text: (The following content contains actions of self-harm) *Character Identification*: Female, 9-14 *October 11, 2012* As I rounded the corner of my big house, I saw Shephia, my best friend for a few weeks now. She said that mommy and daddy couldn’t see her. She told me she was only visible to those who were vulnerable to the Astral Barrier. I don’t know what that means, though. Astral Barrier probably has something to do with the *Astral Plane* Shephia keeps talking about. I don’t know what *Astral* means, but I know what *plane* and *border* mean. Plane is an area... and border is something that can keep you from something... Shephia is taller than me. Almost as tall as my mom, but maybe... about six or seven inches shorter. She told me she’s fifteen, but she looks closer to eighteen. She acts really adult-like, telling me not to do risky things. But she’s fun to talk to. She told me about her ex-boyfriend. It’s a really nice story. Today, I asked her to tell it to me again. In her white-and-blue plaid shirt and ripped jeans, she sat on the air, a foot above the floor. “Okay, okay,” she said after I asked her for the sixth time in a row. “I met Slava when I was going to Russia, where my dad lived. Since they lived in different countries, I spent every other year with my dad. I went to a new school each time I switched countries, so I didn’t really get to know anyone well. “But, when I was fourteen, that changed. My mom got sick and was put in a hospital. So, I’d be staying with my dad for a bit longer. “I was starting my freshman year of high school. The school was grades six through twelve. I walked in, and I saw that most of the people in my class, save the three newer students, already had a group of their own. “When I first saw Slava, I didn’t think he was born in Russia, he had a darker, more soothing skin tone. But after first period, I went up to him and asked: ‘how are you doing?’ “He looked surprised. Apparently, due to my Caucasian American skin tone. I explained to him that I a was a native to both America and Russia, my parents were just from the two different countries. “He explained he was adopted by a nice family from St. Petersburg. He moved out to the country with his older brother, Sacsha. “After the school day was over, we decided to walk home together, our houses being in the same direction...” As I listened to the long story of her and Slava getting to know each other and ending up a couple until Shephia died, I was sidetracked by the sound of a car outside. When she was finished with the story, I walked up to the window to see my dad with two other men from his work. Mom probably wouldn’t be very happy about that. If she wasn’t at work herself right now. “Who is it,” Shephia asked with her soothing, genuinely curious tone. I looked at her and said, “it’s daddy. With friends.” “Okay. Would you like to meet your dad’s friends?” “Nope.” “Why not, Little Enne?” “Daddy’s probably just inviting them over to suck up to them.” “Tha--at’s not a very nice thing to say about your dad.” “Fiiiiiine. I’ll go meet them.” “I was just asking, you don’t actually have to. They might be nice.” “All of dad’s friends treat me like a little kid.” “To a lot of people, you *are* a little kid. They might be nervous around people they perceive as little kids.” I proceeded to go downstairs to talk to my dad. I had a fun time, talking to them about drawing and learning new art styles. They seemed more at ease with me after we had a long conversation about drawing. When the two men left, one said, “bye, Lenne, hope we see y’again!” I smiled at the kind words said by a person I’d never have met in different circumstances. Shephia had good ideas... why didn’t I listen to her? When I went back to my room, Shephia was there, sitting on the floor. *On the floor*. She was actually sitting on the floor. I didn’t know she could do that. She looked distracted. “What’s wrong,” I asked. “Nothing much,” she said back. “What are you thinking about?” “Hmm... I’m thinking about dying.” “Was it hard for you?” “... yes, it was. It was very hard.” I had the sense she was holding back tears and sobs, but I asked her another question. “How did you die?” She paused, eyes widened, and she had this look of... just being... overwhelmed by the question. Then she seemed to calm down and said, “maybe I’ll tell you when you’re older.” “Uhhh... okay, fine.” And with that, I had something strange to look forward to, in a few years. *September 14, 2017* I was fourteen when our parents called a friend of theirs who called herself a “*White Witch*” over to exorcise the house. I rolled my eyes. The only bad spirits were in the corner of the basement... and they mostly kept to themselves. She came over and introduced herself. Mom didn’t really believe in the supernatural or paranormal, but dad and I did. Well, I mean... I’ve been talking to a ghost for the