“Hey, can I borrow a pencil?”

I’m sitting in my 10th-grade Chemistry class when I speak those fated words. We’re about to take a test, one of those scantron things that have to be filled out in No. 2 pencil only, and I can’t find my pencil anywhere. I lean over to the kid sitting next to me. Tom Peli-something. He’s a bit weird, and I’ve never really spoken to him much before, but I’m desperate, and this kid’s always prepared.

“Sure.” Tom pulls another pencil out of his backpack. Before he hands it to me, he holds it up between us. “Just so you know, it’s haunted.”

“What?” Did I just hear what I think I heard? I knew the kid was weird, but what the hell?

Mrs. Conway’s sharp voice pulls me out of my thoughts. “Put everything away except for your pencils and erasers. I will not pass out the test until everything is away and the room is quiet. And you will need the entire class period for this test.”

After a few more whispers and shuffles of books and other materials, the class grows quiet. Tom is still holding the pencil between us.

“Whatever, I’ll take it,” I say, grabbing the pencil out of his hand.

Tom just shrugs. “Okay. I warned you.”

Mrs. Conway hands out the test, and I get to work filling in the little bubbles for what I hope are the right answers.

C. Hydrochloric Acid

A. Carbon Dioxide

B. 18 Electrons

C. Hydro—

“Of all the things you could do with a pencil, and you’re just filling in those little bubbles?”

I look up at the sound of the small voice. It sounds like the speaker is right in front of me, but there’s no one there. I look around, but no one else seems to have heard the voice. Confused, I return to reading the next question.

If a sample of matter is uniform throughout and cannot be separated into other substances by physical means—

“I’m not complaining, really. It’s just that there are so many other things you could use me for.”

Again, I look up, but there’s no one there. I glance over at Tom, but he is focusing on his test. I scan the room, looking for any sign that someone else heard the voice, but all of my classmates have their eyes on their test.

“Do you need something, Mr. Speero?” Mrs. Conway is at her desk, glaring a warning at me over her glasses.

“No, Mrs. Conway,” I answer quickly and try to get back to my test.

But when I pick up my pencil to fill in the next bubble, I notice something on the eraser. Something sitting on the eraser.

“I mean, you could doodle, or even sketch a masterpiece!” the thing says. “You could write a story or a letter. Even an essay would be better than this!”

I gasp and drop the pencil on my desk, drawing the attention of several of my classmates and my teacher.

“Mr. Speero! Is there a problem?”

“Um, can I go to the bathroom?”

Mrs. Conway looks at me sternly and then rolls her eyes. “Fine. But don’t dawdle, or I might suspect you are up to something.”

I just nod at her, stealthily grab the pencil, stuff it in my pocket, and walk out of the room. Out of the corner of my eye, I think I see Tom smirking at me as I leave.

When I make it to the bathroom, I pull the pencil out of my pocket and stare at it. It looks like an ordinary pencil – yellow except for the black lettering spelling out the brand name and a number 2, with a dull, lead point on one end and a pink eraser held in place by its metal holder.

Suddenly, the eraser begins to morph. Two little arms stick out and grab the edge of the eraser, and soon a head appears. The little thing pulls itself all the way out as if he were pulling himself out of a hole. When his entire body emerges, he sits down on the edge of the eraser and looks at me thoughtfully.

I stare back at him in fascination. He looks like a fully grown man, but he can’t be more than half an inch tall, and he’s entirely white, though slightly transparent. He’s wearing an equally white, equally transparent outfit consisting of khakis, a collared shirt, and a sweater vest, and on his nose sits a pair of wire-framed glasses.

“What are you?”

The little man shrugged. “Ghost, ghoul, poltergeist. Call me whatever you like; I’m not picky.”

“Tom was telling the truth?”

“He usually does. One of the reasons most people think he’s kind of weird.”

“So, do you, like, belong to him?”

The ghost looks indignant. “I don’t belong to anyone! Tom just happens to be the current keeper of the pencil that I haunt. Or, at least he was. Now, that honor has been passed to you!”

“What? Because I borrowed the pencil?”

“Yes!” the little ghost says excitedly. “And now you get the benefit of my great wisdom!”

