My name is Elysia Hawthorne, and for the past few years, I’ve poured my heart into our school’s cheer squad, proudly rising to the position of cheer captain. This journey has been marked by exhilarating performances, the profound bonds of teamwork, and the unyielding spirit of camaraderie. Yet, beneath the surface of our celebrations lies a shadow, a haunting reminder of a tragedy that forever altered our squad. Each October, as homecoming approaches, we confront the fragile nature of life and the strength we draw from one another in the face of loss.

Twenty years ago, a tragic accident transformed our cheer squad in ways we still struggle to comprehend. It was the first homecoming game of the season, a moment designed to radiate joy, when our flier, Keira Schneider, was thrown high into the air during the climax of our routine. Legend has it that in those fleeting moments of ascent, her uniform vanished, leaving her vulnerable and exposed before the eyes of hundreds. Panic twisted her features as she plummeted, her teammates frozen in disbelief, reaching out to her, but their desperate grasp fell short. She crashed onto the gym floor with a devastating thud.

She never got up again.

The school labeled it a tragedy—an inexplicable accident. The cheerleaders, Megan, a Junior, and Stacy, the senior, who were supposed to catch Keira, were acquitted of any blame, yet they bore the scars of that night, haunted by whispers and furtive glances, reminders of their shared grief. Since then, rumors have circulated—whispers of Keira’s spirit haunting the gym, especially around homecoming in October, when our squad practices late into the evening under flickering lights, the weight of her memory pressing down on us.

As the anniversary of that fateful October homecoming approaches each year, visions of Keira resurface. The overhead lights flicker, a fleeting signal that tells us she is still here, lingering in our locker room and on the gym floor, her presence palpable as our uniforms mysteriously vanish, leaving us feeling vulnerable and exposed. For the past three years, I have dedicated myself to the squad, navigating the legacy of her spirit while clinging to the joy of cheerleading. Our coaches—past and present—have steadfastly refused to reenact the daring routine that led to Keira’s tragic fall, a decision born from respect for a life lost too soon. In these moments of practice, we remember her, honoring her spirit as we carry on together.

Now, as a senior, I stand in Keira’s place as a flier. Each October, as we prepare for homecoming, it feels as if we’re tiptoeing around something invisible yet powerful, a presence none of us can fully shake. This year, Coach decided we would honor Keira by recreating her last routine. She even retrieved an old uniform; identical to the one Keira wore that night. A chill swept through the gym as we donned it, the weight of our decision hanging heavy in the air. None of us could escape the feeling that we were stepping into something larger than ourselves.

The practices took on a strange energy as if the very air crackled with anticipation. The gym lights flickered whenever we rehearsed that final toss, and an unshakable chill washed over me, sending Goosebumps racing across my skin. Each practice, the whispers of my teammates grew louder, charged with a mix of excitement and dread. We could all sense it: the ghosts of the past were watching their eyes fixed upon us.

On the night of the homecoming game, the stadium overflowed with spectators, the air thick with excitement and an undercurrent of tension. Coach gathered us in a tight circle before we took the floor, her expression solemn yet resolute. “Tonight, we honor her,” she said, clutching the vintage uniform tightly. “Keira was one of us, and her memory deserves to be carried forward. Trust each other, and trust me. We’ll face whatever happens together.”

As the music began, we moved through the routine, every beat feeling more intense, every step imbued with purpose. The crowd erupted in cheers, their energy propelling us forward. When we reached the pivotal toss—the one that had marked Keira’s final moments—I felt my heart race as I was lifted high into the air.

In that moment, I soared higher than I ever had, the spotlight blinding me. But then, mid-arc, I felt it—the unmistakable sensation of my uniform slipping away. In an instant, the fabric dissolved from my skin, leaving me bare and exposed above the crowd. A ripple of gasps and whispers swept through the stadium, paralyzing me in disbelief. Instinctively, I curled inward, my arms wrapping around myself to shield what I could.

Just then, the sight of my stunned teammates snapped me back to reality. They reached out, trying to catch me and cover me from the crowd’s gaze, but I saw their expressions shift—from sympathy to sheer panic.

One by one, they too became exposed, our entire squad’s uniforms vanishing as if swept away by an unseen force. I glanced to the sidelines, where Coach stood frozen, her uniform dissolving, her shock morphing into grim acknowledgment.

“Back to the locker room, now” Coach hissed, ushering us quickly off the gym floor, her body shielding us from the crowd. The moment we stepped into the locker room, the weight of what had transpired crashed down around us. We stood there, a huddled group of shocked and speechless girls, feeling utterly exposed in every sense.

