Prom Ghosts (A Perry Moxley & Harry Singer Story)

One Last Dare

Chapter Twenty Seven (One Last Dare)

Perry

My eyebrows knitted together out of confusion. I didn't understand what he was talking about.

"Are you crushing on me or what because that is totally fine." He grins in a teasing manner. "No judgment."

"Harry, I don't have drawings of you in here," I told him.

His expression turned serious. "Yes, there are."

Without warning, my sketchbook slipped away from my hands as he took it from me to leaf through the pages, leaving a trail of tiny paper cuts on my fingers that stung excruciatingly. Harry shoves the book right back underneath my nose before I could even react and tend to my fingers.

The graphite scribbles were hard to make out in the dark, almost blending in with the cream colored paper. I had to peer hard to see, glancing backwards and forwards from Harry to the sketch until my eyes made out the details bit by bit.

"No," I gasped, my eyes wide. His face looked like he'd been expecting that as my reaction. "It's not you. It can't be."

To further prove his point, he puts the book right beside his face for comparison. Despite being a rough sketch hastily made, you could make out the similarities in their features – but it didn't make any sense.

As he flipped through the book, more and more drawings greeted me. Pictures of nightmarish creatures from unvisited pages appeared to move and take form in front of my eyes. My hands start to feel clammy. It felt as if I was suddenly revisiting a place I never wanted to be in again.

However, what stood out most from the rest was not a sketch of something that crawled straight out of my nightmares.

It was a person – a seemingly normal looking boy who occupied most of the pages of my sketchbook.

And all of them looked almost exactly similar to Harry.

"That's not you," I tried to say.

"Well, it does seem to look like my face," he pointed out.

"This is crazy. You can't be in there," I pressed on. "Because that means..."

I picked up the book once again. There was no mistaking it. It definitely looked like him. Anybody who knew Harry and saw these drawings would agree. But why?

Why would be in there? Why would I have drawn him in there? I don't even recall doing it. Unless...

"You said that book's where you keep the stuffs you dream about?" he asks, his voice snapping me out of my thoughts.

He scratches the side of his face, hesitating for a moment, "So, since when did you start dreaming about me, huh? Because there sure is a lot of me in there –"