PROLOGUE

IT WAS BAD ENOUGH I had to up and move in the middle of my senior year, but to be the new guy at a high school where eight students had committed suicide since September?

I felt cursed.

By spring break, three more students were gone. Eleven total. Dead.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

Even though the students died by their own hands, their deaths were provoked —and I’m the only one who could see what tormented them. Believe me, I tried to warn people. I begged them to listen, but they wouldn’t. Not even the people closest to me.

Chances are, you won’t take me seriously either.

My stories are twisted and bizarre —and so terrifying that I’m sometimes told to shut up a few minutes into them —but I can’t.

And who knows? Maybe you’re one of the rare ones —one of a small minority willing to venture beyond your five senses to believe in what is rarely seen. What intentionally stays hidden.

What I wished I’d never seen.

It all began on a typical Monday morning.

Well, typical for me.