(Written for a short story contest by Ghost.
Word count of 1499 words)

"How're things at your house, mate?" Mike asked as we trudged down the dusty path on the way back from school. I jammed my hands in my pocket.

"The happenings have... increased," I replied grimly, dragging my feet.

He sighed and neither of us said a word for a few minutes. It had been only twelve days, but it seemed like a month more.

Twelve days since a young boy and his friends playing by a lake had drowned by unknown causes. Twelve days since our town began witnessing supernatural occurrences. Twelve days since the clock's strike at midnight signalled the onset of cold gusts of wind, shattering streetlights, screams without sources, and pale, formless apparitions.

My house had recently become a target for such happenings. I had gotten accustomed to bolting my room door and staying in bed without a sound before the clock struck 12. It seemed to be a beacon for unseen spirits, the witching hour. Every night at the same time, the sound of water splashing would make its way from the pond behind my house and there would be stange patterns drawn in the mud the next day. For the past two nights, I had heard fingernails softly scratching at my window, a smiling face drawn on the frosted glass.

The street lights were being replaced every two days, but we'd hear the sound of their shattering every night, two minutes after midnight. One man had volunteered to patrol the streets to check if it was just a mere kid playing a troublesome prank. A week later, we still don't know what he observed. He returned home the next morning having completely lost his vision and memory.
The city newspapers were plastered with articles of the sudden horrific happenings in our town.

"The Rouville Hauntings," I recalled aloud, almost scoffing at its absurdity. Mike chuckled beside me, his feet kicking up clouds of dust.

"Compared to their ridiculous articles, I like my explanations better," he remarked, smirking. I rolled my eyes. He was the first person I knew who'd crack a smile while referring to the death of six children in the village.

"It fits in," he continued adamantly. "The young boy who drowned mysteriously? He died along with his five friends when they were playing at the banks of the lake. Some folk heard them playing Hide and Seek, I've been told," Mike went on, demanding my attention.

"Maybe those kids never got to finish their game. The hauntings began only after they died, so what if the apparitions and flickering lights... are in fact those kids still playing Hide and Seek? A streetlight shattering could be like a hint to where the players are hiding!"

I looked up at his excited face. "You mean like Hide and Clap? The players clap when they're asked to, so the seeker can find them?" I asked, hitching my bag on my shoulder.

"Exactly," Mike replied with a nod.

I turned back to the path ahead, considering my friend's explanation.

"Didn't you say that no photographs of those six children have been found till date?" I continued, recalling how no posters of the kids had been put up. Mike shrugged.

"I guess it's true... Or maybe there are pictures but the parents don't want to release them for some reason," he replied. "But guess what? I found something."

I turned my gaze to his palm, which had retrieved something from his pocket. Mike held out a torn photograph.

"This," he spoke softly, as though afraid of being overheard. "This is the only picture I've found of that boy. Neville, his name was."

I gazed hard at the image of a young boy, around thirteen years old, with bright red hair and eyes so grey they seemed to reflect a storm. What a tragedy to die so young...
He had been blissfully unaware of his fate as he played with his friends that day.

I was allowed to stare at the picture for a moment longer before my friend pocketed it again. We had reached my house by now and I was slightly disappointed.

"Oh well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow, Larry," Mike spoke up and patted my shoulder. "I'd offer to stay with you since your parents are out for two days, but-"

I cut him off in a self-assured voice. "Mike, I'm sixteen. I think I can manage," I said, masking the uncertainty under my words. He shrugged.

"Just make sure you stay inside and lock the doors before twelve," he stated. I nodded and waved goodbye to him. I watched him trudge back down the road before unlocking the house and locking the door behind me.

*****

I really wished my parents were home, as the darkness that settled in after seven was starting to discomfit me. With each hour closer to midnight, my heart raced with uncertainty.

I sat down on the sofa with my dinner and turned on the television to get my mind off certain thoughts. The set crackled to life and I was left staring mindlessly at some cartoon programme. I didn't bother changing the channel, with my mind focussed on simply finishing my dinner and heading upstairs to my locked room.

Forty minutes ticked by and I had finished my dinner. I left the television on and headed to the kitchen to wash up. As my hands did their work with the plates, my mind turned to the cartoon playing. The audio was gradually getting fainter and fainter, with static starting to interrupt the show. I finished my work and walked up to the sofa to turn the set off. It was eleven o'clock already.

The programme was almost inaudible now, and as I fumbled to find the remote, the show came back on suddenly. It seemed like a different one this time and sounded like a nursery rhyme show.

"One, two, three, four, five
I know you're still alive.
Six, seven, eight, nine, ten
I'm coming to get you, friend!"

I don't know what made me do it, maybe it was my nerves that had been bothering me ever since dusk set in, but I dropped the remote and bolted upstairs. I didn't stop until I had entered my room and bolted the door twice that I stood still to catch my breath. That song had triggered something off in my mind and I wasn't about to stay downstairs any longer.

I took one last look at the door and began to walk slowly towards my bed. A soft, almost imperceptible creak from under the bed broke the disconcerting silence, making me stop in my tracks.

You didn't check for things under your bed, idiot, I thought crossly to myself. I hadn't brought myself to look under my bed ever since a red ball rolled out from under it three days ago, sending me running to my parents' room in terror.

I picked up a thick book and cautiously padded across the floor. I passed by the mirror on the wall to my right and glanced at it for a brief second. As I looked at my reflection, I felt the book crash to the ground and my blood turn to ice.

There was a someone else behind me. A boy of about thirteen with bright red hair. He seemed to be thoroughly drenched, with seaweed on his clothes, but I saw no water on the floor.
His cloudy grey eyes were missing, having been replaced by only eye sockets. He stared at me silently and smiled crookedly at my speechless state. My heart was racing as I struggled for words.

"Neville?" I whispered. "The boy who drowned..."
He nodded.

"The midnight occurences... That was you?" I continued as my voice trembled. He nodded again.

"We never got to finish our game," he replied in a hoarse whisper that didn't resemble a young child's voice.

Their game. Hide and Seek.

"Midnight was always our favourite time to play," he went on softly. "Everything was quiet and we could hide anywhere...

"We've been playing every night, for the past twelve nights," he continued, taking a small step towards me. "But the five of us never get to finish our game." His voice was laced with a tinge of sadness.

My breathing was ragged, taking in the surreal happenings. "Five?" I managed to whisper. "There were six of you..."

He stared at me blankly through his hollow eyes. "We were five all this time," he replied softly. "Now I've found you, Larry. Our sixth friend." The young boy's face twisted into a small smile as he took another step towards me.

My eyes grew in alarm. What did he mean?

"What do you want?" I asked, trying to steady my voice as I felt my hands get clammy.

Neville continued to smile eerily, absentmindedly brushing away the seaweed from his sleeve.

"We must finish the game. All six of us," he muttered softly.

"And it's your turn to hide."