a lot to get done before our rendezvous at 7.