The bathroom didn't feel like a room anymore. It felt like a glitch—like something in reality had slipped half a step out of place and no one else had noticed except him.
Jackson gripped the sink harder, porcelain creaking faintly under the pressure. His fingers trembled, knuckles paling as the flickering fluorescent light above buzzed like it was trying to warn him. The mirror was worse. It wasn't lying—it just wasn't telling the whole truth. Same hoodie. Same glasses. Same face. But the edges shimmered, like heat rising off pavement, like static crawling across a broken screen, like something else was trying to push through.
"Jackie." Holt's voice wasn't lazy or teasing this time. It was sharp, focused.
"You see that too, right?"
Jackson swallowed. "Yeah." His voice came out smaller than he wanted, too thin in the tiled room.
The reflection smirked. Just for a second. Not him. Not Jackson.
His stomach dropped. "That's new."
"No," Holt corrected quietly, "that's worse."
The light flickered again, and for one split, awful second, the reflection wasn't Jackson at all—fire-touched eyes, sharper posture, a grin that didn't ask permission. Then it snapped back.
Jackson staggered away from the sink. "No—no, no…" His breathing picked up too fast, chest tightening. "Why is this happening when we're not switching?"
Silence.
That was the worst part. Holt always had something to say. Always. But now—
"…I don't know."
Jackson dragged a hand through his hair, pacing once across the cramped space. "This didn't happen before. We switched. That was it. One at a time. Clean. Separate."
"Yeah," Holt muttered, "keyword: before."
Jackson stopped. He knew what that meant. "This is because of Halloween."
Not a question. A realization.
Outside, lockers slammed and voices echoed, but in here everything felt like it was unraveling.
"Think about it," Holt said, quieter now. "The closer it gets, the more messed up things feel. The reflection. The overlap. Me being this loud during the day? That's not normal."
"No," Jackson admitted, staring at the mirror again. Now it matched him perfectly—too perfectly. "And the film…"
"Yeah."
Jackson's chest tightened. It wasn't just a scary movie. It was history. For everyone else, it was simple: monsters were the victims, humans were the threat. But for him, it wasn't that clean. He saw the torches, the fear, the anger—and part of him understood it.
"I could be one of them," he whispered.
"And you could be the one they're chasing," Holt shot back immediately.
Jackson closed his eyes. "Yeah."
That was the problem. Both were true.
A sudden buzz broke the moment. Jackson flinched, then realized it was his iCoffin vibrating in his pocket. He hesitated before pulling it out. The screen lit up his face, notifications flooding in—group chats, posts, videos. The school was already talking.
He tapped one.
Shaky footage filled the screen. Laughter. Chaos. Normies outside the school, shouting, throwing things, running.
"Monster freaks!"
Jackson froze. Even through a screen, it felt too real.
"…Yeah," Holt muttered. "That's not helping."
Jackson scrolled. Angry comments. Fearful ones. Calls for payback. His chest tightened again.
"They're going to blame humans," he said.
"They already are."
"And me?"
Silence. That was worse than any answer.
Jackson shoved the iCoffin back into his pocket. "I need to get to class."
"Yeah."
But neither of them sounded convinced.
He pulled his hood up tighter, like it might help, like it might hide something that wasn't just physical anymore. One last glance at the mirror—this time it didn't glitch. It just stared back, neutral, unreadable, like it was waiting.
The hallway hit him like a wave. Noise, movement, energy—too much. Jackson kept his head down and moved fast, but he felt it anyway. The glances. The whispers. Not loud, not obvious, but there.
"You feel that?" Holt asked.
"Yeah."
"That's new."
"Yeah."
He turned a corner and nearly ran into someone again. He stopped short, heart jumping. "Sorry," he muttered quickly.
The monster in front of him didn't respond. Didn't move right away. Just looked at him a second too long, then stepped around him without a word.
Jackson stood there for a moment, frozen. Somehow, that was worse than Manny. At least Manny had said it out loud—normie. Simple. Clear. This was something else.
"Okay," Holt said slowly. "Yeah, I don't like that."
"Me neither."
Jackson started walking again, faster now. Because it wasn't just fear anymore. It wasn't just confusion. It was the realization that the line between human and monster wasn't just blurry for him anymore—it was starting to blur for everyone else too. And not in a good way.
By the time he reached his next class, he didn't feel like himself anymore. Not fully. Not safely. Just split, and cracking at the edges.
"Hey," Holt said suddenly.
"Yeah?"
A pause.
"We're gonna figure this out."
Jackson didn't answer right away. He wanted to believe that. He really did. But as he stepped into the classroom, as conversations dipped just slightly, as eyes flicked toward him—
He wasn't sure anymore.
And for the first time, that scared him more than Halloween ever could.
---
The classroom never got quieter.
It just got… sharper.
Like every sound had edges now.
Chalk scraping the board. Pages turning. A zombie's low groan from somewhere in the back. Even the ticking of the clock felt louder than it should've been—each second landing like a reminder that Jackson was still sitting there.
Still being watched.
He kept his head down, eyes locked on his notebook.
Not reading.
Not writing.
Just… staring.
You're doing it again, Holt muttered.
"I'm not doing anything."
Exactly. That's the problem.
Jackson's fingers twitched against the page.
Because Holt wasn't wrong.
Every instinct he had was telling him to shrink. Stay quiet. Don't draw attention. Don't make it worse.
But that—
That was drawing attention.
He could feel it.
The glances.
The subtle shifts.
The way conversations dipped just slightly whenever he moved.
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't obvious.
But it was there.
And it was getting worse.
---
At the front of the room, Mr. Rotter continued talking like nothing was wrong.
