My name is Carl Seisher.
And I… steal.
Not because I want to. Not because I need to. But because something in me forces me to.
Like the time I took my dad's car keys. My hand moved before my brain caught up. The cold metal pressed into my palm, and I shoved them in my pocket like I was hiding a crime scene.
That night, I cried for hours, staring at the keys. I wanted to put them back, but the thought of being caught felt even worse. So I hid them.
Brown hair. Brown eyes. That's what people see when they look at me.What they don't see is the urge. The itch. The thief inside me. At school, it's worse.
"Haha, well if it isn't Carl," Frances sneers as he blocks my desk, his shadow swallowing the light. His black hair hangs loose, framing those dark, wolfish eyes that lock onto mine.
"Back off, Frances," I say, trying to sound steady, but my voice cracks.He leans closer. I can smell the mint gum on his breath.
"Or what?"
Before I can blink, his hand slams my head against the desk. Wood bites into my forehead, and a white flash bursts across my vision. Laughter erupts around me like a pack of hyenas.
The teacher's voice slices through the noise: "Enough!"Chairs scrape.
Frances and his gang retreat, smirking like they've won a prizefight. My skull throbs as I sit up, trying to pretend I'm fine.
Class goes on. Words pour from the teacher's mouth, but they don't stick. My gaze drifts to Owen beside me. His red hair catches the sunlight like fire. His crimson eyes glance my way, sharp and questioning.
"What?" he asks flatly "Nothing." I shrug and look down.
My fingers twitch. They reach before I can stop them. A pen slips from his desk to mine. My thumb rolls it, spins it, flips it.
Where's my pen?" Owen asks, frowning.
"You didn't bring your pen again, Owen," the teacher says, without even looking.
"It's always Carl," Frances calls from across the room.
"Yeah," the others echo. "He's a stealer."
"I DON'T STEAL!" The words rip out of me before I know it. My voice bounces off the walls.
The class goes quiet for a moment. Then someone snickers."Woah, calm down, Carl."
"Why don't you blame someone else for once?" I snap, heat flooding my face.
"Just give me my pen, Carl," Owen says softly, but his crimson eyes cut deeper than any insult. Disappointment. That's worse than anger.
"I didn't steal it," I mutter. My chest tightens. Why can't anyone believe me?
"Just give it back, Carl," Owen warns, voice rising.
"Carl." The teacher's voice cuts like a knife. "Give him the pen. Now."
Even her. Even she thinks I'm just a thief.
"Carl!" Her tone sharpens. "That's it. Leave the classroom if you're not going to behave."
My body moves before my brain. I slam the pen onto the desk and run. Out of the classroom. Down the hall. Past the lockers, the stares, the whispers.My feet pound the pavement as I burst from the schoolyard and into the streets back home. And then— Something catches my foot. I stumble, nearly falling.A small, black box lies in the middle of the sidewalk. Perfectly square. No scratches. No dust. Like it was waiting for me.
My chest heaves. My fingers twitch. No. No, no, no. I can't.But the urge burns in my veins. I crouch. My hand shakes as I touch the box.
"This is bad," I whisper. "I need to give it back."But my brain twists it: it was on the ground. I didn't really steal it… right?
"Yeah," I whisper to myself. "I didn't steal it."The lid clicks open.
Inside, resting against black velvet, is a ring.
A black ring.I pick it up. Cold metal kisses my skin. My pulse hammers.The ring pulls tight, like it's alive. It sucks me in. I can't breathe. My vision collapses into black.
And then—
Nothing.
I wake up to Owen shaking me.
"Hello? You there, Carl?"he says, staring at me.
I blink and jolt up, confused. "What happened?" I shout.
"I think you just fell and hit your head. You should go home now," Owen says before walking away.
I stand, my legs heavy, and drag myself home feeling tired and helpless.
When I step inside, my mom immediately hugs me."I got a call from the school. They said you left early, but you never came home. I was so worried," she says, her voice shaking.
"You're grounded," Dad says instantly, sharp like lightning.
"Wait, what?" I ask, stunned.
"Don't act so confused," Dad replies. "You walked out of school, and you stole someone's pen. You need to learn.
"Whatever," I mutter, rushing upstairs to my room.
I throw myself on the bed, staring at the black ring in my hand. What's wrong with this ring?
"What would be wrong with me, you fool?"
The voice makes me flinch. My heart pounds."You… speak?" I whisper.
"Of course I do," the ring replies, smooth and cold.
"But I don't want to stay just a voice in your head. Imagine me. Any character you want—but make me cool.
"I close my eyes. A friend. A boy my age. Black hair. Black eyes.When I open them, he's standing infront of me.
"Of all the things you could've made me," he says, "you made me human."
"Can anyone else see you?" I ask.
"No. Only a specter can,"
he says. His black eyes gleam. "You do know what that is, right?"
"…No," he says before sleeping instantly
"Wait what? Who are you".