I HITCHED a ride with Johnny and Alice, feeling kind of out-of-place the whole time. But when Butters saw us backstage, he looked momentarily relaxed. It felt worth it.

He then went back to his routine. He was pacing back and forth in front of the table. His starched white shirt looked tight around the collar. He was singing to himself, making tiny gestures with his hands like a magician, and generally looking unhinged.

We were at the House of Blues in Boston. The place was packed. Karaoke regionals were no joke. Well, at least to the thousand people in attendance and the fifty or so contestants hoping for a spot at nationals.

There were small tables around the perimeter and in the mezzanine and a large pit where people stood shoulder to shoulder and watched the performers sing and get judged. Butters had upped his sartorial game, donning dark jeans, a white shirt and a leather jacket. Combined with his high-strung loose-cannon vibe and an evolving sneer, if you didn’t know him you might almost mistake him for cool. As he finished one lap in front of us, two of the Spectors appeared, in their standard sequin outfits. It was Maybeline and Beverly.

Butters snapped his head to them and looked them up and down. He didn’t need to speak, he just glowered.

“We just thought it would look better,” Beverly said

“No. No. You don’t think. I think,” Butters snapped. “I’m the one who thinks. When I get on stage I slice like a hammer. The girls get shirts!” Suddenly they were back in their tuxedoes.

“Now where the hell is Doris?”

Someone tried to shoosh him from a table in front of us but he shot daggers at them with his face—not literally, he didn’t develop any new powers, just a mean streak—and they turned back without saying a word. He turned his attention back to the two Spectors.

Something odd started to happen. Maybeline and Beverly’s skin seemed to get tighter, like it was getting pulled across a drumhead. And then a crack appeared, the flesh parted across their face, and a dark red glow emanated from inside them. Butters, previously looking so serious, had a flash of concern on his face. He stopped pacing, closed his eyes, and murmured a countdown. The Spectors returned to normal.

Maybeline and Beverly looked at each other and shrugged. It was then that we noticed a woman in a floor length trench coat walking up to the sign in booth. There was an argument about whether she had qualified. She pointed at Butters and when she raised her hand we could see it was Doris. Everyone gasped. Butters looked stunned. “She stepped out. The bitch stepped out. I can’t believe it.”

When he spotted her, all of the Spectors got the instant facelifts. Their skin tightened, then split in half down the centers. Large dark shadows emerged from within, with a deep red glow pulsing at the eyes and mouth. They were terrifying. I lost my breath for a moment. Butters eyes grew wide. He was trembling. He balled his fists, closed his eyes, and just as quickly as the Spectors were, well, spectres, they were people again.

“I need a minute,” he said. “Nerves.”

“What the hell was that?” Johnny asked.

“I shouldn’t say,” said Betty.

“Betty, this seems serious,” I said.

“Okay. But promise not to say anything. How much do you know about Butters’ powers?” Betty asked.

“He can make Spectors appear,” I said. “We know this.”

“Well. Not exactly. Or rather, not entirely. He has mental projections. Which are like daydreams made real. Or day nightmares. There was a time before the Spectors, when he first got his powers, when they were out of control. He said it was like, one day someone hooked a projector up to his head and everyone could see his weird fantasies. Which made him isolated and depressed so pretty soon they reflected that. They grew dark.

“Soon he was plagued by visions of monsters and demons. But not just his visions, everyone could see them. So even more people stayed away. They frightened him and this fear fed on itself. Even his parents stayed away and mostly kept him locked in his room for his and their sake. He saw doctor after doctor until finally they got the right medication and they went away, but it just made him into a zombie. Finally he found a therapist who helped him channel his projections. He always liked singing as a kid, in choir and all that, and was a fan of girl groups, so that, after much trial and error, became his happy place.”

Wow. We were all a bit dumbfounded. We hadn’t known about any of that when Butters was the weird kid in school. Mostly we just knew him and the Spectors, always together, like a team. “And now?” I asked

“Well, with all the pressure and this thing with Doris. I’m afraid he’s starting to crack,” Betty said. She bit her nails. They were chewed down to the nub.

“We should get a closer look,” Alice said.

“What do you mean? I thought he was confident and in control.” I asked. “No. It’s all false bravado. He’s a nervous wreck. He kept pestering Johnny for a drink to calm his nerves. He’s becoming a monster,” Alice said.

“So this is like what, a psychotic break?” Johnny asked.

“I don’t know. Oh god, I don’t know. I’m afraid what’s going to happen if she performs without him. And he breaks,” Betty said. She was becoming incoherent.

We watched as Doris, a mental projection from the head of Butters, had a completes and coherent conversations with the judges, laying out an argument that she was part of a winning team, and was entitled to a spot on the roster even if her name wasn’t on the list. Betty was stunned. So was I, but I was able to keep it together. I turned back to see Butters and he wasn’t even watching her. He was staring at the mirror, yelling at the Spectors in his reflection.

He’d completely lost it.

“It will be fine,” I said, still looking at Butters as he shouted at the remaining Spectors. “Fine.”

