It's always the feeling.

It's the clutch in my lungs and in my throat that pulls a gasp from my lips.

That's how I know they're there.

It's not that I see ghosts, it's that I feel them.

Now, once I've already awoken from my meticulously-sheep-counted sleep, I'll feverously look around the room searching for the damned being that's pulled me from my slumber. And then, of course I see them.

Like now; I stare at the black wisps of a woman standing at the end of my bed. Her hair, long and dark, floating gently at the ends as if it was trying to oppose gravity. Her long dress clinging onto her body in a tainted shape of what she used to be. Her arms hang loosely at her sides, fingers faded to black. Ghosts always have this almost transparent skin, like fog, resembling their living features in a sunken drained way.

She looks down at me, emotionless. Most of the time, ghosts don't really express too much emotion, only sometimes will they imitate their living soul's defining characteristic. That's why you normally hear about ghost children, because their souls are so pure and full of curiosity or liveliness. The more pure the soul the person had, the stronger their ghost is.

But her, this nice lady that's been waking me up at the ass crack of dawn for nearly two weeks now, doesn't have anything to say. She just likes to looks at me.

Ugh, the dead, so easily amused.

"What?" I spit at her in a sleep thick croak. She doesn't move. Nothing. Just more staring. Not even a blink. "Whatever," I grumble and roll over pulling my pillow over my head.

And once again, it's not the sight of them that sucks, it's the feeling. I can still feel her there, being an annoyance. That breathless feeling that's hard to sleep around. There's no point in trying. Every night I try and fall asleep with that clutching feeling in my throat, it never works. Well, not in twenty five years it hasn't.

I groan into my pillow and roll back over, staring at the ceiling. Well not at my ceiling, it's my dead goldfish, Glenn, that's been floating around my head for about twenty years now. He's kind of how I found out that I could see ghosts instead of just feeling like I was going crazy. After almost eight years of therapy I learned that lying would get me out of the weekly sessions. I lied saying that I didn't see the 'black and white people' anymore until I got out of therapy completely. Then I figured that if I didn't talk about it, people wouldn't care.

Glenn floats in lazy circles above my head, swimming through the thin air, never quite learning that he doesn't have to keep moving to stay alive. I've gotten over the feeling of Glenn being there. One tiny goldfish versus an entire human being. Yeah, sometimes I even forget Glenn is there when there's a bunch of spirits around.

I look back down at the lady standing there. I should really get her to Armin. He'll put her to rest. I make note to do it once the sun is up. For now: caffeine.

I drag myself out of the tangle of sheets and promise my bed that I'll have a full night's sleep one day. I walk around the friendly-foot-of-the-bed-gawker and stop beside her for a moment. We stare eachother down, she floats a few inches taller than me and pins me with dull black and gray eyes. I glare at her for what feels appropriate for being a nuisance to my sleeping schedule for two weeks, and blow in her face for good measure. Her hair is the only thing to react to my blowing, moving only a slow inch. I roll my eyes at her and stomp out of my room.

The rest of the apartment is quiet, well that is except for the snoring in the bedroom on the opposite side of the living room. Eren's asleep, good. It's not like I really care if I wake him up or not, it's just that he knows why I'm awake and would start asking a bunch of questions.

Eren is one of the few people who know (and believe) that I can see the dead. Armin had introduced me to him a few years ago when I wanted to start living on my own and didn't really have anyone to move in with that could deal with my...friends. But Eren's a freak and loves it. He's into all things supernatural and thinks I'm some sort of grade A source for it all. I continue to try and disappoint him but the kid never gets tired of it. He's quite the guy.

I stumble to the kitchen, yank open the fridge, and down half of the spare pot of black coffee I keep there. I turn to take a seat and find that my lovely ghost lady friend has followed me to the kitchen, where she looms over the counter. I sigh, why does this have to be normal?

I'm frequently waken up by the lost souls of the dead. Although, I don't think these ghosts are actually lost. Over the years, I've concluded that they're just on their way to...whatever. The stage the spirits are in when I can see them is a transferring period between when they were alive to whatever's next. Some people believe that you go straight to wherever you're supposed to go right after you die. I don't think so, I'm pretty sure everyone who dies spends a little time in Ghostland, even if it's just to assess their situation and move to the next or if they plan on stay there for the rest of eternity trying to do whatever they couldn't when they were alive.

So this chick? She could be dead for one hundred years now, or had just died two weeks ago. I don't know. All I get is a rude wake up call in the middle of the night.

I reluctantly sit at the counter across from her, knowing she's not going to leave my side anytime soon, and grab my sketchbook lying idly at the end of the table. It's open to an apparition that I'd seen last month. A real nasty dude. His guy had no arms, legs, or head. He was just one floating torso, pacing my room making a panicked wheezing sound. The third night he was doing this, I finally threw a pillow at him and yelled for him to get the fuck out of the house, at this he screamed a painfully thick howl and started pacing faster. He kept screaming and screaming and screaming. Eren eventually rushed to my room in a sleep thick haze asking what I was yelling about. I gave up on dealing with it the rest of the night and dragged the giant torso to Armin's doorstep begging him to do something about it.

