Archie Smith was special. He didn’t feel this way, but it was true. Everyone flocked to him, wanting to get (and keep) his attention. Granted, Archie was only eight, but still commanded that air of importance.
He, however, thought the complete opposite. Whenever started at, Archie thought he had something on his face. As he was surrounded and bothered, he thought that he was being made fun of.
No matter who though that, there was no denying that there was something different about little Archie. The people adored him, and he could get away with anything he wanted. Not that he took advantage of that. When he was younger, and it was expected of little kids to get into things and wind up in trouble, no one even attempted to raise their voices at the boy.
“Mama,” he would ask, his little voice like music to his mother’s ears, “can I go play outside?”
“Anything you want,” she would reply.
He always expected this answer, and almost always had back up questions. “What if I go jump on the cows?”
“Anything you want,” was once again the answer.
“What if I want to run away?”
And the only answer he ever got was “Anything you want”.
So he learned at a very young age that he could do anything that pleased him. Usually, Archie just took to staying indoors, playing with younger children, reading any books he could get his little hands on, and simply staring out the window.
However, there was another thing about our Archie. He never told anyone, never even gave the slightest hint at anything anywhere close to it. Normally, he would tell anyone whom was willing to listen anything he wanted to say. He was an extremely talkative child that loved to hear and tell stories. But this was his own personal secret. After all, how would one – assumed to be in their right mind – go around telling people that they can see ghosts?
* * *
They came every night. Archie’s mother would tuck him into bed, kiss his forehead, turn off his light, and close the door behind her. Archie would snuggle deeper into his bed, eyes squeezed tight, and try his best to sleep.
He would almost make it. Just as his mind would drift off, a soft, gentle glow would fill his room. He would try his best to ignore it, but the light would only get brighter and brighter until he had to sit up and politely ask them to stop.
Little orbs would be floating through thin air, dancing around his little bedroom. They would whisper to each other, not paying Archie much attention. Sometimes he could pick up on their words, but typically, he couldn’t hear the repeated questions.
Although on this particular night, he could.
A tiny voice asked, “Is he the one?” And another tiny voice agreed. They didn’t stop after that, their excited chatter growing louder and louder until Archie had to cover his ears for fear of going deaf.
“Hello,” Archie called out, “Can you please tone it down and be quite? I’m trying to sleep, after all.”
After that, the voices stopped; the glowing did not. In fact, it got brighter, almost blinding, then stopped. All light was gone. There was no more chatter, no more sound whatsoever. A deafening silence filled the room, and the orbs were gone.
The next morning when Archie’s mother went to wake him up, it was found that Archie himself had disappeared with them.
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