The Ghostwriters of the Ghostwriter...?

"Chill, Ari. I had to kick the door open. Too much stuff to carry."

In Zixin's hands were mounds of snacks for our party of three, but that didn't make him any less of an idiot for choosing violence against the wall while he nonchalantly chewed on a piece of gum.

However, the first mistake made was probably me forgetting to ask for a doorstop as a preventative measure.

"The sheetrock's now broken! What am I supposed to tell my parents when they see that?" I scolded him, internally groaning at the fact I'd have to find a way to patch it up. (My last resort was a poster, but I didn't want to watch my nice merchandise suffer the same fate.)

Moving his jaw a few times after placing the packages on the floor, he shut the door and placed his hand next to the dent.

"It's smaller than my fist." He removed his knuckles from the wall as he inspected the knob-shaped damage. "Just put tape over it. Good as new."

Zixin somehow reached new levels of cheap—ahem, *economical*—every time I saw him, and it was better to disregard his little "suggestion" by then if I didn't want to fall down a rabbit hole.

Considering that, I supposed that principle of his applied to his shirt, too.

"Zixin, you know my room is colder than a damn meat locker. Why the fuck would you come dressed like that?"

The laptop and my legs certainly knew that fact as I swaddled myself in a layer of fleece to not undergo hypothermia.

Apparently, Zixin didn't care as he shrugged and fiddled with the pitiful layer that was his jacket, which barely concealed horizontal scars on the lower part of his pecs.

"I like walking around shirtless," he said with a smirk on his face. "It's fun."

"Don't be surprised when you get kicked out of Papa James' or another pizza place with that attitude," Cherry joked as she removed a bag of chips from the pile, plopping a ruffled slice into her mouth and smacking loudly.

He poked his tongue out and chuckled. "I'll do what I want. I don't go there, anyway. Too greasy for even me."

Zixin certainly had a right to his opinion on that, though—as happy for him as I was—this wasn't his top surgery and pizza parlor intervention. It was supposed to be my fucked up love life and writing intervention, and Zixin decided to (literally) crash it with his recklessness!

"Let's just cut to the chase on the plotting!" I yelled, halting the nasty glances between Cherry and Zixin.

Cherry gave me a thumbs-up as Zixin sat between us, scanning the document that was still wide open on the screen. For a while, I thought his mind was completely blank, but it seemed some gears cranked in his head to dispel my suspicions.

"Fantasy romance," he mused as he read through it, his chin on his palm.

Shocked at his sudden interest, Cherry and I nodded.

"Nico seems like a cool dude, but he sounds like every annoying quarterback ever during his romance plot with all the grand gestures and sappy lines. Major downgrade." He tilted his head to the side.

"I like Molly, though. That girl's smart from the looks of this. A little quiet, too, but she sticks up for herself and others. I'd totally punch that Saki girl in the nose since she's a villainess. She's got a good plan, though. What really bothers me is this ending. I think…"

Zixin proceeded to explain everything wrong with the noted conclusion of the story from its moral implications to how it appeared to affect the characters. (How many snarky UTube show "sins" channels had he watched?) Not a single idea of his ever occurred to me—or seemingly, Cherry—as he gave an entire college literary lecture on a teenager's notes.

Holy shit.

"Dude," I said in disbelief as he finished his in-depth analysis of the piece. "How come I've known you for ten years and never knew you had some talent for stories?"

Cherry got on her knees in front of him, bowing at his ankles. Curious as to what caused her to eschew her pride, I stared at her in anticipation.

"Zixin, it would be my greatest honor to invite you to Acacia Ridge High School's esteemed writing club to be my secretary—"

"Cherry, I'm literally already busy with the student council!" he complained with a pout. "I'd join you if I had the time—I've said that before—but we're already planning the first dance of the year. The school is making us track every penny on our budget."

I asked, "Wait, have you ever picked up a book before in your life? I thought you always fell asleep in English class and only passed the reading tests by snatching the notes from online."

Slightly affronted, he scrunched his nose. "No, I never get physical books. I read on my phone and write some on it, too." He brandished a small screen as it lit up. "Get in the twenty-first century already, Ari. We gotta find this ghost of yours."

"Been here longer than you! And you still can't confirm that ghosts exist no matter how many documentaries you watch!"

Ah, it was fun to tease the baby of the group as he huffed and started ranting about the spirits he found in his house based on the movements of his countless candles.

But it was still absolutely confounding to me how I was the one expected to write Melina's novel when everyone around me sounded like they'd written near-classics!

I had the motivation, love, and passion, but I didn't have the skills! I couldn't even explain the difference between a simile and metaphor when they were just words apart!

Why did my fate want to toy with me like this? Surely, it was some twisted joke because Melina *really* wanted one of my two friends to write her masterpiece, right?

It wasn't like she specified who she hoped would complete the book, but she probably would have laughed in my face if she knew I was the fool who tried. I was the fool who loved her enough to follow along with my desires and feelings to finish her dying wish.

A gift for my dear love.

After all, wasn't love selfless? Wasn't it glorified volunteer work to someone—an unpaid devotion and promise?

And just like that, another wave of coldness tortured me as I thought about how Melina rested somewhere beneath the ground, her body and soul withering away under the elements. As always, I was on the brink of tears that seemed to be endless.

"Ari," Cherry said after arguing with Zixin about something.

