The night was thick with smoke, the smell of buttered popcorn and greased metal – ripe for a little mayhem and madness. Caleb Dawson held his sister's soft, warm hand as they walked through the flashing, kaleidoscopic arch that beckoned them into Sirencester's annual carnival.

"Don't drink too many slushies and ride the Gravitron too many times," Caleb warned Emma. "And definitely not both in that order."

"Yes, big brother," Emma sighed, beginning to pull away, eager to get to her friends peering at them by the ring toss stand. "Anything else?"

Caleb knew Emma deserved a night out after the last couple of shitty weeks that they had at home. But he didn't want to let his little sister go. Not like this. As Caleb felt her hand slip out of his, he produced a twenty from his jacket with a tilt of his head and a flourish. "Win something cute for me."

Emma beamed and skipped to her friends who giggled and shrieked when she joined them. Preteen girls and mee-maws loved Caleb.

The Panthers had taken up the laziest assignment possible, the high striker, and were being blatantly sexist. Any guy who tried it was bullied while any girl who did was encouraged. Each year, Caleb ensured that the football team's practice time was not overshadowed by frivolous after-school activities. The boys' letterman jackets stood out like fat grapes under the orange halogen lights. Stefan Calder called Caleb over.

"Where's your team spirit, Captain? No uniform tonight?" Stephan complained, offering the mallet to Caleb.

It wasn't the one with Caleb's initials. He cast a puzzled look at his running back.

"I swear it was here this morning but we kinda can't find your favorite one now," Stephan muttered.

"No worries, I can smash it with this one as well," said Caleb in a smooth voice.

Bobby Higgins added, "Yo, Dawson. Are you in all black trynna get some goth action?"

"Sorry boys, Daddy's off duty tonight," said Caleb, grasping the mallet's ash handle. The supple leather felt right against his calloused grip. He pointed it at Bobby's chest. "But I'm going to visit your mother later tonight."

Amidst wolf whistles and other obscene noises, Caleb secured his footing on the glistening concrete. In any case, his varsity jacket wasn't an ideal choice for the messy affair planned for that night. Lithe like a golfer, he swung with force and precision, and bam! The puck soared high and struck the bell with a resonant ding. "Score!"

"That's how you do it, baby!" Stefan clapped Caleb's back. "Listen, your other business... that's still on for tonight, yeah?"

Caleb smirked as they flitted toward a hazy corner. "What do you need?"

"Carmine Trovey really wants to try some Molly but she's shy," Stefan lowered his voice. "Won't do it with anyone she doesn't trust."

Snorting with derision, Caleb discreetly traded a little plastic zip lock of two pastel-colored pills. "Said the lamb to the lion."

"I owe you one!" Stefan grinned. "Anything you need."

"Actually... have you seen Wes Broad anywhere?"

Where they were standing the staccato thrum of the diesel-powered carousel was louder than the sinister, twinkling music of the ride. Stefan lit a cigarette, offering it to Caleb who declined. "By the other potheads behind the concession trailers."

Caleb turned to leave but Stefan stopped him, and said, "Doesn't look too good. I'd be careful if I were you."

Cursing under his breath, Caleb nodded and joined the swarm of people flowing in the direction of pretzels, cotton candy, and corndogs. Broad was quickly becoming an Anaxan-ridden liability. One that could deposit trouble right onto Caleb's doorstep if he wasn't cautious. Wes had to be stopped.

Caleb called Wes. Straight to the beep. "Fuck."

His expletive caused the guy in front of him in the nachos line to turn his head. Caleb recognized the buzzcut, sandy blond hair. "Rough night?" Ashton said.

Not in the mood for small talk, Caleb grunted.

"Yeah, me too." Ashton clicked his tongue. "There's this girl I like but it has been so long, I think I blew my shot..."

Fuck me. Were fried Mexican triangles truly worth this lovesick monologue? Caleb certainly thought so and decided to endure. Ashton wasn't a bad kid but he was too indecisive, both on the field and apparently in life. However, after ten minutes of 'she loves me, she loves me not' that would test the patience of a saint, Caleb snapped.

"Dude, you are on the football team. Amy's your ex. Just ask her to come to the game this Friday and make out with her under the bleachers after we win like a normal person."

A little startled, Ashton nodded timidly.

