I didn't know that I was psychic. Then I started to see things. First it was the gnome, then ghosts, and finally, a disembodied head that talked to me.
My name is Michael Grady, but my friends call me Mick. I'm fourteen years old. I didn't see any weird stuff until I stayed at The Helping Hand Plantation for a few months. Angel, one of my friends there, said that the school was on the between. That's what she called it. She said it was as if the plantation was sitting on top of the Bermuda Triangle. Things crossed over from some other place. Sometimes, like the disappearance of Buddy Knoll, the between just sucked something, or someone into itself as if it was hungry.
Angel said it opened up a lot of possibilities for those who were psychic, and, at the plantation, there were only five of us. There was a teacher, too. But Ms. Rachel Seer kept her visions to herself.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. I need to start the story when I arrived at Helping Hand. For me, it was a day in hell.
"Save it for the judge, kid. Let me tell you about my vision. I'm looking at the last person to see Buddy Knoll alive. I'm seeing a fourteen-year-old punk with a bag of weed and a bottle of cheap tequila. And I'm thinking, Sure you saw gnomes and ghosts--who wouldn't when they're ripped out of their gourd? Now put the bottle down, put your hands in the air, and tell me what you did with Buddy's head, kid, or this is gonna be your day in hell."
Opening: ILS.....Continuation: Anonymous