The Hollow Ledger

LOCATION: HARROW HOUSE — KITCHEN

Gideon sat in the kitchen with a cold slice of bread and a warm bottle of something that claimed to be rum. He wasn't sure what time it was. Or what day. Or if time still worked in this cursed house.

The Ledger sat on the counter beside him, quiet and smug.

He glared at it. "You think you're so mysterious, huh? Just because you glow and whisper creepy Latin phrases in my sleep?"

The Ledger didn't respond.

Because it was a book.

Alar Harrow appeared in the doorway like a horror movie grandpa. No footsteps. Just shadows and disappointment.

"You're talking to the Ledger," he said.

"Yeah well, it started it," Gideon muttered, chewing the bread without enthusiasm.

Alar sat down like he owned gravity. He poured tea that smelled like regret and dead leaves. "Tell me about the ghost."

Gideon sipped his fake rum and stared at the table. "Screaming lady. Sad story. Haunted mirrors. I screamed back and threw chalk. She cried. I won. Somehow."

Alar stared at him.

Gideon added, "There was definitely a strategy involved. You wouldn't understand. It's advanced ghost fu."

Alar raised an eyebrow. "You shouldn't have been able to survive that encounter."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Gramps."

"You touched her, didn't you?"

"Excuse me—"

"Physically. You made contact."

Gideon squinted. "Okay. Weird phrasing. But yes. There was contact. I shoved her a little. She screamed. I screamed louder."

Alar leaned back. "That means the Ledger has... marked you."

Gideon blinked. "Oh. Yay. That doesn't sound ominous at all."

"It means the dead can touch you now. And you can touch them."

Gideon dropped the bread.

"Oh fantastic. Can't wait to high-five a corpse."

---

LOCATION: DUSK HOLLOW ELEMENTARY – STILL HAUNTED

The Ledger woke him up. Again.

It didn't even ask politely. It just slammed open on his desk like a goth roommate kicking the door in at 3 a.m.

> THATCHER WREN

Debt: Identity Theft (Spiritual)

Location: Dusk Hollow Elementary

Type: Revenant (Class III)

Note: Wears Faces.

Gideon groaned. "Identity theft? Really? What's next, ghost tax fraud?"

He pulled on pants, forgot socks, found one shoe under the bed and one in the fireplace. Somehow got to the school just after sunset. Because of course ghosts have dramatic timing.

The building looked like someone had lost a staring contest with gravity. Windows cracked. Walls slouched. There was graffiti that said "RUN" in very non-kid-friendly handwriting.

Gideon looked around and sighed.

"Alright, Thatcher. Come out and steal my face or whatever."

---

INSIDE THE SCHOOL — PROBABLY CURSED

There were masks everywhere.

On the walls. On desks. Hanging from the ceiling. One of them blinked at him and he decided not to look at it again.

A voice echoed from nowhere and everywhere.

> "They gave me a false name. So I took others."

Gideon froze. "Okay. You're already losing points for being cryptic. Just say hello like a normal ghost."

A figure stepped out of the shadows.

Tall. Wearing a suit that looked borrowed from a funeral. Face covered by a smooth white mask. Except it kept changing — old man, baby, Gideon himself, and then back to blank.

"Alright. Identity crisis ghost. Got it."

The ghost lunged. Gideon flinched. Hard.

He ducked. Or tripped. It was unclear. Either way, he rolled behind a desk and came up holding a rusty pair of safety scissors.

"This is the worst weapon in ghost history," he muttered.

Thatcher floated closer. The room got cold. The air tasted like chalk and secrets.

Gideon threw the scissors.

They bounced off the wall.

"Right. Of course they did."

Then Thatcher grabbed his wrist.

And it hurt.

Like ice and fire and screaming into a pillow.

Gideon yelped like a kicked cat and punched him.

It connected.

They both froze.

Gideon looked at his hand. Then at the ghost. Then at his hand again.

"I can hit ghosts now?" he whispered.

The ghost growled.

"Oh crap I can hit ghosts now!"

He launched forward like a man who'd just discovered violence and caffeine. He flailed. Kicked. Swore a lot. Accidentally elbowed himself once.

Thatcher wasn't impressed.

But then Gideon tripped, landed hard, and his elbow hit a piece of chalk.

A glyph lit up.

The ghost shrieked.

"Oh snap that worked?!"

Gideon scrambled up, grabbed the chalk, and drew a horribly crooked circle on the floor. The symbols looked like a toddler's bad dreams.

He jumped inside it and yelled the first words that came to mind:

> "Balance the thing! Pay the debt! Eat spiritual taxes or whatever!"

The glyph flashed.

The ghost roared.

And then—he was gone.

---

LOCATION: BACK HOME, SORE, CONFUSED, PROBABLY HAUNTED

Gideon sat on the couch in the study, nursing a bruised everything.

The Ledger floated in the air, flipping pages slowly like a smug librarian.

> THATCHER WREN

Debt: Paid. Identity Relinquished.

Note: Contact confirmed. Integration beginning.

Gideon threw a pillow at it.

The pillow passed through the book.

He groaned. "Why can I punch ghosts but not you?!"

The fire cracked.

Outside, a storm rolled in.

And deep inside the Ledger, a page glowed red.

Waiting.