NECROMANTIC

three.

Maemi found me, at the end of first period, when we both had study hall anyway, so who cared, still in the bathroom, sitting on the ground, leaning my head back against the cold surface of the stall door, my eyes closed.

"Sarah...?" she said softly, and I felt her presence stand beside me, felt her drop to her knees. "I got your bag."

I liked that she didn't ask if I was okay. Because I clearly wasn't. I was probably pasty white and looked like hell.

"That was weird, in there." She said, musingly. "But Schultz says it was probably a mistake. That the frog was stunned, and in some sort of coma, not dead."

Yeah, right. Did frogs even go into comas? Not that that question mattered. Because that frog had been clearly dead. It was dead. And it somehow came back to life after I put my hand over it. I mean, I wasn't stupid. I could try and say it wasn't me who did it, but the fact that I could see the dead, well ... it seemed too much like a coincidence for it to not have been me.

But that had never happened before. In all my life, all my seventeen years, I'd seen plenty ghosts, I was used to that ... but nothing beyond that. I'd never resurrected something.

"Anya stopped screaming after about five minutes. She looked pretty shaken, but seemed to calm down when Schultz explained. Refused to go to the nurse, too, because she didn't want to trouble her. I swear, that girl is too nice for her own good."

There was quiet between us for a minute or so, before I cleared my throat, groggily and asked, in a whisper "What about the frog?"

"The frog? Oh ... it's dead. I mean, properly dead this time. Jason Fletcher kicked it when it hopped off the desk. Poor thing splatted against the wall." Maemi said softly, and even though I didn't look up at her face, I could hear the frown. "But forget the frog ... you ok to ... y'know, move... from what I am sure is probably very comfortable spot on the bathroom floor there?"

I sighed, closing my eyes, and pinching the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. The frog is dead. Again. Despite the horror of seeing it ... come back ... I couldn't help but feel the horrible sensation of disappointment at hearing that it had died. It seemed cruel – nothing should ever have to die more than once.

"I guess I probably should." I said, after a moment. "But ... I don't know, Mae, I don't wanna face people."

"So we skip," she replied, brightly. "I've got a real hankering for a McDonald's apple pie at the moment, anyway."

I wanted to say yes. I did. I needed to feel normal, but ... But when I said that I didn't want to face people, I had meant it. I wanted to be alone, to try and figure out what the fuck I had done.

So I shook my head. "Not today, Mae. I'm sorry. I just need to be ... I don't feel well. Sick, I feel sick. So I was thinking I'd just ... head home, and lie down, see if I can sleep or sweat it out, or something." And because my best friend's face fell – Mae was very good at the puppy dog eyes and the childlike pout – and any other time, I probably would have caved and just gone with her. But when I didn't, after a minute or so, Mae accepted that the poor me look wasn't working for her today, and nodded, pushing herself up, and holding a hand out to me.

I put my hand in hers, and she hauled me to my feet, giving me an awkward pat on my back when we were both stood. Even though she craved affection, she wasn't very good at giving it, which was another reason we were friends – I was the exact same. "Want me to tell Rob?"

"I'll text him." I said, giving a weak shrug, and an equally pathetic smile. "But thanks. And we can maybe do the McDonalds thing tomorrow, if I feel better?"

"Sure." Mae gave me a suitably less bright – but still genuine – smile.

We exited the bathroom together, trading goodbyes when we split off – Mae for study hall, and me to the reception to make up some bullshit to get them to sign me out of school for the rest of the day. I must've looked as bad as I felt, because I only mumbled out my excuse once, and Miss Guildersome clucked sympathetically, scribbled my name, and waved me out with a 'Get some rest, dear, and feel better soon!'

I was about half way home when I got a text from Rob, saying Mae told me about what happened in class, and that you're ill? You ok, babe? :( x

Despite myself, I smiled. I knew Mae would tell him anyway – she had this thing called can'tkeepmymouthshutitis – and his concern did make me feel a little less shitty. Rob, in general, though, made me feel that way – he was such a nice, good (and very pretty, I might smugly add) person, which constantly made me question why he was with someone as cynical, sarcastic and arrogant as myself. He made me feel like an all-around better person, which was one of the many reasons I was in love with him (which I was perfectly ok with saying – the 'L' bomb had first been dropped about three months back ((by Rob first, of course)) and we now said it to one another regularly).

I tapped back a reply – It sucked ;_; but yeah, I just felt a bit faint and bleh after it, and thought I'd nap or something to see if it'd help. Love you xx – followed almost immediately by a text back from him simply saying Love you, and I grinned, heart lifting as I pocketed my phone, now coming along to where my house was, across the road, and past a thicket of trees making a mini forest, and went to cross the road –

The dead bird – a crow, is what it looked like – was next to the kerb, on its back, black eyes open and glassy, one wing bent at an odd angle. Probably hit by a car, bounced off the windshield and lay here. It hadn't been dead that long – it didn't smell, and it hadn't been scavenged yet, and aside from its obvious lack of movement and the wing, it didn't look that bad. Internal injuries were probably what ended the poor things life.

And as I stared at it, a lump rose in my throat, and my hands started to itch, that odd, burning sensation that made me curl my fingers into my palms until my nails dug in, hard. I was just glad that no one was around, to stare at me with worry, just as I looked at the bird.

"I can't raise the dead." I whispered to myself. "That's ridiculous."

No more than you seeing ghosts a voice in my head replied.

"No. I can't. And I'll prove it. That it was in a coma, like Schultz said, that, for once," I couldn't help but add that in "She was right."

And so I dropped to my haunches, setting my bag beside me. And I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the all too fast beat of my heart as I uncurled one hand, and held it out, over the bird.

I felt that weird thrum in my hand again, and there was that shift that almost made me want to retch.

I waited. After a minute passed, and nothing happened, I pulled my hand away, relief coursing through me as I stood, grabbing my bag. I waited a moment more, staring at it intently, before beginning to turn and walk away –

I'd only taken one step before there was a croaky squawk. I didn't even bother to turn, until I heard the flap of wings – at first tentative, and then stronger. And then I did, and the bird was gone. No, not gone – it swooped over my head, landing on the bus stop sign a few feet from me. It cocked its head to the side, regarding me, and squawked once more, before stretching its now completely fine wings, and flying away.