The coach turned to us; her expression hard yet sympathetic. “Listen,” she said, carefully choosing her words. “What you all experienced tonight ... I wish I could say I didn’t expect it. Every October since the accident, Keira’s uniform mysteriously reappears in my office, and strange things happen during practice. But this...” She trailed off, rubbing her forehead in frustration. “Whatever force is at play, it’s not finished. I think Keira is still here, trying to tell us something.”

We stared at her, stunned into silence. The only sounds were our shallow breaths and the electric hum of the overhead lights. Finally, one of the girls broke the stillness, her voice trembling. “You think ... you think it’s her spirit?”

Coach nodded slowly. Just then, she reached for a towel to cover herself, but the moment it touched her skin, it vanished too. A collective gasp spread through us as we scrambled for towels and jerseys, only to find that every item of clothing we reached for disintegrated in our hands, like smoke in the wind.

In that tense silence, the lights flickered, and the temperature dropped further. A faint shimmer materialized before us, gradually taking the shape of a girl in a vintage cheer uniform—the very one Keira had worn. Her face was a haunting blend of sadness and longing, her expression unreadable. She raised her hand as if reaching out, and we all froze, captivated by the sight.

“Keira” I whispered; my voice barely audible.

Her image flickered, and though we couldn’t hear her voice, it felt as if she were speaking to us, her lips moving silently. She pointed to the locker room mirror, where fog began to form ghostly letters: Remember me.

And just like that, she vanished, taking the icy chill with her. The fabric of our uniforms reappeared on our bodies, piece by piece, as though the force that had stripped them away had relented, if only for a moment.

The coach took a shaky breath, her voice barely above a whisper. “We’ll finish this tribute for her, but we’ll do it together—every move, every beat. We’re doing this for her, not just for the crowd.”

In the days that followed, we practiced that routine repeatedly, each step becoming a solemn vow to honor Keira’s memory. When the next homecoming night finally arrived, the air was thick with anticipation and an unspoken resolve among us. As we performed, moving through each beat of the routine, it was as if Keira were there with us, guiding our movements, her spirit woven into every motion.

As we completed the final pose, the crowd erupted in applause, but for us, it was more than mere cheers. It was a goodbye to Keira’s memory—a way of laying her spirit to rest and letting her know that we would carry her with us—not as a haunting, but as a cherished part of who we were—a sisterhood bound by her legacy, woven together by the threads of her spirit.

As we stepped off the gym floor, the echoes of applause still ringing in our ears, a profound sense of relief washed over me. We had done it. Together, we honored Keira, not just through the routine but by embracing the strength of our sisterhood. But beneath the exhilaration lay a quiet heaviness, a lingering question about what it all meant.

In the days that followed, whispers of our performance spread throughout the school. Students and faculty alike approached us with curiosity and admiration, some even expressing a sense of closure over the tragedy that had haunted our school for two decades. It was as if, through our tribute, we had begun to heal a wound that had festered for far too long.

Yet, amidst the accolades, a part of me felt unsettled. I couldn’t shake the feeling that Keira’s spirit had not completely left us. The flickering lights during practice continued, and I noticed subtle changes—objects moving ever so slightly, an inexplicable chill in the air. During one practice, I felt a gentle tug on my ponytail, causing me to turn abruptly. Nothing was there, yet the sensation lingered, a reminder that she was still watching over us.

Determined to confront the uncertainty, I gathered my teammates after practice one evening. We sat in a circle on the gym floor, the atmosphere thick with unspoken thoughts. “Do you guys feel it too?” I asked, my voice breaking the silence. “I mean, ever since the performance, it’s like she’s still here with us.”

Another girl, Jasmine, chimed in. “I thought it was just me! I keep seeing flickers out of the corner of my eye. It’s kind of comforting, in a way.”

We shared stories of our encounters, each one more surreal than the last. It became clear that Keira’s spirit was not merely haunting us; she was trying to communicate, to share her presence as a guiding light rather than a source of fear. We discussed how we could honor her memory beyond that night, ensuring that her spirit would always be a part of our squad.

“That’s it,” I said, feeling a spark of inspiration. “Let’s hold a memorial event—something where we can share our stories, invite alumni, and celebrate her life.” The excitement grew in the room as my teammates began to brainstorm ideas.

In the following weeks, we worked tirelessly to plan the event. We decorated the gym with photos of Keira, creating a space that felt warm and inviting. We invited her family, hoping to provide them with a sense of peace. As we practiced, we made sure to incorporate little moments into our routines—small gestures that would remind us of her.