Page 6 of All Ghosts Aren’t Dead (The Forgotten #1)

BLUE

I followed Simon down the hallway, the soles of my sneakers sliding across polished floors that creaked in places. Sconces lined the walls, flickering with soft, yellow light, but they didn’t do a very good job of chasing the dark away. They made it thicker, somehow. Deeper.

My fingers brushed the paneling as we walked, tracing the wood grain like it might tell me something about the kind of boys who lived here before me—about Samuel.

“It’s pretty quiet right now,” Simon said over his shoulder. “The other boys are asleep. The five of us stay in the west wing: you, me, Rune, Bay, and Miller. You’ll meet them soon.”

Soon .

The word curled around my chest and squeezed.

I wasn’t ready to meet anyone. What if they could see it?

My evil.

Simon stopped in front of a door, one hand resting on the shiny knob. It made a clicking sound when it opened. Simon held it and looked at me with an expectant smile.

I didn’t move.

“You can go in, Blue. This room is yours.”

Mine.

That was… strange.

I’d never had a room before, not really. Just corners and cages—mattresses on the floor and locked closets when I was really bad.

This room had a bed, perfectly made with thick blankets tucked at the corners and a pillow that looked soft— so soft —like it would swallow my head if I laid on it.

The walls were dark green, but not the moldy kind of green on the bread I used to eat. No way . This green reminded me of moss and all the trees we passed on the way here.

A big trunk sat at the foot of the bed with buckles and a little name tag slot that was empty, like it was waiting for me.

Plants lined the windowsill—big ones with long vines and wide leaves. Reaching outward, I pressed the tip of my finger against a leaf. It was cold and wet, but real .

Thick, black curtains were tied back with gold ropes and tassels that felt soft on my palm.

A desk stood in the corner beneath a wall of crooked frames. Not the kind with straps to hold your wrists in place, but a real one, with drawers and a little lamp that curved. The chair was cushioned, too, like they expected someone to sit there for a long time and wanted them to be comfortable.

It made no sense.

None of it.

Sinners didn’t get rooms like this—rooms that smelled like fresh air and clean laundry.

Simon leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “This is your space. Nobody comes in unless you ask them to. No one touches your stuff.”

My throat tightened. “Do I… get to stay?”

“Of course. You still have to sign the contract, but you can take your time and read it thoroughly. Nobody is going to force you to leave.”

I nodded, even though the idea of signing something made my stomach twist.

You’re not pure.

Son of Satan.

Purge. Purge. Purge.

“It’s on your desk when you’re ready,” Simon added gently. “It’s pretty straightforward, but you can ask me or Sam if you have any questions.”

I didn’t look at the desk.

Not yet.

My eyes dragged across the room instead, tracing the way the early morning light fell through tall windows and spilled across the bed.

There were no chains or locks—no blood stains on the floor or scriptures on the walls.

It was just… quiet, and maybe a little soft.

I liked soft.

Simon hadn’t moved from the door. His arms stayed crossed, but he didn’t look angry, just patient.

I moved toward the dresser, running a hand across the smooth top. The knobs were dark brown, and I swiped my thumb over one before wrapping my fingers around it and tugging.

The top drawer slid open with a smooth sound. My heart got all heavy, and I thought maybe it was just going to drop right to my feet, but then I saw…

Socks.

My knees started to vibrate again, and air punched out of my chest so fast I got a little dizzy.

“There’s no Bible.”

Simon made a noise from the doorway, but I didn’t look at him.

No Bible. No Bible.

“Would you like one?”

“No!” I choked a little and reached for the pants I wore, tugging at the seam.

One. Two. Three. Four.

One. Two. Three. Four.

“No, thank you. I don’t… No . No Bibles, please.”

The space behind my eyes started to warm, and I blinked quickly, growling a little. I didn’t like crying. Father said sinners weren’t allowed to cry, but sometimes I couldn’t help it.

Sometimes it felt like the only thing my body knew how to do.

“Blue?” Simon swayed in the doorway, feet twitching like he wanted to move closer, but didn’t.

Good.

