Yeah. Carter isn\u2019t happy to be back home. But California is expensive, and the world of acting just isn\u2019t ready for him yet \u2013 or, at least, that\u2019s what he likes to tell himself. At the end of the day, being back in with his parents beats being homeless in LA, so who is he to complain?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Carter now stands on the porch of an old house, his gaze trained on the sun as it sets into the neat row of old suburban houses before him. Each house looks as if its very foundation hardly supports it anymore, but in the orange hue of the sunset, that run-down look is oddly beautiful; rustic in a nostalgic way that makes something in Carter almost appreciate Ford\u2019s Worth. It\u2019s this hollow feeling he can\u2019t quite explain. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
The porch he stands on belongs to a house that resides in what has to be the oldest neighborhood in Ford\u2019s Worth. This neighborhood, as creepy and run-down as it is, is where the annual Ford\u2019s Worth Freight<\/em> is held. It\u2019s not as scary as it sounds \u2013 it\u2019s really just a ghost tour, where a bunch of washed-up theatre kids tell scary stories to each other. Carter\u2019s been volunteering to be a part of the tour since he was 13, acting as a ghost for so long that they don\u2019t even ask him to volunteer anymore. They just kind of expect him to be there now. Hell, even at 23, he can just walk right up to his usual tour spot, and no one bats an eye. Some small, lonely part of him wishes that they would.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It feels so numbing to be home, Carter realizes as he stands, looming over each passing tour group. The sun settles lower as the tour goes on, replaced by a full moon and streetlights illuminating each face of every patron in the crowd. Carter does what he\u2019s done every year, stalking the edge of the crowd, remaining just slightly out of sight. Every move feels robotic \u2013 not like he\u2019s rehearsed it a thousand times over, but like he\u2019s been doing it for so long that it\u2019s lost its meaning. The crowd doesn\u2019t even look at him. The voice of whoever is telling the stories this year goes in one ear and out the other, the low drone of their voice only adding to the aching feeling in Carter\u2019s chest. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Everything has been so weird<\/em> since he\u2019s returned to Ford\u2019s Worth. He expected as much, having left Ford\u2019s Worth with no expectation of ever returning. He hated who he was when he was here \u2013 he hated who he wasn’t<\/em> when he was here. Because it\u2019s not that he was bullied; it\u2019s not that this town hated <\/em>him and he hated them right back. He wished that was the case, because it was a lot more like he was invisible.<\/em> His whole childhood, it was as if he was see-through, not even noteworthy enough to be bullied. And maybe that\u2019s why his chest aches at each pass-up from the crowd. Maybe that\u2019s why his insides twist with this feeling he can\u2019t name each time he\u2019s ignored, with each word that the tour guide speaks. This biting, aching desire for someone \u2013 anyone \u2013 <\/em> to see him, to just fucking look at him. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n And seriously, what is so goddamn enticing about this story that the crowd can\u2019t even acknowledge him\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n And that\u2019s when he hears his own name slip from the tour guide’s mouth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He flinches instinctively, freezing in place for a moment before he realizes that the words aren\u2019t directed at him. They\u2019re directed at the crowd. The tour guide is still telling the story.<\/p>\n\n\n\n What?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSome say he walks these very streets,\u201d the tour guide continues, gesturing to a house \u2013 the<\/em> house that Carter always had his ghost stop at. \u201cLooking for his parents, faces he never saw again after leaving home.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Carter feels planted, the most grounded he\u2019s felt since returning to Ford\u2019s Worth. No. That can\u2019t be right. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSome say he\u2019s angry. Some say he\u2019s sad. As for me? I\u2019d say he\u2019s lost\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Carter finds himself dipping into the crowd now, forcing himself to the front with increasing horror as each and every one of them looks right through him.<\/em> They\u2019re not ignoring him. He\u2019s just not there. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201c. . .But he won\u2019t find his way by dwelling on things that he can\u2019t change. One can only hope, in the next few years, that he will find his peace.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n This can\u2019t be happening. It doesn\u2019t make sense \u2013 only it does.<\/em> Why else would his parents pretend not to see him? Why else would he catch his dad crying in his old bedroom when the old man thought no one was looking? Carter never made it home; he never\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCarter Kaine,\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n His name rang again. He turned, unable to help himself as his gaze landed on the tour guide \u2013 a woman whom he\u2019d worked with for years before going to college. Her gaze was different from the crowd’s. It landed on him<\/em> as she spoke. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe can only hope you find what you\u2019re looking for.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n And with that, she turned to the crowd, waved a hand, and walked away as the crowd moved with her. Carter hardly noticed the way the crowd passed through him, watching the back of the older woman.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The year is 2026, and Carter Kaine still isn\u2019t famous \u2013 he\u2019s worse than that. He\u2019s dead. He\u2019s dead, and has been dead for a long time. He\u2019ll be 23 forever. He\u2019ll never be seen again. He looks up at the sky, abandoning the older woman as he peers up in hopes of an answer, only to find the moon staring back at him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n By Olyver LaGabed, Staff Writer The year is 2026, and Carter Kaine still isn\u2019t famous. Quite the opposite, in fact; since moving back in with his parents, they haven\u2019t so…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":11,"featured_media":6909,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_EventAllDay":false,"_EventTimezone":"","_EventStartDate":"","_EventEndDate":"","_EventStartDateUTC":"","_EventEndDateUTC":"","_EventShowMap":false,"_EventShowMapLink":false,"_EventURL":"","_EventCost":"","_EventCostDescription":"","_EventCurrencySymbol":"","_EventCurrencyCode":"","_EventCurrencyPosition":"","_EventDateTimeSeparator":"","_EventTimeRangeSeparator":"","_EventOrganizerID":[],"_EventVenueID":[],"_OrganizerEmail":"","_OrganizerPhone":"","_OrganizerWebsite":"","_VenueAddress":"","_VenueCity":"","_VenueCountry":"","_VenueProvince":"","_VenueState":"","_VenueZip":"","_VenuePhone":"","_VenueURL":"","_VenueStateProvince":"","_VenueLat":"","_VenueLng":"","_VenueShowMap":false,"_VenueShowMapLink":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"series":[],"class_list":["post-6920","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-creative"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginarygardens.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6920","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginarygardens.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginarygardens.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginarygardens.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/11"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginarygardens.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=6920"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginarygardens.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6920\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6949,"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginarygardens.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6920\/revisions\/6949"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginarygardens.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/6909"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginarygardens.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=6920"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginarygardens.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=6920"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginarygardens.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=6920"},{"taxonomy":"series","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginarygardens.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/series?post=6920"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.imaginarygardens.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/10\/Moon_clouds.jpg\")