Caleb threw in one of his definitive threats for good measure. "And if you mess up because that ginger nerd's got you distracted, I will kick your ass out of the team myself."

Robin Mendes was helping his mothers with the food truck. "What can I get you both?"

"Two servings, I'll pay," Ashton said. "I won't let you down," he promised Caleb.

Satisfied, Caleb spent the next hour touring the carnival for signs of Wes. His nose was pretty strong and he sniffed out the hiding place of his herbivorous clientele with little issue. No dice. Caleb glanced at the Ferris wheel looming over the tents, rides, and arcades like a phosphorescent, spellbinding sun. Kristine Nunez waved at him, kicking her feet from the gondola in excitement, rocking it wildly in the process, scaring her friend Gemma Craft who screeched into the night.

Caleb gave her an admiring salute.

After thwarting Cecile Presley's third attempt of the day to seduce him, Caleb decided to lay low by the balloon shooter. His winning streak continued and he set all his prizes aside for Emma to collect later. But Caleb's luck was bound to run out soon and he stepped in gum.

Dragging his feet across the asphalt, Caleb wondered if it was time to head home. He should have.

Because at that moment, he saw Natasha marshal a frightened group of freshmen into the house of mirrors hosted by the theatre club. Clearly, something was not up to her standards. Even though it seemed like Natasha Boynton was about to spit fire – with her writing pad, whistle, and Pride pin attached to the lapels of her crimson power suit, Caleb thought she looked very pretty.

They were currently in the throes of a cold war. Weeks went by but Natasha refused to believe his desire to be with her was genuine and Caleb had run out of ways to prove it to her. No one had ever understood him the way she did. But none of it mattered anymore; and so, Caleb stood at a distance, trying to keep the flames of dying romance alive, feeling his heart constrict with lessening severity each time he saw her.

Maybe he ought to try once again? Just for old times' sake.

Lost in his fantasies, Caleb forgot to look both ways before crossing the narrow street.

Wham!

A cart full of stuffed animals rammed into him with a force that suggested that the person pushing it had been running at a considerable speed. It rained cats, dogs, mice, and even some mythical creatures around Caleb. A fluty voice called out, "Oh crap! I'm so sorry, I didn't see you –"

On his ass on a surface slick with someone's spilled milkshake and with half a wheelbarrow pinning him down, sides bruised and hurting from the impact, Caleb's composure shattered. "FUCK YOU, ARE YOU FUCKING BLIND? FUCKING RETARD –"

"HEY! There's no need for that!" Amy said. The force had knocked her over too. "Let me help –"

But there was no stopping a broken heart when it misfired. Especially when the target fired back.

"– HOW CAN A PERSON BE SO FUCKING BLIND –"

"LIKE YOU CAN SEE ANY BETTER, CUNT!" Amy roared. "Has anyone ever told you you're supposed to watch where you're going?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you are a fucking imbecile?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you're an asshole?" Amy mirrored him cruelly.

"Has anyone ever told you –"

Three sharp blasts from a whistle interrupted their exchange. "Excuse me, this is not an attraction anyone has paid for," Natasha said. "Amy, get these toys cleaned and put them near the goldfish toss. Caleb, clean yourself up and go find someone else to yell at. Or both of you, get out of my carnival!"

Caleb dislodged himself from the askew cart and extracted the pink unicorn stuck on his head, throwing it away. "Get this out of my face!"

Turning his back on Natasha, he stormed off, calling Wes as he did. This time he left a voicemail: "If I don't see you at the carnival in the next fifteen minutes, I swear to god I'll castrate you myself and feed your nuts to rabid dogs."

Feeling the pinprick of peculiar electricity at the back of his head, Caleb stopped and turned around. In the distance, a cloaked woman was observing him. The moment he met her gaze, the woman walked away.

"Yo, look what the cat dragged in! CD in da house!" a voice rang. "I heard you been goin' soft on your customers."

"I am not in the mood, Milo," Caleb muttered. The short man with a green five o'clock shadow, grinning up at him from the ticket window of a photo booth, was intolerable on the best of days. Caleb balled up a flyer stuck to the booth advertising attractions from a preceding carnival. "And I'm not selling you or your buddies anything."

"So, it is true what they're saying. I guess I'll have to get the high-end stuff from Duke, now that your shop's foldin' like a cheap hooker." Milo tapped a little beat on the glass. "Or I could start dealin' XP myself."