better part of my life, so I’d have to believe in it. It’d be weird if I didn’t. “I’m Elizabeth, call me Liz. You must be Lenne,” she said to me. I nodded and replied, “yeah, that’s me. Lenne. You can also call me Enne.” “Okay, Enne. Nice to meet you. Do you believe in ghosts?” “Yup. Just don’t go to the northeast corner of the basement.” Her face turned from one of joy to one of terror. “Why, what’s down there?” she asked. “Hands.” Her face then morphed into one of confusion. She gave me a pebble, then handed my dad a pebble and we sat on the couch while she did her thing. When she came back a few minutes later, she was sweating and looked totally worn out. She gave my parents and I small corked vials filled with different things. *Protection jars*, she called them. “There was something in the basement I couldn’t completely get rid of. It’ll come back,” she said, looking at me. It seemed like she was trying to see past my soul and into my mind. “And there’s something around you... seemingly protecting you. It’s kind and soft, but... it’s something that could turn on you.” I wanted to correct her, to say that Shephia wasn’t an *it*, she was a *she*. But I could tell that Elizabeth could see Shephia, so I didn’t worry. Then Shephia’s voice spoke to her. That beautiful, soothing voice. “I’d never cross Little Enne. You may see how my past presence faded, but I can assure you I’m loyal.” I nodded, and Elizabeth realized I could see and hear her too. Elizabeth smiled, said her goodbyes, and left. I hid my relief that she left until Shephia and I got to my bedroom. “Thank god she left,” I sighed. Shephia looked worried. Her next words surprised me. “I think it’s about time...” her voice trailed off for a few minutes, but she managed to finish the sentence. “I think it’s about time... I told you *How* *I* *Died.*” I felt my eyes widen in surprise and confusion. “Okay, I’m listening,” I said to her. She told me the story of how she died. Her dad wasn’t paying a lot of attention to her, always by her mom’s side. She decided it’d be better for him if she did it. She told me she drove herself to her dad’s work, took the elevator to the roof, above the sixteenth floor, and took a pocket knife with her. She walked to the edge, stabbing herself so she would die for sure. Then she jumped off. Listening to her story, I was horrified. I never expected my best friend of five years... to have killed herself. She said that the house I lived in was her favorite house that her mom had owned. I felt tears on my face, and realized I was on the verge of sobbing. *September 20, 2017* Walking home from school, I was excited to bake cookies for late September, as I did every year, with my dad. Instead, I came home to my greatest fear. I got home from school to find my parents bleeding on the floor, black hands reaching out for them... And the hands had Shephia by her arms and legs and hair. Her mouth was covered by the hands, and I noticed my parents could hear her muffled screams and see the hands too. “Shephia!” I yelled, but she stopped screaming and opened her eyes to look at me. She smiled. And as I watched the hands push her into terror and darkness, I didn’t do anything. She wouldn’t have wanted me to grab her. She would have wanted me to help my parents. So I did. I helped my mom and dad to their feet. Dad was stabbed, somehow, but mom only had deep scratches on her limbs. She could still walk, though. Dad, however, was very badly injured. The *stab* wound was a few inches deep. Mom drove to the hospital. I was surprised she could still use the muscles in her legs enough to get us to the hospital, which was seventeen minutes away by car. When we got there, my mom and dad were immediately put into rooms, the hospital not being very busy. I went to a waiting room, alone. I didn’t know what to do, so I asked if I could borrow a pencil and some copy paper. On the paper, I drew my nine-year-old self sitting on my bedroom floor, back of my head facing the viewer. And above me, sitting on air, smiling while telling one of her favorite stories, was a long-dark-brown-haired girl with green hazel eyes wearing a white-and-blue plaid shirt and ripped jeans. On the right side of the drawing was my bed, and framing Shephia’s upper body and head was the window in my old bedroom. Next, I drew Shephia, pointing a knife to her heart on the top of a tall building, wind blowing in her hair, getting ready to glide off. Then I found myself drawing the hands, in the corner of the basement. I hadn’t even thought about what I drew, I just let the desire to move the pencil across the different sheets of paper guide my drawings. When I looked at them, I felt more tears fall down my face. Shephia... didn’t want to *leave* again. She loved me... like a guardian angel. *She was my guardian angel.* *And now I’ll never get to repay her for all the things she did for me.