Like everything was normal.
"History is not merely something we study," he said, voice calm and even. "It is something we learn from."
Jackson swallowed.
Because right now?
It felt like history was staring straight at him.
---
His reflection flickered faintly in the glossy edge of his desk.
He froze.
Don't.
Don't look.
He looked anyway.
For just a second—
The image lagged.
Just enough.
Just wrong enough.
---
That was it.
That was the breaking point.
---
"I can't do this," Jackson whispered under his breath.
Yeah, Holt said, no sarcasm this time. I was wondering when you were gonna say that.
Jackson's grip tightened on the edge of his desk. "They're staring."
They're always staring.
"Not like this."
That made Holt pause.
---
"…Okay," Holt admitted. Yeah. Not like this.
---
Jackson exhaled shakily.
"I need out."
Bathroom?
"Bathroom."
Good call.
---
Jackson raised his hand.
It felt heavier than usual.
Like even that small movement had weight behind it.
Mr. Rotter's gaze slid over.
Paused.
Just for a moment.
Then—
"Yes, Jackson?"
Jackson stood too fast, chair scraping loudly against the floor.
A few heads turned.
More than a few.
"I—uh—can I go to the bathroom?"
A beat.
Mr. Rotter studied him.
Not suspicious.
Not accusing.
Just—
Aware.
"Make it quick," he said.
---
Jackson didn't wait.
He grabbed his bag and moved.
Fast.
Out the door.
Into the hallway.
---
The second the door shut behind him—
He exhaled like he'd been holding his breath the entire time.
"Okay—okay—"
Easy, Holt said. You're fine.
"I am not fine."
Fair.
---
The hallway was emptier now.
Classes in session.
Less noise.
Less eyes.
But it didn't help.
Because now—
There was nothing to drown out his thoughts.
---
Jackson pushed into the bathroom again, the door slamming shut behind him.
Empty.
Good.
He staggered to the sink, gripping it like before.
The mirror waited.
---
"Do it," Jackson said.
You sure?
"Yes."
You don't gotta—
"Holt."
That stopped him.
---
A beat.
Then—
…Alright.
---
The heat came fast this time.
Not slow.
Not building.
Immediate.
Like something snapping into place.
---
Jackson sucked in a sharp breath as it spread through him—too much, too quick, too overwhelming.
"Not—like this—"
Too late.
---
The mirror flickered.
Hard.
Violent.
---
Jackson's reflection split—
Two outlines overlapping—
Then—
---
Gone.
---
Holt exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders like he'd just stepped out of a cramped space.
"Okay—yeah, that felt worse than usual," he muttered, running a hand through his now flame-streaked hair.
He looked up.
The mirror showed him clearly now.
No flicker.
No glitch.
Just—
Him.
---
"…Well," Holt said, forcing a smirk. "At least one of us looks normal."
Define normal, Jackson muttered weakly in the back of his mind.
Holt snorted. "Fair."
---
He stretched slightly, loosening up.
Because that tension?
That pressure?
Gone.
Or at least—
Not as bad.
---
"Alright," Holt said, straightening. "Game plan."
Go back, Jackson said immediately.
Holt blinked. "You serious?"
Yes. You said it yourself. They're staring. At least if it's you—
"They stare for a different reason," Holt cut in.
Yeah, Jackson replied. But it's better than this.
---
Holt hesitated.
Because—
That wasn't wrong.
---
"…Man," he muttered, shaking his head. "This is messed up."
Tell me about it.
---
Holt glanced at the mirror one more time.
No glitch.
No overlap.
Just him.
---
"Alright," he said. "We do this my way."
Which is?
Holt grinned slightly.
"Confidence."
---
Jackson didn't respond.
---
Because honestly?
He didn't have a better idea.
---
Holt pushed off the sink and headed for the door, shoving his hands into his pockets like he owned the place.
Like nothing was wrong.
Like everything was normal.
---
He stepped back into the hallway—
Then into the classroom.
---
The reaction was immediate.
Different.
---
Heads turned—
But this time?
There was recognition.
Familiarity.
---
"Yo, DJ!" someone called from the back.
Holt lifted a hand lazily. "What's good?"
---
He slipped back into the seat Jackson had just vacated.
Leaning back.
Relaxed.
Easy.
---
Mr. Rotter paused mid-sentence.
Eyes narrowing slightly.
---
"Holt Hyde," he said.
---
Holt flashed a quick grin. "In the flesh."
---
A beat.
Then—
"And Jackson?"
---
There it was.
---
Holt didn't hesitate.
"Not feeling great," he said, shrugging. "Asked me to cover."
---
A couple of students nodded.
Made sense.
That was normal.
---
Mr. Rotter studied him for a moment longer.
Longer than necessary.
---
Then turned back to the board.
"See that you do not miss anything important," he said evenly.
---
Holt smirked. "Wouldn't dream of it."
---
Class resumed.
---
And just like that—
The tension shifted.
---
The whispers died down.
The glances faded.
The pressure lifted.
---
Not gone.
But—
Different.
---
Holt leaned back in the chair, balancing it on two legs.
"See?" he muttered under his breath. "Handled."
---
Inside—
Jackson didn't answer right away.
---
Because he could feel it too.
---
The difference.
---
The way the room treated Holt—
Like he belonged.
---
Like there was no question.
---
"…Yeah," Jackson said quietly.
---
But it didn't sound relieved.
---
Because even though the staring had stopped—
---
The problem hadn't.
---
And now—
---
It felt even clearer than before.
---
They weren't just switching anymore.
---
They were hiding.
---
And somehow—
---
That felt even worse...