Haunted Since Third Grade:

Jun 20

Man Finds Ghost of Childhood Friend Mostly Just Annoying

Braylor Manks, 47, has spent most of his adult life managing two things: mid-tier corporate strategy and the persistent, mildly inconvenient ghost of a boy he accidentally stabbed with scissors in third grade. While some might consider a lifetime haunting the stuff of tragedy or supernatural horror, Manks describes it as “a bit much, honestly.”

“It was safety scissors,” he said, sipping LaCroix during a quarterly report review. “You’d think spirits would have some kind of statute of limitations.”

The incident occurred during an elementary school craft day in 1987, when Manks and his then-friend Tevin Larbuckle were creating posters for President’s Day. According to school records and one traumatized lunch monitor, Tevin lunged for the red construction paper at the same time Manks gestured—scissor in hand. One accidental chest poke later, Tevin was gone, and Manks had a lifetime subscription to ghost-related passive aggression.

“He showed up again during my middle school science fair,” Manks said. “Floated over my baking soda volcano, moaning. Everyone thought it was part of the presentation. I got second place.”

From there, the hauntings became a regular feature. First dates. Job interviews. Even jury duty. Tevin, often damp and holding the very scissors that ended him, rarely speaks beyond phrases like “Remember February” or “That was my poster board.” At first, Manks tried to engage. He apologized. He lit a candle. He even once played Tevin’s favorite Huey Lewis cassette in the hopes of closure. Nothing took.

“I think he just likes the attention,” Manks said. “It’s not like I’m riddled with guilt. I was nine. He was reckless. There was glitter on the floor. Honestly, it was more his fault.”

Coworkers at his firm, StratEquity, have grown accustomed to Tevin’s presence, referring to him as “the intern that doesn’t age.” One HR manager recently updated the employee handbook to include “non-corporeal interference” as a workplace hazard.

“He flickers the lights when Braylor’s talking,” said colleague Trantina Bors. “Last week he spelled ‘MURDERER’ in dry erase marker, but he spelled it wrong. So like… how upset can he really be?”

Manks says he's mostly unbothered at this point. “I’ve been haunted longer than I’ve been married. Tevin’s part of the routine. I make coffee, check email, dodge a ghost tantrum. You adjust.”

Asked whether he’s concerned Tevin will ever escalate, Manks rolled his eyes. “What’s he gonna do—moan louder? Float slightly closer? Ooooh, spooky. Call me when he figures out how to open a spreadsheet.”

At press time, Manks was reviewing a merger contract while Tevin hovered six inches from his face, sobbing and occasionally dropping phantom Elmer’s glue onto the desk. Manks, unblinking, continued typing. “He’ll tire out,” he said flatly. “He always does.”