Many people ask me about my eyepatch. I get a few weird stares, but most of the time people think I'm making a fashion statement or that I'm hiding a nasty scar. They don't know the real reason why I wear it.

The cars pass me by at an alarming speed, eventually coming to a reluctant halt. Just as I'm about to walk, a screeching noise catches my attention. A car has spun out of control.

Will they make it out alive? My breathing hitches as I watch the scene unfold. After a moment of thought, I decide not to let my nerves get the best of me. I hold my face forward in a steady gaze. After all, It can't hurt to look just once.

I lift my eyepatch in one swift motion and my right eye opens. My head throbs and my vision goes blurry. My view of the world changes as I begin to see the indistinct masses of black blobs. They have no facial features except for a single eye in the middle of their small, almost transparent bodies. They hungrily eye the car that has spun out of control, attracted by the smell of death.

I can see demons.

But it's not like I can tell anybody this. No, I've been through enough therapy to know this.

I've been cursed with this ability for as long as I can remember. The eyepatch is meant to contain the power of my right eye. Without it, I'd be able to tell if someone will die soon in a single glance. That power is what frightens me – not the demons.

Whenever someone is close to death, they release death energy, which attracts those little demons. It starts off as thin trails of smoke streaming from a body and, soon enough, swarms of hungry little demons arrive at the scene.

From the corner of my eye, a sudden movement catches my attention. A human-like figure approaches the accident. Upon closer inspection I find that the figure is actually a man, steadily making his way to the scene. His face is fuzzy, as if something is preventing me from seeing it.

No one tries to stop him, or seems to notice his presence entirely. It's like he's not even there.

Am I the only one who can see him? Maybe he can see those things too. My breath quickens at the thought. He could be someone like me. I'm not alone.

He stops in front of the car crash, broken glass crunching under his weight. Seemingly out of nowhere, the man takes out an ominous looking vase with symbols carved into it. Something about the symbols feels ancient and I feel myself strangely drawn to them – an innate calling.

The little demons scatter, terrified by his presence. The death energy surrounding the accident is instantly sucked into the vase and the ancient symbols glow faintly. My eyes go round, heart threatening to beat out of my chest. I rip my gaze from the man's figure.

Something tells me I've seen something I shouldn't have. It'll be bad if he notices me.

I carefully cross the street hoping to avoid his attention. Steadying my breathing, I slide the eyepatch back on and cast my gaze to the ground.

"I didn't see anything," I mutter under my breath, "In fact, I don't exist. I am the wind, passing without a sound." If I pretend I don't exist, he won't notice me.

This is the second time I've wished I could just disappear into thin air. The first was a distant day in the past filled with painful wails and hateful accusations. I can still remember the vengeful eyes that bored into me, forever leaving its mark on my soul.

I've walked a lengthy distance when I hear the voice of my friend, Claire. Her pale cheeks are flushed from the chilly morning. "Amira!" She catches up to me, blonde hair whipping in the wind. Freckles adorn her face, a trait I've always been jealous of but she hates.

By now, I've managed to somewhat calm myself. Claire asks in a hushed whisper, "Did you see the car accident back there?"

I feel my body tense up. "Yeah, I did. It looked really scary." I should bury what I saw in the back of my mind. That's right. I'm just a normal high school girl who's only worry is the chemistry test I haven't studied for. My lips curve in a bitter smile.

Normal. Yeah, right.

Claire glances back at the accident, now far away. "I hope they're okay," she says, voice dripping with pity. My eyes flicker towards my friend and a sinking feeling settles in the pit of my stomach.

"I hope so too."

***

'Attention all students. Anyone else caught skipping class will get an automatic detention,' the intercom blares from the speakers.

Head leaning against the palm of my hand, I find myself doodling on a discarded scrap of paper. A lock of chestnut hair escapes from the confinement of my hair tie and I tuck it behind my ear. The class has become rowdy, given that our substitute teacher hasn't given us the honor of showing up.

"Why's our school being so strict all of a sudden?" I ask Claire, the friend who's too occupied with her phone to strike up a conversation.

A mischievous smile spreads across her face and she rests her phone on the table. "I'll tell you, but you might get paranoid."

With the things I've seen, there's little that can shock me. I pretend to hesitate. "Tell me anyway."

"Rumor is, three girls from our school have gone missing since this morning. They all have one thing in common." She pauses for dramatic effect. "Can you guess what that is?"

"A shared interest in skipping class?"

Claire rolls her eyes and reprimands me. "No. They all went to the bathroom," she scoots closers and says in an eerie voice, "...and never came back. There's no way they would have skipped because they left their bags behind – phone and everything. Who would leave their phone?"

I lean in to dismiss her gossip, but a slamming door cuts me off. Heads turn to observe the intruder, chatter ceasing.

In walks a tall, lean figure, each step covering a good distance. His appearance is of a pretty boy, yet his refined demeanor gives him an air of nobility. Dark hair lines his face – the darkness a sharp contrast to his piercing blue eyes.

