The emo boy and the ghost

Chapter 1

I sit at the edge of my bed, contemplating. I stare down at the small pocket knife in my hands. It may be small but it does so much more.

"Do it!" A voice in my head says. "It'll be the last time; then I'll stop." I tell myself. But I say that every time. But it never changes.

"No! It's so bad! And I feel guilty after. It's not worth it. It's not worth another scar."

I glance at the clock next to my bed. It reads 23:38 (11:38 pm). Maybe I can just go to sleep... Just not do it. But...

But I need it.

Cutting is painful.

And I need it that pain.

This will be the last time.

But I know that's not true as I bring the blade to my left forearm. I set it against my warm flesh, the blade digging into my skin.

And I slice quickly. God, that felt nice.

I watch the blood fill into the cut I've created. I make another and watch as the it fills up again. And I make another.

And another.

And another.

And another.

And ano-

A loud sound like something falling comes from my bathroom and I drop the knife, fortunately not on my leg.

I sit there. No way in hell am I investigating; it could be a ghost! Or an intruder! Or a raccoon! It could be anything!

But... curiosity gets the best of me and I slowly get up.

I walk into the bathroom and nothing is there.

Fuck that! I think.

I run out of the bathroom and grab my pocket knife from my bed. It still has blood on it.

Another crash from the bathroom makes me turn. I slowly go back and open the door to the bathroom. A few cabinets are open and things are on the floor.

"U-um... hello?"

I don't get a response.

"Is someone there? Or something?" I mumble the last part.

When I take a step forward a wave of dizziness hits me and grab onto the bathroom counter to steady myself, dropping my knife in the process.

Fortunately the knife didn't land on my toes or feet. But it did land next to a pile of first-aid things arranged neatly on the floor. Things don't just fall out of cupboards and land all tidy like that. Someone would have to place it there; and I know for a fact that I didn't.

I hear a drip on the floor and look to see my left arm dripping lost of blood. Oh. that's why I felt dizzy.

I slid to the floor and reach out with my non-cut arm.

First I take the disinfectant wipes and clean the cuts; I don't want to have to explain that to my parents.

After I've cleaned them I take one mega sized bandaids and put it on my semi-bloody arm.

When I go to put the stuff away I see a boy. Sitting on my toilet.

I scream. Who wouldn't?

"W-who are you?" I ask. My eyes trail to my pocket knife on the ground. It's only a few inches away. If I'm quick maybe I can reach it-

"What time is it?" The strange boy on my toilet asks. He looks surprised. Or confused. Maybe both. I can't really tell.

"U-um," I check my watch. "Just past 12?" I say, confused as why that would be relevant to this conversation.

"Oh shit. That's why you can see me."

"What?" What does that mean?

"Perhaps I should explain..." the boy says.

"Yes, yes you should!" I exclaimed.

"Would you please keep your voice down? If your parents hear you they'll think you're insane."

"My parents aren't home."

"Oh," he says. "Then act as insane as you want."

"Who are you?" I ask again.

"Oh, I didn't introduce myself?" He stands up. "My apologies, I'm a William Grayfield."