Disclaimer: I do not own the Lost Boys or any of its characters. I do however own the characters that I make up and the plotline.

Full Summary: At the age of five Gerti Mylett realized the monsters in her bedroom were in fact spirits of boys killed in her house. The only problem is Gerti is the only one able to see them. As the years pass, Gerti grows closer to her spirit friends. So when they ask her to reunite them with their lost brother, Gerti can't turn them down. But what happens when one small favor leads to many big favors, which leads to trouble for Gerti and the boys?

Prologue

Normal.

I always kept my distance from the word, because I knew I was anything but normal. I realized so when I first started to see them. As far as I can remember, they had always been there.

When they first started to appear in my bedroom, I thought that they were merely a figment of my imagination. A result of my parents letting me watch shows such a ghost hunters one too many times. I stopped watching so much TV and I tried to ignore them, continuing with my not so ordinary life.

It was not until I was about five that I realized something was wrong with me. I soon realized that they were not like the creatures in my books or movies. They were real, and I was the only one who could see them. Most people call what I can do a gift. At six, I did not think of it that way. I thought my gift was a curse. I could see dead people, literally!

As you can probably imagine my childhood was less than desirable. I never told other people about my gift because who would believe that a five year old girl could see ghost?

I became a distant child. I would remain quiet during the day, and at nighttime, I hid under the covers hoping that they would not show up. But they never went away, and they never left me alone.

So one night I became sick and tired of hiding. I told myself that I would face them head on and find out what they wanted with me. Hiding under my blankets, I clutched my stuff kitty cat waiting for them to come.

The first soul I talked to was a teenage boy with wild blonde hair, wearing a suit jacket with gold detailing. I remember thinking he would have been very handsome if it was not for the burn marks running down the side of his face. But despite his appearance, I learned he was good spirit with a wild personality.

He sat right down on my bed, and told me his name was Paul, and he and his two brothers had been haunting my house since the late 80s, which explained the weird hairstyle. Apparently, he enjoyed playing pranks on the different families that moved in and out of the old home. In the future, I learned if my mom's car keys went missing, I would only have to find Paul to find the missing keys.

As I talked with Paul, I couldn't help but notice the presence of two new sprits. They hid in the shadows, so I couldn't get a good look at their features. All I knew was that one was leaning up against the wall, and the other was sitting in my grandmother's old rocking chair. Paul must have noticed I wasn't listening to his chatter, because he turned around to see what I was staring at. When he realized there were two new figures in my room a reassuring smile crossed his face.

"Hey don't be scared Gerti," he said. "Their just the two brother's I was telling you about. That's Dwayne," he pointed to the spirit with wild black hair leaning against the wall. "And David is sitting over on the chair," he gestured towards the mullet wearing spirit.

I soon realized that they were not as bad as I originally thought. They were lonely and in need of someone to talk to. So I began staying up at nighttime waiting for the spirits of my new friends to appear in my bedroom. They would tell me their stories and I would sit their silently listening to their tales. Sometimes what they told made me laugh, like the time David changed another boy's Chinese food into maggots. Sometimes their stories were more tragic, especially when they told me they had another brother named Marko who was killed in a cave not too far away from Santa Carla.

I soon found myself enjoying speaking to these dead spirits, and listening to their stories. I began making friends with these strange souls, which caused me to shy away from the normal world.

I was never popular in school because everyone thought I was too different. While other children played dodge ball or kickball, I wrote the stories I heard the night before in notebooks so I would not forget them. Most people would think I am lonely because I have no friends, but how can a person who has ghost drop in on her every moment of her life be lonely?

I accept the fact that I have a unique gift.

I accept the fact that I will never be normal.

But being normal is overrated.