Judging from his face, it's clear the guy can't be much older than the rest of us. Fresh out of college maybe? Even with his hair slicked back and his body fashioned in professional clothes, it's impossible to hide his age.

The newcomer's bone chilling eyes hide behind black rimmed glasses as they dart around the room.

My stomach turns unpleasantly as his eyes flicker towards me. They pause for a quick moment – although I could have imagined it – then scan the rest of the class. Something is strangely familiar about him, but not in a good way. Whoever he is, it's best to avoid him.

The young man clears his throat. "Good morning class. I apologize for being late."

He leisurely makes his way to the teacher's desk and sets his stuff down, giving the class another sweep with his eyes. He leans against the desk and crosses his arms, his toned muscles prominent under his white button up shirt. His pearly white smile comes unexpected – dazzling, yet scary nonetheless. Never get close to a man who can make a dozen girls swoon with just a smile.

"I go by...well, I suppose you would call me Mr. Nobley. I was thinking we could do some free styling with water colors. Paint something from the top of your head. It could be anything...anything that won't get me in trouble." The class snickers in response.

"Him? A teacher?" Claire snorts. "More like eye candy."

My face flushes in embarrassment. "Quiet," I whisper, "What if he hears you?"

She smirks. "That was the idea."

I shake my head and focus on my water color project. I wish I could speak freely like she does. Maybe there'll be a day when I can, but I doubt it.

Art. My only escape.

With every brushstroke I feel lighter. I let my hand glide across the canvas, my emotions surfacing through a simple painting. The canvas bleeds a variety of colors and stains my hands.

"Interesting." A male voice says at a close distance. Too close. The trance is broken and my heart jumps. My substitute teacher is staring intently at my painting, his face dangerously close to mine in his observation. He has long eyelashes and smooth skin. I should be a little bit jealous.

Mr. Nobley glances at me and my face heats up, nerves kicking in. My instincts are telling me to be extremely cautious. "Is this the car accident from this morning?"

I glance back at my painting and nearly jump out of my seat. Without knowing, I've painted the scene of the car crash! Even worse, I painted the scene with my own vision – demons and all. My jaw hangs open and I struggle for words. "How did you know?"

He points to a certain car, two cars away from the accident. "That's my car. You have a good memory." I feel his eyes burn into me, as if all my secrets have been laid out on the table. "But these little creatures...what are they?" His mouth curves in a smile but his eyes flash with coldness.

I hear my pulse pounding in my ears. He knows. He knows about me.

I shake away the thoughts. I need to calm down. Racking my brains, I try to think of a convincing explanation.

He sees my uneasiness and chuckles lightly. "I guess it's open to interpretation." He pauses, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Still, I feel like the art piece is missing something. Perhaps...it's incomplete?"

I let his words sink into my memory as he leaves me to my thoughts, clammy hands gripping my arms defensively.

Something missing? Ah, the man from the car crash. But there's no way he could know about that. Of course, there's no way.

"Lucky you," Claire teases once Mr. Nobley is out of hearing range. "He seemed really interested in your painting. Look, that girl is glaring at you." Many of the girls have become rather infatuated with him within the past hour, vying for his attention by asking a lot of questions.

My lips part for a soft laugh. "I'm anything but lucky."

She curiously eyes my painting and a brow lifts. "Whoa. Morbid much?" I nod my head, as if agreeing with her. This painting is proof of my curse – my ability to see demons. It needs to be destroyed.

"You're right. I'm going to trash it."

Her eyes widen in shock. "Wait, no! It's beautiful! A masterpiece!"

When class ends I make sure to properly dispose of the painting, despite Claire's protesting.

Throughout the day, I find myself running into this art teacher of mine several times. I can't even count the amount of times our eyes have met. Whether it be in the hallways or the cafeteria, he's always nearby. Can such a coincidence occur?

Apart from the awkward eye contact, the rest of the day goes by smoothly.

"I'm home." My voice echoes throughout the house. Nobody's home but I say it anyway.

A clutter of high heels welcome me at the door – my Aunt's I assume. Ever since she took up the responsibility of looking after me, I've always felt indebted to her. I try to lighten her load, making dinner and cleaning the house whenever I can. Sometimes I worry that I'm too much of a burden.

Staring fixedly at the cooking ingredients, I roll my sleeves up and messily twist my hair into a bun. My last few attempts at cooking have been a disaster, but there's no way I'll give up. My Aunt is an even worse cook than I am so someone has to learn.

An hour later I'm sliding the dish into the oven, feeling quite accomplished. Maybe I should consider a career as a chef.

A door slams. "I'm back," the feminine voice sings. My Aunt walks in stiffly, struggling with the bags of groceries in hand. She sniffs the air and raises a brow playfully. "Am I dreaming? What's this delicious smell?"

"Dinner." I relieve her of her grocery duties by taking some bags myself.

"Oh, good." She breathes a sigh of relief as she sets down the remaining bags. "I'm wiped out after the boss's lecture." As I'm putting away the groceries, she attempts to make conversation but I can only give vague answers.