"Be my guest," said Caleb. "Have you seen Wes? He's not answering any of my calls."

"Owes ya does he?"

"Yeah, big time."

Milo sucked his teeth. "He came by. Dunno where he went."

Caleb had no patience anymore. "Easy way or the hard way, Milo?"

"Fuck you talking about humph –"

Caleb grabbed him by his collar and pulled him halfway through the window. The glass edges of the booth dug into Milo's squishy flesh. Tiny opening, big man.

"Now do you remember where he went?"

Stuck in a literal uncooperative position, Milo whimpered, "I really don't know. He was talkin' some shit, Caleb, you gotta let me go. Buddy!"

Caleb's phone vibrated. Keeping one hostile hand around Milo's throat, he took the call. "Wes, you piece of shit, where are you?"

"I'm sorry, Caleb. I came to the carnival like you asked but bro, I took some XP in the woods and I think I'm fucking stuck man."

"Where the fuck are you?" Caleb asked. What was supposed to be a simple shakedown had transformed into a rescue operation.

"I'm by the ruined church out back." Wes' voice broke, "P-please man, just get here now."

Something didn't feel right. "If you can talk, you can walk. Come here. Now."

"I told you I'm fucking stuck, there's some trees and some shit. Please man, I'm seeing shit and I can't see shit, just get me, fuck, fuck –"

"I'm hanging up –"

"Wait! I have your money."

Caleb hesitated. He could've asked Wes to give the money tomorrow. Refusing it was an option too. All he had to do was tell Wes that he won't be supplying Anaxan to him anymore and go home. Wash his hands of the whole fucking farce.

But he didn't.

A voice tugged at his conscience. It was his fault Wes was addicted to Anaxan. The least Caleb could do was get him out just this once. End it right.

Lord, he hated that voice.

"I'll be there."

Caleb gently slapped Milo's cheek. "You have a good night."

"Wait – you can't leave me like this!"

Caleb walked away without a second glance. Someone from the crowd would surely help the poor bastard. There was very limited potential for charity in his life.

Ironic, considering Caleb was headed toward a church. Or what was left of it.

The night air cooled Caleb's sweaty face as he trekked up a path lit by his phone. Inhaling the fresh, medicinal scent of the witch hazels, he found quiet refuge in the dark of the forest. Only for a moment though. A forewarning owl hooted before a wheeze and a boom sounded above him.

The fireworks had begun.

From his standpoint on a small hill, Caleb could see the carnival in all its magnificence. A lavender haze with blurry polychrome lights slashing across it had settled over the area. Just a few steps later, over the hillcrest, the broken belfry of the church appeared. He'd heard rumors of the place being haunted by a rather cheerful lady.

Caleb whispered a silent prayer to her. Ma'am, if you could take Wes off my hands, that would be great.

There was light illuminating the ambulatory. Upon closer inspection, Caleb realized it was coming out of stairs that led into the church's underbelly. He didn't even know a basement existed there. Caleb called out, "Wes?"

After a beat came his reply. "I'm down here."

"How on earth did you manage to get there?" Caleb mumbled, carefully beginning his descent. The musty stink of the mildew was an assault on his senses. Caleb's eyes watered.

A rectangular room supported by chapped, vaulted brick columns opened up before his eyes, lit by a combination of very old torches and very new electric lanterns. Caleb found Wes slouched against a large metallic executive desk, his hands tied to one of its claw-shaped legs.

He wasn't alone.

Caleb understood the situation a second too late. This was an ambush.

An Asian man in a high ponytail spoke first. "Fam, how you doin'? Business been treating you well?"

"All good, Fok," said Caleb. "What's all this?"

Fok Tong spread his arms wide and the twin snakes that extended from his chest to his fingers seemed to slither in the torchlight. "This is your new base of operations. Boss has been gracious enough to set it all up for you. The torches were a theatrical touch. Totally Dimitri's idea."

A not-so-subtle click of the pistol he had pointed at Caleb was Dimitri's response.

