Sixteen-year-old Max’s ability to see the dead puts a real damper on his social life. His BFF’s a possessed cat and he’s grappling with unrequited feelings for the quarterback. When a bus carrying the football team vanishes, Max must embrace his abilities and find the players before it’s too late.
There’s a dead boy in the corner of my room.
Every night he crops up through the door of my closet and stands in the darkness, watching me with his black button eye. Only one. The other is just a dark abyss where an eye should be. His eyelid sags, its flesh split in two like someone wedged a crowbar into the socket and popped it straight out of his skull.
He couldn’t have been older than ten when he died. His face is small and pudgy, a layer of crusted blood on his sallow skin. He gapes with an unhinged jaw, slouching slightly to the right on his mangled leg; the crushed bones jutting out against the fabric of his pants at all the wrong angles.
Harrowing as he looks, the spirit never utters a word. The only time he’s ever made a sound was when I asked his name. He opened his mouth wide like he wanted to scream, but out came a bleary groan.
Ever since then, I’ve called him Marvin.
I try every night to push Marvin out of mind, but being around him is like a falling dream I can’t wake up from. For the past two weeks, Marvin’s scared me absolutely shitless.
I remove my glasses and the bloody dead boy becomes a blob of porcelain skin. It almost makes him more frightening—even when he’s fuzzy, the static spark he puts in the air still bristles every hair on my arms.