Aunt Jen's always trying to get me to open up to her since my dad left...abandoned me. If I said I wasn't mad at that man, I'd be lying. I hate him. I hate myself for being weak – for even once thinking it was my fault that he left.

"Aren't you scared of me?" I ask without thinking. My aunt blinks, taken aback. I'm startled as well and immediately regret asking. I had promised myself to never bring up the past with her.

"What do you mean?"

I turn my face away. "Aren't you afraid you'll disappear...like everyone else?"

Her face relaxes. "Oh, so that's what this is about." She reaches out a hand and ruffles my hair. "What happened wasn't your fault. You're my adorable niece."

A small smile rests on my lips. "You're treating me like a puppy." She pulls back her hand.

"My bad," she says, wiping away a fake tear. "I keep forgetting that you're already seventeen."

"Jen, I think I'm going to get an early start on my homework."

She nods approvingly. "Just once I'd like her to call me Auntie," I hear her mumble on my way out.

A waft of fresh air fills my nose as I stroll into my room. The nice breeze comes from an unattended open window. It's odd, considering I never forget to close it.

I swiftly slide down the window, but not before a flutter of papers is blown from my desk. Just what I need.

I've almost finished collecting the papers in midair and returned them to their rightful place when something catches my eye. A small notebook is laid out on the desk – my diary. I trace the edges of the worn out pages, my mind reeling with questions. The page is opened to a day long forgotten.

I'm scared.

The other kids say I am a liar. People say there is something wrong with my head. They can't see the things I see.

Am I special? Or am I a liar?

I jolt my hand back from the notebook – too fast, apparently. A drop of blood trickles down my finger. Paper cut.

"Amira?" The door creaks open and my Aunt pokes her head in. "The food is almost...oh? Are you alright?" She rushes to my side and puts a hand up to my forehead. "Your face is really pale."

I blink. "Aunt Jen?" Her hand recoils. She seems startled at the sudden term 'Aunt.' "Did you go into my room at all today?"

"Not until right now."

So, who went through my things?

I wait until she leaves to rip through the pages of my notebook, searching for that one diary entry. "It's gone." I run my hands through my hair and pull at it, a nervous tick of mine.

The page that documented the events of that day  has been ripped out – gone, as if it never happened. I lay in my pile of torn out papers, wondering where everything went wrong.

I'm scared.

***

Things have gotten chaotic at school. The girls who supposedly skipped school the day before never returned home. This led to the police investigating our school – specifically the girl's bathroom – where they were last seen. In nervous excitement, my fellow students have taken to gossiping.

"...and they were never to be seen again," Claire wraps up the story I've heard about a million times today. A few girls shudder and grip the edges of their chairs.

Somehow I've managed to isolate myself from the others. The less attention on me, the better the chances of no one finding out my secret. That's how I live my life.

"This is serious. Even the police showed up," one girl says. "I saw them checking out the girl's bathroom. They closed it off and everything." They all exchange information, the stories growing crazier each time. I block them out, taking interest in sketching the ancient symbols that I saw at the car crash.

A slight prick. It always starts off like this. Sharp pains turn into a burning sensation, followed by a throbbing in my head. These are symptoms of the curse, but why they're acting up now I have no idea.

A short groan escapes my lips as my head throbs with intensity and my vision gets foggy. I blink away the grogginess only to see an unnatural amount of death energy congested in the classroom. Although the eyepatch is covering my cursed eye, I can still see the death energy from my normal eye.

"Impossible." The only way this much death energy can be gathered is if everyone here is in danger of dying. But the whole classroom? Something tragic might occur today. "Ah!" The throbbing in my head gets stronger, rendering me unable to hear.

Stumbling out of my chair, I race out of the classroom. The situation outside is even worse than I could've imagined. The death energy has filled the entire school, nestling in every corner it can find. It's not just my classmates but the whole school that's in danger. I hold myself up by leaning against the walls for support.

Will I be able to save everyone? I doubt it, given how useless I am. I don't even know what's causing all this death energy.

"What seems to be the problem officers?" A deep, playful voice echoes. The sound bounces off the empty hallway walls, allowing me to hear from a distance. I stop in my tracks and peek out from a corner.

"May we have a word with you, Mr. Nobley?" Three officers surround the dark haired man, but he doesn't seem bothered. "We were looking through video footage of the two girls entering the bathroom but there's no evidence of them ever coming out. We have reason to believe that someone may have tampered with the recording." The officer speaking narrows his eyes. "You were also seen entering the girl's bathroom. Would you care to explain yourself?" I stifle a gasp by placing a hand over my mouth.

Mr. Nobley sighs and mutters something under his breath. Immediately the faces of the officers become vacant, a blank look in their eyes. They begin walking away stiffly, as if nothing happened. Something strange is definitely going on.

"How troublesome. I'm not suited for such boring assignments. I was mistaken for a pervert, too." His words baffle me but my guts are telling me I shouldn't stick around. I back up a few steps and then break into a dash.

I manage to catch his last words.

"Nosey girl."

A/N - I'll be posting a chapter every Friday and Monday!
Thank you for reading. If you like what you've read so far, feel free to vote. I'd appreciate it :)