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

I blinked. “What? No, I…”

My throat worked around something sharp. I twisted the fabric harder, until I felt the seam bite into my skin.

It was a trick. Wasn’t it?

Kindness without a reason was always a trick.

“Is this a test?”

“I’m sorry?”

I turned back to the drawer, chin to my chest as I stared down at the socks and the emptiness that surrounded them.

It was just… space.

Socks and space.

No Bible. No punishment records. No cross or sage wrapped in twine.

The longer I stared, the tighter my chest got, like I was storing too many feelings in there and didn’t know what to do with them all.

I didn’t want those things.

I hated those things… but without them, how would I know when I was bad?

“Samuel told me I was good.”

I wasn’t allowed to beg— greed was a sin —and I didn’t mean to, but when I looked at Simon, I think maybe I did.

“I don’t know how to be good here. Please. I want… I want to be good.”

Good boy.

“Samuel said…” My stomach started to hurt. “I’m really good at rules.”

Simon shifted his weight and exhaled a slow breath that made his chest curl inward. His eyes weren’t angry like Father’s. I think they were sad, but I wasn’t sure why.

“There are no rules yet, because this is your room. You’re the one who makes the rules here.”

I choked.

No.

Rules came from God—from Father and Ezekiel.

Your Sin stains everything.

My lungs quaked, like the air they held was trying to strangle me.

My hands flexed once, twice, then flew up to press against my mouth. I wasn’t crying— I wasn’t— but my chest ached like I was.

“I can’t make rules.”

Good boys don’t ruin things .

“I’ll ruin things. I always ruin things, and I want… I want to be good. I want him to keep me.”

Simon moved slowly, easing down to a crouch so we were closer to the same height. He didn’t touch me, but his voice was soft enough that it kind of felt like he did.

“Sam doesn’t get rid of people, Blue. That’s not how he works.”

I shook my head, pressing my hands harder against my mouth. My fingertips tingled, and I wanted to scream… but good boys didn’t do that either.

“Hey,” Simon’s voice dropped into a whisper. “You could light this room on fire, and I still don’t think he’d send you away.”

“But…” My breath hitched on a gasp I couldn’t stop, eyes snapping to his. “I’m not fixed yet.”

“None of us are.” Simon smiled, but it looked a little worn. “That’s why this place exists.”

My arms dropped slowly from my mouth. “Even Samuel?”

“Especially Samuel.”

He tilted his head then, eyes flicking toward the door like Samuel might walk right in.

I wished he would.

“He may not say it out loud, but Sam brought you here because he saw something in you, something worth saving. You don’t even have to earn it, Blue. You just have to stay.”

Stay.

I sniffled, breath hitching as I blinked hard and fast.

I don’t have to be fixed.

I don’t have to be punished.

All you have to do is stay.

I pressed my palm flat against my chest, like maybe I could hold my ribs together long enough to believe it.

“Okay,” I whispered. “I’ll sign it.”

Simon’s brows lifted, just slightly. “You don’t have to rush, Blue. Take your time. This door locks from the inside. Nothing and no one can come into this room unless you allow them. Not even Samuel.”

Oh.

I looked at the doorway where Simon stood.

Not even Samuel.

Except… I think I wanted him to come in.

I wanted him to see that I was good—that I’d stay .

My eyes flicked to the desk. A single folder waited there, perfectly centered, an uncapped pen lying across it.

Permanent .

My stomach twisted. Fingers trembling, I captured the edge of the page between my thumb and forefinger, dragging it across the desk.

The letters on the front were dark and sharp—words that probably meant something important.

They might as well have been scribbles.

The panic came fast. It always did. My stomach turned, bile burning the back of my throat as I stared at the paper like it might burst into flames in my hands.

Broken. Evil.

Purge. Purge. Purge.

I didn’t have to read it. Maybe I could just pretend.

Lying is wrong.

I flipped it over, and then again, eyes blurring as I tried to find the spot I was supposed to sign.

All you have to do is stay.

My new name was only one word—four letters.

B-L-U-E.

I could do it.

“Everything okay?” Simon called.

I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. If I looked at him, he’d see.

He’d know.