I rarely cursed. I didn't like it much. But sometimes, you just couldn't help it. Like today, when everything seemed to be going wrong.
The headmaster had summoned me first thing in the morning. It was gray and gloomy outside, and to top it all off, my mom called for the first time in ages.
What hurt the most was that I didn't hear any real joy in her voice. I wasn't a little kid anymore, and I could tell when she was just saying the right things without much interest. It was small talk that felt empty at its core: how was school, did I like my room, why wasn't I sending any pictures, was I getting along with the other kids?
She seemed less concerned about all that than about other trifles, like when I'd catch her quietly fretting that people had started visiting us less, that no one invited us anywhere anymore. Honestly, that suited me just fine, though I couldn't say the same for my parents.
They had their own little worries, and I had far weightier things on my plate. Studying and mastering the Dark Gift... It hardly made sense for them to poke their noses into something like that.
Well, parents were parents. Honestly, they were probably better off without me around. And between you and me, I wasn't doing so badly without them either. Especially whenever I recalled Dorian's story about how he ended up inside my head in the first place. He'd had terrible luck with his relatives. At least I didn't have any siblings. If I had, and I really was on my way to becoming some mighty dark mage, they probably would've finished me off too...
Even so, my mood stayed pretty sour.
After class, I went to the park to clear my head. Sensing my mood, Alexey didn't bother me. I was left entirely to myself.
He could be a little dull at times, sure, but he was surprisingly perceptive and never bored me. Unlike most of my former acquaintances, he always seemed to know when to give me space instead of burdening me with pointless questions.
Yesterday, the rain poured steadily from morning till night, leaving everything fresh and steeped in a cool, invigorating dampness. Even the air still felt brisk. Not a single student was wandering about, and no one was pointing fingers at me every other minute, whispering, "Look, there goes Temnikov!" as if I were some kind of monkey on display in a zoo... It was exhausting...
I found refuge in a cozy gazebo near the Pacific Ocean and watched the ducks glide peacefully across the water. I had planned to spend the whole evening just like that, lost in thought, soaking in the serenity, maybe even reading the book I had brought with me, but fate had other plans.
About an hour later, the ghost from the old castle appeared at the edge of the lake. At first, he acted as if he'd come just to watch the ducks, quietly sharing in my little pastime. Sneaky little thing... I figured he'd hover around for five minutes before starting to talk.
But I was wrong. This one had iron willpower; he managed to stay silent for nearly fifteen.
"Do you like it here?" he asked in a high-pitched, squeaky voice, settling down beside me in the gazebo. "I come here often too. Every week, for the last ten years."
There seemed to be no escaping this ghost. He was clearly going to stick around. I figured it was better to talk to him, whether I wanted to or not. And honestly, given how the day was going, it probably couldn't make things any worse.
"Ten years? Wow. That's a long time," I said, nodding. "Do you live here, in the school?"
"Yeah." He gestured toward the old castle, though it wasn't visible from here. "I wander around a lot, but I like it best near the old ruins. That's where I saw you earlier. Remember?"
"Of course I remember. It was just yesterday, after all. You probably studied here once, huh?"
"Me? No way. Never stood a chance. Only the noble kids attend school here, and I was just an ordinary guy without a Gift. I had no special talent, except for swinging a sword. But you! You can even see me..." The ghost leaned in, whispering as if sharing a secret. "I've seen many Gifts and heard of some truly peculiar ones, but never have I encountered a miracle quite like you, boy. You really are one of a kind."
"Anything's possible," I replied casually, a faint smile playing on my lips.
"I'm telling you the truth!" He hammered his fist into his gaunt chest with conviction. "Petka the Whistle doesn't toss words to the wind and has never been a blabbermouth! I've been wandering around like this for nearly fifty years, and not a single soul has seen me!"
"Alright, alright. Just don't shout. I'm not deaf."
"Oh, right." He chuckled softly, a hint of apology in his smile.
"Sorry... I guess I'm so used to thinking that no one can hear me anyway."
I looked at him, shaking my head, and couldn't help but find him rather comical, especially those fishy eyes...
"What's with the grin?" he asked.
"Oh, just remembered a funny joke."
"Oh yeah? Want me to show you what really did me in? It's a joke too, in its own twisted way."
"No, definitely not." I shook my head firmly.
"Come on, don't be a ninny." Petka waved dismissively, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Look!"
In that moment, he rolled up his shirt, revealing a jagged scar across his stomach.
"And there's more," he added, pulling at his hair, which caused his neck to tilt back nearly to its limit. "See? Pretty neat, isn't it?"
"Simply incredible," I muttered, astonished.
"Do you like it? My so-called friends did this to me," Petka said with a grim smile. "One of them in particular. My closest friend, Andrei Vigov. Everyone just called him Wig..."
"What kind of friend does that?" I asked, my curiosity laced with disbelief.
"Exactly!" Petka snapped. "He's a bastard, not a friend. Not after what he did. See this? He slit my throat. And just to be sure, he gutted me too. Left me bleeding out right there on the ground!"
"What are you, some kind of bandit?"
"What makes you say that?"