"Sonny boy, I've got the crème de la crème of pharmaceuticals for you this time 'cause you've pleased the big man upstairs with your sales this quarter," Fok began speaking in an excited voice. With each item that he lovingly displayed on the table, the man narrated its name. "Three OZ of GHB, same for the Kit Kats, an even hundred of PCPs, fifty Vikes, five hundred Xanny bars, five hundred 20s of Addy... and of course, the star of the show – five ounces of XP."

Now that was a lot of drugs.

Caleb closed his eyes, contemplating his next move. "I'm low on Molly."

"I sent Jude out a minute ago. He'll get you some. Aren't you happy?"

"Almost... Tong, I told you I don't wanna deal XP no more. Too many ODs, too much heat."

Fok Tong glanced at Dimitri and got to his feet. He strolled around the table and leaned against it. Nudging Wes with his feet, Fok remarked, "What do you mean? I thought this one was your first."

Wes was shaking.

"Where are my manners? I promised I'd let your ass go, didn't I?" Fok's pierced lips stretched in a saccharine smile as he untied Wesley. "There you go, Peach."

Caleb stared Wes down, vowing to rip him limb from limb later. Fok Tong didn't miss it.

"Oh, just before you came in, I gave him what he wanted. Wes told me you was withholding XP."

A tiny insect had settled on Caleb's neck but he didn't scratch it off. "That was months ago and I was out. I got the new sheriff sniffing around me now."

"Hmm, I see." Fok crossed his arms, thumbs sticking out from the sides. "What are you waiting for?" He said to Wes. "Go on, git!"

Wesley scampered off, stumbling twice on the slick stairs as he went.

Fok continued, "Where were we? Ah! Be that as it may, Sonny, you got a new place now. Fresh stock! Burwell won't touch these parts. Desk has a lock and everything."

Caleb hoped things wouldn't come to this. But he knew hope wasn't a luxury he could afford in this world.

One last chance. Caleb said, "The boss won't be as happy if I don't make the sales. Shame to see premium shit go to waste."

Fok chuckled and pulled a gun from his waistband. He gently pushed it into Caleb's stomach. "You won't let that happen, yeah? You're 'Employee of the Fucking Year'."

Swallowing hard, Caleb replied, "No guarantees, Chief."

Fok Tong lowered his head and whispered, "Pretty little carnival's going on 'round here, eh? With pretty little girls running around..."

And that was it.

Caleb pushed Fok's hand away from his stomach just as two shots resounded in the basement. Reaching for the switchblade he always kept with him, he thrust it into the taller man's chest. Before Dimitri could fire another shot, Caleb swung Fok and shielded himself. Caleb grabbed the spare gun he knew Fok always had in his back pocket and fired blindly at Dimitri.

One of Caleb's bullets found its fatal mark. The boy grinned.

But one of Dimitri's had found its mark the very first second the fight broke out. Caleb just hadn't felt it.

As Caleb let the seemingly lifeless Fok Tong fall to his knees, he didn't realize the man had just the right amount of fight left in him. Fok took his own small knife from the side of his now empty holster and jammed it into Caleb's leg.

"You... will... pay – f-for this, Dawson," Fok managed before collapsing.

Blinding pain shot up Caleb's leg. Surprisingly, he only felt a hot numbness from the side where the bullet had hit him. Mustering all his strength, he grimaced and limped out of the basement.

Up ahead in the dark bushes, Caleb saw something stir and called out for help. It took most of his remaining energy to shout; a stabbing pain in his abdomen drained whatever little he had left. Caleb's vision was blurring. Maybe it was an animal...

Caleb could still make it. If only he could call someone. Natasha. Emma. Mom.

Thankfully, the phone was still in his pocket. It slipped out of his blood-soaked grip and Caleb fell to his knees. Out in the open, he felt so cold.

Somehow, Caleb managed to dial Emma and she picked up: "Hey, Cal–"

Thwack!

Caleb's head burst with pain and he fell on his back. Jude Presley stood over him, an object falling out of his hands with a clump. It was the missing mallet from the carnival. Caleb's blood had stained his own initials etched on the head.

When he looked up, Caleb saw a sky full of stars bursting with color and lavender smoke. Emma's sweet voice calling his name filled his ears. A pain unlike any Caleb had ever known surged through the four-point scar just under his open palm and into his heart.

Then it all went black.

✧

A/N: I'm scared to even type this author's note. All I'll say is that the story is far from over. Now, who wants to refresh their theories on how/ why Caleb became a spectre?