"Donavan," A pair of grey eyes glanced in the rear view mirror. "We can't keep picking you up from school like this. The ghost thing needs to stop." The mother sighed with irritation and turned her eyes back to the road. Nearly everyday one of the two parents had to rush to school to pick up the kid they shared. They would run to their friend/neighbor and drop off the kid, then scurry back to work. It was taxing on everyone. In the back seat sat Donavan. He had his arms crossed over his beige, third grade, field day shirt. His clothes where covered in grass stains from all the rough play. "They're real..." He muttered angrily as he glared out the window. Almost no one but the school's councilor listened to him. These ghosts where real. He felt them. He heard them. His mom exhaled slowly as they pulled up to Mrs. Acturn's house. Mrs. Acturn was sitting on the porch with a blanket in progress stretched over her lap. A smile came to her wrinkly face as Donavan hopped out of his mom's fiat. He grudgingly closed the door, and adjusted his backpack on his small shoulders. Without even a goodbye, Donavan was left with his sitter. "Hello Donny, how was school. I'm guessing those ghosts keep bothering you." The elderly woman smiled warmly at him. She enjoyed Donavan's company, and she also enjoyed listening to him. Donavan's parents tried to pent Donavan from blabbering about the ghosts, but Mrs. Acturn never minded. A few of Donavan's foul emotions faded as he sat on the ground by Mrs. Acturn. She listened to anything, and supported him all the way. He nodded slightly as he pulled out a few pages of homework. "No one believes me. I know they can't see them, but I do." He gripped his orange pencil in his left hand. His writing was very messy now. "I thought you where right handed?" Mrs. Acturn dropped her needle for a moment to observe Donavan. He gave a polite smile to her. "My fingers have been hurting today. The other ones hurt a little too, but I gotta do my homework." His green eyes wandered back to the homework as he wrote down the number ninety under a multiplication problem. Mrs. Acturn didn't bother him much on the small problem. She went back to her blanket. Her creation a was a sea blue color. It was turning out to be a large blanket. The yarn wasn't a solid blue, so the blanket was freckled with green smears and baby blue sections. About ten minutes after their short dialogue, Donavan dropped his pencil. The math homework wasn't done. Instead Donavan's hands hurt, they ached really bad. He shook them madly in an attempt to free himself of the pain. "Let me see." Mrs. Acturn accepted the third grader's hands in hers. She focused on his finger tips. Her soft fingers gently brushing his. Donavan whimpered as small sparks of pain ran through his fingers. He knew she was trying to be gentle, but it still hurt. "Okay..." She let Donavan take his hand back. "Can you do this for me?" She held up her hands and flexed her finger. It looked like she was flashing the number ten. Donavan tried, and pain lit his fingers. Blood splattered on the floor as he jumped back. He began to shake his hands again. "Itchy!" The pain had been easily replaced with this unbearable itchy feeling. Mrs. Acturn was slightly amused with this for some reason. "Calm down, it will go away." She stood up and placed her blanket on the bench. She took Donavan's arm, and pulled him into the cover of the porch. Mrs. Acturn had a wall of vines that blocked the street from viewing her. Right now it was a good time to get out of the world's view. Once Donavan stopped shaking his hands, he was able to inspect what had happened. His eyes widened as he studied the small, black claws that poked half an inch out of his finger tips. "What is that?" He brought his hands closer to his face to get a good look at the claws. They itched madly, and he had a hard time coming up with a way to solve this problem. Almost as a reflex, Donavan was able to easily make the claws disappear into little slits in his fingers. "You're a very special kid." Mrs. Acturn told him kindly. Donavan gae her a concerned look. "I don't wanna be special." He shook his hands gently. "It's itchy."