"Your names just sound strange, that's all," I said, watching as a pair of ducks waddled ashore and squelched their way toward the gazebo. "I mean, you're Whistle, and your friend's Wig..."
"Those are just nicknames. We were mercenaries," he replied casually. "We never messed with Distortions, since none of us were Gifted and we weren't fools enough to tangle with Curses. But we did hunt the smaller monsters that climbed out of them. There were always plenty roaming around, and finding someone willing to chase after them wasn't easy. So we kept busy. I was the leader, and Wig was my deputy, at least until he decided to take over and steal my share."
"You've got yourself a real Treasure Island there," I said with a slight smile, watching the serious look on Petka's face. "Buccaneers, betrayals, epic fights... Even some buried gold, apparently."
"What kind of island are you talking about?"
"Oh, never mind... We'll save that for another time."
"There was treasure, of course. How could there not be?" Petka mused, thoughtfully scratching his chin. "Almost twelve years of fighting monsters nonstop..."
Suddenly, rain began tapping rhythmically on the gazebo roof, and I realized I hadn't brought my umbrella. The thought of getting soaked, or worse, being stuck out here all night, alone in the dark, listening to some ghost's stories while the storm rolled in, wasn't exactly comforting. I just hoped it would pass soon.
"We all thought about registering with the Mercenary Guild, setting up a shop in Belozersk, maybe hiring a bigger squad... Some barracks, that kind of thing," Petka said with a loud sniff.
"It's a shame it didn't work out," I said, just to break the silence. I was afraid he'd keep spinning the story forever if I didn't say something.
"Who said it didn't work out?" Petka's eyes widened, flashing with intensity. "Everything went perfectly — just not for me. That bastard... May his entire bloodline be cursed to the seventh generation!"
Petka slammed his fist against the bench, and in my head, I imagined the loud bang it would've made. Then he grimaced, as if drawing in a deep, heavy breath, just a trace of muscle memory from a life he no longer had. He was furious. At least now we were both in a bad mood.
Meanwhile, the rain picked up, pounding down with renewed fury, as if mocking my hopes of sneaking back to the dormitory. Petka's story was starting to wear me out. Maybe, after that outburst, he'd finally be done?
No such luck. He had no intention of stopping. After sitting in silence for about five minutes, he shifted slightly, then started up again in that thin, rasping voice of his.
"Wig got everything. His own squad, the Mighty Wolves, official membership in the Mercenary Guild, a cozy office, prestige, respect... Well, not for himself, but for his son. He died ages ago from a stomach ulcer.
Choked on black caviar, hah! And now, in his place, there's Yevgeny Vigov — Wig Junior. A fat, piglet-faced brat. But that's fine. Sooner or later, he'll end up in the grave just like his bastard father."
Petka burst into laughter, and I couldn't help but join in. Watching his tongue loll out while I tried to stay serious was just too much. What a character he was.
The ghost glanced at me and, assuming I was laughing because we both believed Wig Jr. would eventually meet his end, cheerfully continued his story.
"The funniest part," he said, a gleam in his eye, "is that Yevgeny keeps his treasure hidden in the exact same spot as his father. And that's where I used to hide mine. A sacred place, secret and protected. I still check on it every month."
"What's the point?" I asked, glancing up at the roof of the gazebo, trying to gauge how hard the rain was falling. "It's not like you can take it."
"I may not," the ghost said with a whistle, then suddenly struck his palm with his fist. "But someone will, sooner or later. Evil can't go unpunished forever. I made a vow. I won't rest until I get my revenge. I've been wandering for nearly fifty years, just waiting for my chance to witness justice. Do you understand?"
"Well, Petka, I think I should be going now..." I rose from the bench and looked at the ghost. "You're quite the interesting fellow, but I really need to get back to the dorm. I've got homework to do..."
"Yeah, it was nice chatting with you..." He nodded with a faint smile. "What's your name?"
"Maxim."
"It's truly wonderful that we've crossed paths," he said, rising from the bench and trotting alongside me. "You know, there's nothing quite like the pleasure of talking to someone, especially after fifty years of silence.
Hold on a moment, Maxim..."
Even without stopping, I couldn't shake the uneasy feeling his voice gave me. Everything had been going so well. He told his story, I listened, and for a while, it had even taken my mind off my own gloomy thoughts.
I quickened my pace, hoping to put some distance between us. But within seconds, he was already catching up, his tongue practically lolling out with each eager step.
"Maxim, wait. I just had an incredible idea." He began, as if it hadn't been his plan all along. "You can help me, and I know exactly how!"
His voice trembled with excitement and barely contained emotion. "Just imagine, my friend: I'll finally get revenge on that bastard and find peace at last. Isn't it brilliant? I've thought everything through!"
"Congratulations," I muttered, walking straight through him.
Why was the dorm so far? They could have placed it closer to the lake...
"What do you mean, congratulations?" Petka caught up with me once more. "On what? You don't understand, Maxim! You're the most vital part of my plan!"
"I have no intention of taking part in your scheme."
"How's that?" Petka asked, visibly puzzled, and froze in place.