We went back to the table and Butters was gulping down a large glass of water and joking with Johnny. I looked at Johnny. Was that really water? Johnny shrugged. He didn’t. He wouldn’t.

Butters got more and more belligerent after each song, and found a new reason to castigate the Spectors. Doris sat talking with Skylark at the bar and smirking at Butters whenever he caught her eye.

Based on a lucky draw the final three contenders, in order, were Skylark, Butters, and Doris. Betty explained the situation to the judges in order to get Doris pulled. She wasn’t… real, just Butters’ mental projection fighting his other mental projections. No matter what shape he was in, competing against his own mind couldn’t be good. A pleasant but severe woman explained that, because of a quirk in the rule book, which Doris pointed out, since she competed and qualified with Butters, she technically could compete.

Then she whispered, “Your friend may need more help than I can give. I’m just a karaoke judge.”

Skylark got on stage and did his usual bird tricks while singing “Wind Beneath my Wings.” It was a bad selection. His bird show was spectacular. But his booming voice and opulent display paired poorly with the song, which was low-key and maudlin. When he sang, “I can fly hiiiiiiiii-gher than an eagle,” he produced an enormous eagle that swooped over the crowd. Everyone was so impressed by the eagle they spent more time watching it than watching him sing.

“Okay. So Butters has a chance,” Johnny said to me.

“At winning? Yes. But at what cost?” Betty asked. She was trying to cheer up Butters, but he was completely ignoring her, focusing on the judges. His intensity was terrifying.

The judges announced the scores for Skylark. He got straight 8.5 by all the judges, who noted that he should spend more time on singing and less time on the stage show. Butters pumped both fists in the air and shouted, “Yes!” Skylark glared at him, but Butters didn’t care. He just stared right back. It was a Butters I’d never seen before. He strode up to the stage and just as his name was being called he grabbed the mic away from the announcer. The Spectors trailed behind him as opposed to spontaneously appearing on stage, and he made sure they were in the right position. He closed his eyes, the mic in one lowered hand, and his other hand in a fist raised to his head. He looked possessed.

A saxophone started and soon Butters burst into “Young Americans.” It was powerful and the Spectors were perfect. He strutted around the stopping only to belt out a line so loud it hit the back of the room like a missile. By the time he sang, “Ain’t no one damn song that can make me break down and cry,” tears were streaming down his eyes, sweat was pouring out of him, and everyone was on their feet clapping and cheering.

The first judge scribbled something down. He raised it up. A 9.5. “Amazing performance. Just amazing. One of the best I’ve ever seen. But not the best.” Butters looked disappointed but shook it off.

The second judge raised her placard. 10. “Perfect, just perfect,” was all she said.

The last judge raised another 10. “Best rendition I’ve ever seen. You could teach Bowie a thing or two.”

Butters jumped up. “Yeah! That’s how you do it.” He screamed. Everyone went crazy again. He was in the lead. The Spectors came over to hug him and wrapped him in their arms, which went right through him, being ghosts and all. They walked back to the group, making sure to pass Doris’s table. Butters ignored her and the other Spectors “accidentally” checked her with their hips.

“Okay, and last but not least, Ms. Doris,” he flipped over the card, looking for more.

Doris got up and took the mic. “Just Doris, honey. You can sit now. I’ll be singing “The House That Jack Built” by Aretha.”

She took off the trench and threw it on the floor. She was wearing the dress that she had on when she quit in Butters’ room. Unlike the previous two songs she had no elaborate show, no magical birds or spectral back-up singers. Just a perfect voice and a charisma that oddly seemed like Butters. She didn’t move or dance, just swayed slightly in place. But she sang it spectacularly, hitting every high note with such clarity it could shatter glass and make you want to weep openly. Also, oddly, she was sweating, which seemed unusual for a spectral being. Everyone gave her a huge applause at the end.

“What happens if she wins?” Alice asked.

“I guess they both go to nationals and knock out Skylark,” Johnny said.

“So he could be competing against himself at nationals. What if she wins and he doesn’t?” Alice said.

“I don’t know. Can spectral beings win money and have a solo career?” I asked.

“This is getting too weird,” Alice shrugged.

“If she’s still around as a solo act after nationals,” Betty said, “Butters will probably end up in an asylum. He can’t maintain this that long. It will drive him insane.” Betty had put a damper on our speculation.

The first two judges gave her 10’s, which elicited even more clapping. We all stared at each other. This couldn’t be good. The last judge waited for dramatic effect. Finally, he said, “Mrs. Doris, I must say, that was the best performance I have ever seen. You are going places. When this is all over, I’d like to manage you.”

“Give me the score and we can talk about it,” she said.

The judge was charmed. “Isn’t it obvious?” he said, raising his 10.Butters’ jaw clenched tightly and Maybeline’s and Beverly’s eyes turned completely black and their skin started to glow a crimson red. Doris, however, smiled widely, waved at the audience, and walked off the stage to thunderous claps.