“Look, I just needed a pencil to take this stupid Chem test.” Then an idea hit me. “Wait, the benefit of your wisdom? Does that mean you can help me on my test?”

He sighs. “I suppose I can. But I wouldn’t be much help. The sciences are all well and good, but they don’t hold the pure passion and depth of literature or art. If you really want to put me to work, set me loose on an analysis of Shakespeare or a short story about the futile pursuit of love. I was a writer, painter, and professor of art and literature in a past life, you see.”

“Of course you were,” I mutter. “Look, I gotta get back to finish the test or Mrs. Conway will fail me for suspected cheating. Sorry, but I don’t have any use for a haunted pencil. Tom can have you back.”

“Wait!” the little man shouts at me as I exit the bathroom. “I can make myself useful! I can! I’m intelligent and ambitious. Together, we can really go places!”

“Not interested.”

“Please, don’t give me back to that idiotic boy!” the ghost begs. “I cannot stand that imbecile!”

Getting tired of the little ghost’s whining, I shove the pencil into the pocket of my jeans, but that doesn’t shut him up. His muffled voice stays with me all the way down the hall from the bathroom to my chemistry class.

“You don’t know what it’s like! He’s had my pencil for four years, and I don’t think I can take it a day longer. Please! Don’t give it back to him!”

His pleas are starting to wear on me, and I consider giving in and just keeping the pencil for the sake of the little whiny ghost professor, but when I enter my classroom, I come face to face with Mrs. Conway.

“Are you ready to take your test now, Mr. Speero?”

“Um, actually, I need a pencil.” Her raised eyebrow tells me that she doesn’t quite believe me, but she still leads me to her desk, pulls a sharpened pencil from her drawer, and hands it to me.

“Anything else?”

“No, Mrs. Conway. Thank you.”

I walk silently to my desk as Mrs. Conway sits down at hers. The little professor is still yammering away in my pocket, making my next decision easier. I pull the haunted pencil from my pocket and hold it out to Tom.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” I whisper.

Tom looks up from his desk and glances at me and then the pencil. The little professor is now on his knees on top of the eraser, his hands clasped as he pleads with me. “Don’t do it! I’m begging you! I’ll do anything! I’ll—”

Tom shrugs and reaches for the pencil. The instant Tom takes the pencil from my hand, the ghost disappears, and I can no longer hear him.

Tom smiles down at the pencil. “Hello again,” he whispers to it before sliding it back into his backpack. Then, he goes back to his test without another word.

Trying to shake the memory of the tiny ghost from my mind, I do the same.

Which element below has the highest electronegativity?

rejection changes you in every way

haunts materializes spooks actions

you wonder if you smell repudiated

you wonder if others smell the spurn

on breath armpits belly folds privates

is there a cool overall deodorant spray

that can be used to hide dampen kill

the stench smell odor stinking funk

the envelopes my being like a ghost

from Christmas past chains clinking

I've washed my skin body bloody raw

trying to unputrify foul reeking specter

do you have a soap eau de toilette goop

for a buck ninety five fifty five hundred

to cleanse me from this embracing spirit

whatever the cost it cost me much more

to walk veiled villainized malvaporidden

because you found me to be undesirable

in that moment and threw me to hounds

licking open wounds with raspy tongues

rejection changes you in every way

haunts no comedy to be found here

"Somethin' the matter?" wriggled Carlyle, scootching closer to the stranger, along the bus booth bench, a slight drizzle catching the polycarbonate wall siding, separating bodies from the elements, while admitting a hazy view of the city dimming.

"What?!" said the old dog, his whiskers so profuse the chap couldn't tell if he'd been spoken to, at all. He certainly didn't feel sure, not with that big word ones use when they're disappointed already, asking if you "understand," or if you've, "understood."

He could picture ole Mrs. Tibby, with her massive arms crossed over chest and belly, looking down, frowning, with a treat in her other hand. But he weren't mad much.

"What's the matter?" he tried again with genuine small pup sincerity, twisting his head to mirror the lean of the fellow next to him. Surely, he was looking right at him now. Must have seen his mouth moving up and down, and figured he'd been talking to 'em all along, side by side.

