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He struggled to free himself, but it was no use-his only consolation was that the bucket of popcorn was trapped in the net with him, and although half of its contents had spilled onto the ground, half still remained. He had heard of the monster that called itself the McGill, and his soul traps-but he had also heard that the McGill had traveled far away, and was now wreaking fresh havoc across the Atlantic Ocean. Only after he was fully snared within the net did he realize his mistake. It seemed too good to be true!ДЄs he stepped onto the deadspot and reached for the tub, he felt a trip wire against his ankle, and in an instant a net pulled up around him, lifting him off the ground. Even now the corn inside glistened with butter.

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The dead boy had not had the luxury of food since arriving in Everlost-and just because he didn't need to eat anymore, it didn't mean the cravings ended-so how could he resist that popcorn? It was the largest size, too-the kind you order with big eyes in the movie theater, but can never finish. It just sat there on a deadspot, beside a huge Everlost tree, like it had no better place to be. but what really caught his attention was the bucket of popcorn.

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On this day, his wanderings had brought him to a field full of deadspots-he had never seen so many in one place. He had learned very quickly that deadspots were unlike the faded, unfocused world of the living, where every footfall pulled you ankle-deep, and threatened to take you all the way down to the center of the earth if you stood still for too long.

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All that remained was an urge to keep moving, resting only when he came across a deadspot-a solid, bright patch of earth that had, like him, crossed into Everlost. He had begun in search of answers, but now he had even forgotten the questions.

When the boy had first crossed into Everlost, his wanderings had a purpose. On the occasions that he did come across packs of other Afterlight kids, he would listen to them from his hiding spot as they shared with each other the rumors of monsters, so he knew as well as any other Afterlight what lay in store for the unwary. Without camaraderie and friendship to remind him who he was, he forgot his identity more quickly than most. The boy was a wanderer, solitary and silent, hiding from others who crossed his path, for fear of what they might do to him. He had died about two years earlier, and, having lost his way to the light, he slept for nine months, then had woken up in Everlost.

His name is unimportant-so unimportant that he himself had forgotten it-and less important still, because in a brief time he will be gone forever. On a day much like any other in Everlost, one boy was about to find out if those rumors were true. They are the life's blood of the bloodless world that lies between life and death.

In a world where memories bleach clean from the fabric of time, rumors become more important than that which is actually known. And there were whispers of a terrible ogre made entirely of chocolate, who lured unsuspecting souls with that rich promising smell, only to cast them down a bottomless pit from which there was no return. There was the rumor of a beautiful sky witch, who soared across the heavens in a great silver balloon. Of terrible things, of wonderful things, of events too immense to keep to oneself, and so they were quietly shared from soul to soul, one Afterlight to another, until every Afterlight in Everlost had heard them.