Masters's Son

Twelve

Noon rolls around and I'm still in my room. I've tired myself out once or twice but it's fascinating to be able to change my appearance completely from one trait to another. It's amazing how my outfit changes too but keeps my original clothing intact when I turn back.

And the medallion stays around my neck no matter what appearance I take.

This makes me wonder, can the stranger change appearances too?

I wonder what their name is. Did Clockman say it was a girl or guy? If he did, I don't remember. I remember they lived in Wisconsin though. That's something to go by, I guess.

I sigh and pick up my purple, square-ish book bag and set it on my bed. I unzip it and dig through the miscellaneous papers and binders that hold both finished and unfinished work.

The bag itself was a hand me down from Jazz when I started high school, my elementary and middle school bag was more than ready to be exchanged for a less holey and broken pack.

I finally empty its contents out on my unmade sheets. Torn papers and broken folders litter the covers. A few wooden pencils here and there, the erasers low or gone. Loose erasers are set aside next to the one or two pencil sharpeners.

I set out to organize this catastrophe of a school bag. And when I'm finished with that, I'll—maybe—continue my homework. Or totally procrastinate by telling myself I deserve a break because I organized my bag and stare at the ceiling for the next four hours.

One or the other.

But then again, I did promise myself something, not for me but for Jazz. And when I'm done with homework, I'll tidy up my room. Then, if it's still not too late, I'll practice my ghost abilities more. It's a plan.

A long while passes, and surprisingly, no interruptions while I finish organizing and working on my school papers. Jazz hasn't even came and checked on me. That's not like her.

I put my semi-finished work in the 'on hold' folder and zip it back in my bag.

I have no idea of the time but it's still light outside, my guess would be five or six pm. Before cleaning though, I want to write a few things down in the GSE. An update if you will. I have yet to write the whole 'ghost-transformation' thing.

I sit in my desk chair and jot down anything and everything I remember from my first experience with both hovering and transformation. Shivers down my spine and goosebumps appeared on both axil and appendicular surfaces. A tingle happened when white rings appeared over the area of sensation. First appeared around abdomen, dividing up and down my body. Hovering makes me feel light but still held by an invisible force all over my body. It's a lot less explainable than the white circle phenomenon.

I can hardly believe that I'm an actual full body apparition. A living, half ghost being.

"Sup Babypop?" A lady's voice sounds from behind me making me jump out of my skin and my soul leaves my body. I turn quickly to see a pale blue skinned woman, late twenties with flaming blue hair. She wears a two piece black leather set and high skull combat boots. Black face paint and purple lipstick cover her face. She has a purple and blue guitar with a pale purple strap slung on her back.

She's a ghost, just like lunch lady Patricia. She leans against my nightstand with her hand, the other on her hip. "Not gonna lie, I wasn't expecting this to be the first room I find in this weird house." She straightens and crosses her arms.

My face turns even more curious, "Who are you?" I stand and face her. Should I be worried that a ghost is in my room and possibly malevolent? Probably.

"Ember McLain. Feel free to say it back, or say it all the time. Either way I'm a rockstar." She gives a grin. She slings her guitar around her body and plucks a few power chords.