The old timer's eyes gave a little glimmer of seeing, and he once again stuck his nubbly claw in his ear and gave a firm wiggle.

His jaw dropped.

"'What?' my ear--- It's haunted!"

05.02.204

The Haunted... What? challenge @AJAY9979

She had received a call from her younger brother.

And on Fashion Week.

An-- interesting call. With a great commotion in his "sanctum," where he made all his babies flourish and fly off the mannequins' hard, lifeless bodies.

He must be dying, she decided. Odd that she'd be her first call. Had it been their Mother-- well that old bag wouldn't have told her. And Dad probably knew, being dead and all. Or a dandelion by now. He'd liked all that Buddhist stuff.

She didn't use the bell. Deciding to surprise him of the wine cradled in her arm. If he really was going then he deserved a treat. Just this once.

She'd even cry a little with him.

Having stolen his spare key a long time ago she let herself in.

To where she heard a moan and then a crash. Then her brother mewling his lungs out like Torbin Bates after she'd dumped his own cat's litter over his head. Shouldn't have called her insect fairy of a brother a fairy! Only she got to do that.

And perhaps he'd finally admitted that to himself and got himself a fine, gentlemanly hooker to entertain.

"No! Not Arn I need him for--!!"

He screamed again!

And this time with the thud of what could only have been his fists pounding on the floor as he sobbed.

"Twink!" she cried.

"Oh Pheebs, Pheebs save meeeee," he whined.

Among the explosion of fabrics and gaudy colors was Quinton, besieged upon by one of his female models.

The ravishingly firm and black Ramona mannequin.

Beating him with one of its own plastic hands.

And Arn? Another dummy who was now defiled in orange and black and puce green marker.

Phone out, she flashed a photo. "Hehehe, girlies got jealous you dog?"

And then Ramona paid her mind.

Besides the truly artful work on her lashes... she needed that midnight blue and black for herself... there was, an eerie green about her eyes. And she was sure her brother didn't have that kind of color. Because that color... that color was lighting up the whole studio.

"And who is this whore sweetums!?!?!?"

That's it.

She was going to Exorcist puke across this whole situationship.

I walk through the winding halls

The space enclosing in on me

I have to keep breathing

I can't let it know

That I know

It's following me

The cool breeze blows through me

As if it's breathing down my neck

In suspense

I can't take it, so instead

I take off

Running swiftly

Like an eagle gliding through the air

I burst into the nearest door

Catching my breath

I forget why I'm here

I step back into the hallway

*creak*

The door sounds as I left the room

And saw it.

I saw the dresser move

It moved up and it moved down

I though it started to talk

I saw movement

I heard things

There was light and there was sound

I saw everything move with a cackeling voice

That came from the great beyond

The only question that came to my mind?

Was it haunted? Or was I wrong?

I saw my plate of mushrooms

It was then I knew

That the dresser was not haunted

Just my thoughts from mourning you

As I went to get in my Black 2020 Nissan Rogue, it turned on

I didn't even get inside it yet. it moved towards me

I backed up of course I wasn't planning on getting ran over today.

it eventually turned off and I climbed inside, it was like normal inside the car no one else in it. only me, then it started again. oh no. not again. the seat belt wrapped itself around me as the radio turned on, all I could hear from the radio were ghostly laughs, groans and screams. that's when I knew that my car was haunted. it was scary but I couldn't move I was too scared to do anything. The car started to back up out of the drive way by itself, I wasn't able to do anything as I was frozen with fear. I thought to myself "where is it taking me?" but I knew it wasn't going to be somewhere I recognized that was for sure. we were now on the road the car still fully in control of the situation taking me God knows where.. we finally arrive at our destination, of course a grave yard. where there are a bunch of undead folks and ghosts everywhere.. the car said "welcome to the family" then drove itself into a whole rolled down the windows and opened the sunroof then the next thing I knew I was buried alive in my own car.

It dials numbers from my pocket,

sends evil texts when it knows I am tequilaed,

types conversations it never should have heard,

and dies along with my car battery every time.

It is my most possessed possession,

my poisoned Apple.