I took about twenty proud strides forward, even thinking he'd finally left me alone, but no. Suddenly, he was right back at my heels, and this time, he resorted to threats.
"Either you're part of my plan, or I won't let you go."
"Don't be ridiculous," I replied dryly.
"Can't you just listen to me?" he squeaked, his voice trembling with urgency.
Meanwhile, the dormitory emerged among the trees like a quiet sentinel. Just a little further, and...
That was when I realized something unsettling. Petka was surprisingly proactive, moving about freely and never once forgetting I was there. I hadn't planned on teaming up with a ghost, but could I protect myself from him? I'd always thought of ghosts as limited beings, the kind that fixated on me briefly and then faded away.
But if that wasn't the case here... If Petka refused to leave me alone, no dormitory walls would be enough to shield me from his relentless rambling. I definitely didn't want to share a room with him.
"Alright." I stopped and looked at Petka. "But only on one condition — you tell me your plan, and then we go our separate ways for a few days so I can think it over. Deal?"
"Deal!" he said with a grin, nodding eagerly. "So we're agreeing that you're saying yes today, and just taking some time to think about the best way to help me get my revenge?"
"Don't get ahead of yourself. I could walk away right now, and you'd be talking to ducks for the rest of your existence."
"Okay, listen," he squeaked, his voice trembling with excitement. "I know exactly where Wig Jr. is hiding all his treasures. I know the place, and I know how to get there. I've got the whole thing figured out. He's got a whole pile stashed away! Old coins, rings... Everything his father and I managed to amass, plus what he added himself." He paused to catch his breath, or whatever passed for breath in a ghost, then lowered his voice to a whisper. "Not everything was acquired honestly, of course. There's plenty of illicit stuff. Treasures stolen from noble safes."
"Well, there you have it," I said with a grin, eyeing Petka, whose eyes were practically bulging out of his head. "And you told me you guys weren't bandits. Just mercenaries..."
"Potato, potato," he said with a sheepish shrug. "We've all done things in our youth we'd rather forget... But that's behind us now. The point is, I know where all the loot is hidden, including the gold Wig Jr. stole from his partners. If they ever find out, they'll cut his head off without a second thought. And then there'll be no more Wig, no gang, nothing at all." Petka sighed dreamily. "At last, I'd find peace. I could finally rest easy..."
"And what exactly do you want from me? Honestly, I can't make heads or tails of this."
"What's there to not get?" Petka asked, eyes widening even further.
"You'll take all the valuables and that'll be the end of it. You're young, sure, but money's never been a stranger to anyone..."
"You can't be serious..." I shook my head with a wry smile. "Did you mistake me for someone else? I'm not a bandit. Why would I want your gold?"
"What?" He looked genuinely surprised. "You can buy stuff. Or just keep it for the sake of having it..."
"I don't need anything, really. I have everything I want already."
"If you don't want it, feel free to toss it into the lake or hand it over to the police. Do whatever you want with it, I don't care. I just need to see it gone."
"Seems easy enough... But what's in it for me?"
"What's in it for you?" Petka squeaked. "You'd be doing a good deed! I've been waiting fifty years for this moment!"
God, why did I even start talking to him back in the ruins? Now I had to make decisions and deal with all this...
"Well then, listen carefully," I said. "I don't need your money, but I'm not helping you for free. Have you ever thought I might be afraid of bandits? There could be consequences. They might track me down and start asking some very unpleasant questions. You didn't think of that, did you?
I'm only twelve... Well, almost thirteen."
"They won't," Petka cut in. "I've already thought of everything. I wasn't a gang leader for nothing, you know!"
"I still don't see why I should put my neck on the line..."
"I totally forgot!" Petka's eyes lit up with excitement. "I know where an incredible magical item is hidden! Help me out, and it's yours. So, what do you say?"
He really was different from the other ghosts I'd seen. He could actually follow a long, logical train of thought. It was obvious he'd been holding onto this trump card from the very beginning.
"I don't know... What kind of item is it?"
"That's a secret," he said confidently. "But I promise, it's very rare."
"Why didn't you sell it? Or let me guess, you found out about it after you became a ghost. Would I even be able to reach it? What if there are traps or some kind of protection?"
"Yes, it never belonged to me. And no..." He waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about that. From what I've heard, there's a long story behind it, and it's something pretty special. Wrapped in secrets and blood, buried over a hundred years ago. But now, no one has any claim to it, that's for sure."
Interesting...
"Dorian, what do you think?"
I've never liked ghosts, truth be told. They always got me into trouble. This one seems harmless enough, but it doesn't hurt to learn more and think things through.
"So? Will you help me?" Petka asked impatiently, peering at me with his fish-like eyes.
"As I said, I need time to think about it," I replied. "Now leave me alone. I need to rest. If you keep bothering me, I won't help you. That's a promise."
With that, I turned and headed for the dorm. Hopefully, my thoughts would settle overnight, and I'd wake up with the clarity needed to make this kind of decision.
"I'd like to rest too!" Petka called after me.
Stubborn ghost... Was he a joke from the gods or some twisted gift?
That was yet to be decided.