Jackson met us at the front door of the school, his hair was impersonating an electric shock and his cheeks were bright red.  Jennifer and I instantly got the most intense belly laughs.  Kindergarten cannot be that rough, can it? 

“Rough day with the finger paints Jacks?” Jennifer said.  

He shook his head but maintained a lifeless face free from emotion.  His body was warm, and we had a good mile to walk before we would be home.  It seemed as if he may have come down with something while swapping germs with the other little booger pickers. 

I said, “You want a piggyback ride or something?  We still must walk home.  What happened to you?”   

It took a good thirty seconds for Jackson to register we were talking to him.  His head slowly turned to face me, creepily slow, like how I thought sluggish death worked.  He dropped his bookbag and proceeded to stand like a statue at the front door.  Students whizzed past us, each making their escape from this forced institution.  

Finally, Jackson was able or willing to tell us what was going on. 

“Some little boy talked to me today.  Right in my ear.  It was...weird,” he said. 

I leaned down to Jackson’s level, partially blocking the door.  He never blinked not even when I blew in his eyes for testing purposes.   

“Was he mean to you or something?” I spoke.  

He slowly shook his head and lowered it, tucking his chin into his chest.  Tears began to fall like salty raindrops from his eyes. 

“The little boy wasn’t there.  I looked.  He asked for help when I got home but no one was there,” he said. 

Jennifer grabbed my sweater and gave it a tug.  The look on her face was no match for the one that had covered mine.  Was this little voice haunting the both of us?  Was that possible?  

“When did this happen?  Where were you?” I spoke.  

“It was a few minutes after the second bell. Like the class changing bell you guys use.”  

My face quickly changed to match the sheet of paper rebelling against being trapped in my bag overnight.  The timing was perfect, it lined up exactly with the occurrence I had walking into Pre-Cal.  Jackson had experienced the same phenomenon that I had.  Was it the house or was it something far more sinister than that? 

Instantly, my shaking hand reached into my tight fitted pocket to pull out the crumpled-up sticky note from Mrs. Tannell.  It was time to call someone, but I was not sure if it was going to be her or the paranormal guys. 

“What are you doing with that crap Tannell the Terror gave you?” Jennifer said. 

I put my hand up as if to say that is enough.  Stuffing the note back in my pocket, I turned to Jennifer with a very merciful look on my face, 

I said, “Please, can you take Jackson home and tell my parents I forgot my books or something?  Buy me some time.”  

“I guess, do you need help?” she said. 

I shook my head and turned back into the school.  This seemed urgent enough to warrant a talk with Mrs. Tannell again.  Me being haunted is one thing but messing with my little brother, that is not going to sit well with me.   

Scouring the halls and every open classroom door I could see, my search for Mrs. Tannell had turned into a panic-stricken mad dash.  She was not in her classroom, but the door was still open, and her faux leather purse was still under her desk.  Not knowing what to do, I yelled out her name three times, like the warning bell but far more urgent. 

Within seconds, Mrs. Tannell popped her head out of a classroom I had passed in my negligent search for her.   

“Naomi, what seems to be the problem?” She spoke. 

I motioned with my hand to come here so we could speak in private.  She entered her room with haste and looked worried which was an emotion I did not think he was capable of in the first place.  Her hands too mine after she shit the door and her eyes dove deep into mine.  

“What is it dear?” She spoke.  

Before the words could slither from my mouth, tears began to fall, more than one this time.  She hugged me and said all the generic things you say to someone that is crying and in need of assistance. 

“The voice I heard last night, it came back in math class, it came back and talked to my little brother too.  I need help.  I’m scared,” I said.  

She continued to hold and pat my brown frizzy hair down as she thought of what may be happening.  It was a very curious incidence and potentially serious as well.  

“Listen, listen very closely.  You need to tell your little brother that that type of stuff happens all the time.  Make something up so he does not freak out.  I need access to your house, preferably with you in it and your parents gone.  Do you understand?”  She spoke. 

Mrs. Tannell had never been so candid with any of us before.  It sounded as if she had a plan of action and could truly help the situation.  I nodded my head while it was still pressed into her shoulder, wet marks from my fearful tears soaked her poor cardigan.  

“Call my number when the time is right.  Try to make it the weekend and we will get to the bottom of this, I promise you Naomi,” she said. 

She held the hug longer than I did; my release initiated the breaking up of the caring hug she embraced me with.  She was not a terror at all, Tannell wanted to help me and maybe she has had experience with this sort of anomaly. 

Jennifer was waiting on my doorstep as I hastily made my way from the school to my lovely possibly haunted home.  She seemed less than pleased as she possibly had figured out what I was doing at the school. 

“Well, any incite from the Terror?” She spoke.  

I chuckled heartily and gave her a big hug.  She was red and warm and not very receptive to my sign of friendship.  Hopefully, she was not so angry that she was going to bail on our sleepover.  My mother, from the smell of it, had constructed her special homemade lasagna and it would absolutely be a delight to share with Jennifer, as if she had not had it a million times.  

I said, “I had to talk to Tannell, for the sake of Jackson.  That was it.  She seemed receptive and very caring.” 

My best friend since forever crossed her arms and took an odd stance.  I had only seen it once since I’d known her, and I knew instantly that this was going to be a debacle.  Jennifer wanted to hash this out, but I simply had nothing left to tell her.  I was honest and open and that was the best I could do.   

Before I could try to break her down, the whispering wind on my ear came back.  It was a little more aggressive this time.    

‘Jennifer must stay.  If she leaves, Jackson dies,’ it said. 

My pigmentation quickly went back to white as a ghost, pardon the pun, and I lost my balance.  As I crashed to the ground, Jennifer rushed to me with the same compassion as I had always known her to have.  

“Naomi, what...are...did it happen again?” She spoke.  

Fluttering my eyes, I barely had the strength to acknowledge that it had.  Fear ran through the entirety of my body.  It was clear that I could not lose Jennifer, or else. 

“The voice, it came back.  If you leave, Jackson dies.  It said that,” I said. 

After helping me up, we hugged it out and confirmed that nothing would happen to Jackson.  Not on our watch.   

“So, what do we do now, tell your parents?  Call the ghostbusters?” She spoke.  

I said, “Not at all.  We are going to handle this and help this trapped soul.  Parents will get in the way and the ghostbusters will not be discrete.”  

We shook on it and headed into the house with a newfound confidence.  The ghost hunting would be left to us and if the crap hit the fan, we would just call Mrs. Tannell.  I am sure Jennifer would love that; sarcasm intended. 

My father, Charles, was still fussing about the HOA as my mother showered him with positive words and solutions that would not work out at all.  Jackson sat and forked his lasagna into his mouth, oblivious to what was happening and the threat that was made to his wellbeing.  He would be briefed on the odd voice soon enough, ensuring he accepted it as his imagination playing games on him and not a ghost boy that had just threatened to kill him.  

Tonight was the night we started listening to this voice and complying to ensure the safety of my entire family.   

“Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”

―William Shakespeare, The Tempest