The commotion was surely about clubs, but I only took note of their raucous voices as white noise.

Even with a nod from me, neither of my friends were satisfied, yet they knew why I zoned out like this.

Every time.

They crowded around me to give me a brief hug, and Cherry then mentioned, "I've got the basics on this whiteboard for you. Just keep reading through the stuff tonight. Gotta know this plot backwards and forwards, you know?"

She sweetly chuckled, a tad arrogant in her demeanor, as she turned to our other best friend. "Come on, Zixin. We'll both get killed by our parents if we're not back before the sun goes down. We can get more done if *someone* doesn't keep coming late."

He acknowledged her with a quick gesture and replied, "Yeah. Don't have to call me out, Cheryl!" While grabbing a few snacks and his bag from my carpet, he added, "I'll get here earlier next time. Just gotta bribe the teachers to let me out of my meetings without talking for an extra twenty minutes. Anyway… Later, Ari!"

Though Cherry was irritated with him, she accompanied him in waving back to me as the two exited my room while lugging around supplies and textbooks. With their presence gone and the door completely shut, the imperfection on the fringes caught my attention again, and I grimaced while throwing my head back.

"Fuck you for fooling around, Zixin and Cherry!"

Really, I was just mad about having to use my brain to fill in the blanks on a storyline that I could hardly comprehend, but my friends happened to be the easiest targets for me.

***

I swore that, by the evening, I flipped up, down, all around in my damn padded chair more times than a child could count sheep before they fell asleep, yet I was only just beginning to feel drowsy when I halted my activities for the night after a quick, unproductive nap that wrecked my hair.

Without properly shutting it down, I laid the laptop to rest tonight, praying it wouldn't show me the blue screen of death when the morning arrived.

(Sure, recovery services existed in such a case, but they were far outside of my—my parents'—budget!)

As I stood, removed my glasses, and wiped my weary eyes in preparation to go to sleep, the stupid black hole on the wall caught my attention again, and I was inclined to call Zixin to chew him out for creating the damn portal.

However, while I examined it further, something that wasn't immediately obvious earlier came into my view.

Actually, had it even been there earlier?

I didn't think so as I strolled closer towards it, feeling my heartbeat pound inside my chest in dread.

Just a figment of my imagination.

Just an accidental stroke of paint.

That was right.

Just a lie.

Why, I sure as hell wished it was one when the bloody, red stroke on the wall trailed even further along the white paint, coating it in an obscene sheen of crimson liquid. It made me so fucking nauseous that I wondered if all the lines in front of me were blurring together.

I gulped.

Just a mistake in my vision.

Just a mirage.

What was "just a mirage", though, when I turned around to see my room in complete disarray?

My sheets were in a complete whirlwind—more so than from Cherry and Zixin's idiocy—and half my vases had plunged to the floor like miniature divers until they shattered like the pool was drained of water. The whiteboard was untouched, but all the piles of papers Cherry had brought gave my floor the appearance of being covered in frozen tundra leaves as I trekked through the cold expanse to survey it all.

What was once a whimsical den transformed into a disaster site.

"Huh? What the hell happened?" I whispered breathlessly. "Did I miss a tornado? A fire alarm?"

Trembling anxiety crept across my skin, seeping through the layers to infiltrate my tired body. When a cold sweat formed, I experienced a few chills as I cautiously scanned the room.

I very much hoped this was all some prank orchestrated by my friends, but I didn't think they would go so far as destroying actual property to get a laugh—as sadistic and playful as they were.

Cautiously, I checked both my sides to locate my phone, shaky pupils flying between objects. My hands felt around urgently in hopes of latching onto it while my nerves were entirely on edge. With a note attached to its bottom, I saw my phone beside the television that was in front of me, and that sick, queasy feeling returned to my stomach.

Perhaps even more nervous than when I had to present in front of a class or prepare for a test, I approached the tiny device tentatively, each footstep of mine disturbing the desolate Arctic paradise that had been created. My fingers hesitated for a moment as I reached for the purple case, but I sucked up the nervousness and flipped it over so that I could see that memo stuck to the screen:

"I see that you've taken up my project. In all honesty, I didn't think someone would try it. I thought it was going to be left to burn and die without a second thought, severed like a thought interrupted by a period. I both thank and applaud you, and I admire your dedication so far. I'll keep watch. Have fun."

As if the note itself wasn't terrifying enough, the signature on the bottom was what almost made my jaw become detached.

"Melina."

What the fuck? She was gone. Gone! Unless her apparition was here, there was no way this could be her!

I had no idea what I was getting myself into as my hand quaked and nearly destroyed the piece of paper.

"Aren't you dead? How did you get in? This isn't you, right?" I shouted to the empty area around me.

I had nowhere else to which I could run, and I hoped some intruder would answer me as I searched for the closest thing I could find to a baton.

Suddenly, something sickeningly red was slathered on the wall in its entirety, painting the area near the stupid hole Zixin made. I turned my attention back to this spot to read an addendum to the first note.

"I still am dead, so I am merely a spirit observing your progress. You can be assured on every plane of existence that it's me. You will know for sure when I wish to demonstrate the truth to you."

This couldn't be happening…

Almost as if I could hear the laughter from Melina that would have accompanied them, another set of messages appeared:

"Don't shriek. Don't swing. Don't speak a word, sweetheart."