So yeah, after that I went home and drew him. The only way I can log these shits. I have a bookshelf full of sketchbooks covered with drawings of the spirits that go bump in the night. Eren must've been looking through my book yesterday, freak. I roll my eyes at my roommates dorkiness and grab a pencil, flipping through the book to a blank page and sketching the lovely spirit in front of me.

I've been drawing the ghosts whom I meet ever since I was able to hold a pencil. It was the only way I could deal with them when I was younger. Instead of trying to describe them to my parents and therapist, it was easier to draw them. It made them feel more real rather than the hallucination that everyone was trying to make them out to be. It helped me deal with them when I was younger. Back then, I didn't have Armin to go to to help me get rid to them once they got too annoying. I just let them collect. Dead person after dead person. For a while I treated them like they were friends, I talked to them and played with them. It scared my parents shitless. I finally met Armin in high school and things started to change. It wasn't easy though, I don't like thinking about it much...

The drawing only takes up an hour of the still dark morning. I make my final touches and look back up to my lady friend standing across from me. I quirk an eyebrow at her, "Wanna see?"

She doesn't move. Just standing there, hair all wisps and head tilted, unblinking, like she has been for the past hour. I sigh and spin the sketchbook around and push it across the counter so she can see it. I wait for her to lower her chin the two inches that it'll take for her to see it but she still doesn't move. I frown at her and stare back at her, "Whatever. You're welcome, I made you beautiful," I grunt at her. Still nothing.

I nearly fall out of my chair at the sound of blasting rock music echoing from Eren's room. I'll never get over that kid's alarm. I hear him growl a string of curses as he pounds at his bedside table eventually cutting off the ear splintering music. I stifle both a laugh and an eye roll as I hear him fall out of bed and stumble to his door, yanking it open and sloshing his way to the fridge mumbling something about morning shifts.

"Mornin' sunshine," I chime. He growls at me without breaking eye contact with the fridge. His hair is a mess of cowlicks and his eyes squinty and small. He grumps his way around the kitchen, grabbing a whole mess of food that I'm still impressed he can manage to scarf down at the crack of dawn. He plops down next to me and begins mindlessly eating a blueberry muffin with his eyes closed.

"When do you work till?" I ask nonchalantly, closing my sketchbook and sliding it away from Ghost Lady.

"Two er somethin'," he murmurs making no effort to open his eyes. I look down at him as he misses his mouth a few times with the muffin. This kid. "Why?"

"I was thinking about going to Sullivan's Island for a bit today, maybe see Armin," I sigh standing and pouring myself another cup of cold coffee. I smile to myself because I know Eren understands what I mean when I say 'Sullivan's Island' and 'Armin' in the same sentence.

He perks up, eyes flying open and his spine stretching to a straight line. He turns impossibly fast to face me, "Ghosts?" His eyes shine with the same glimmer of excitement and curiosity that they do whenever we talk about the supernatural.

I shrug, "Yeah, I mean, she's been bothering me for like two weeks now. She'll be better in Armin's hands."

"Two weeks?" Eren coughs, "Two weeks there's been a ghost here and you didn't tell me?" This nerd. He gets so offended when I don't tell him about 'the ghost of the night.'

"Dude. We live in Charleston, South Carolina, one of the oldest cities in America. There's literally ghosts everywhere," I say for the hundredth time to him.

He rolls his eyes and picks a chunk out of his muffin. "Yeah, but I like it when you can see them," he whines like a two year old.

"Do you want to go to Armin's with me or not?"

He looks up from his crumpled mess, "Yes."

I nod and turn to go to my room and put on some clothes but Eren stops me. "Did you draw it?"

"Just finished it."

"Show me show me show me," Eren sputters as he searches the counter for my sketchbook.

I sigh and flip it open for him to my most recent and lay it on the counter. Eren ooh's and ahh's under his breath. I roll my eyes. He looks up at me and lowers his voice, "Is she still here?"

"Been here the whole time we've been talking," I shrug making a little side look at Ghost Lady affirming that she's still there. And yup, still looming creepily across from us.

Eren smiles and bites his lip, his eyes flitting across our apartment, "Tell me where," he whispers.

I lay my hand flat on the stop of his head, matting his fuzzy cowlicks, and turn him to look at the ghost only two feet across from us. He literally vibrates with excitement and stretches an arm out, waving obnoxiously, trying to feel her. I watch as Eren's hand easily passes through her, neither of them notice a difference. See, if I were to try and touch her, both her and I would actually feel it. I could also hear her if she tried to talk, I know she can hear me too but I don't think she's strong enough to react, she can't even blink. But with everyone else, they can't see, hear, or touch most spirits. Unless the ghosts is extremely powerful (those are the ones you hear the horror stories about.)

"Am I touching her?" Eren asks as his hand wiggles between her breast and shoulder.

"Oh you're touching her alright," I sigh, moving back around him to go back to my room.

"Cool," I hear him coo. This dork.

As I wait for Eren to get home from work I do a little writing session. I have a blog where I write ghost stories about the spirits who visit me. My readers don't know that I can actually see ghosts, they just think I'm weirdly creative. In reality, I just conjure up a story for my nightly visitor that I think would suit them. Sometimes, more powerful spirits are able to whisper out small little details about their past life that I'm able to incorporate into their story. I feel like it's a good way to honor them. Plus I get paid for it.

I write about my lady friend, donning her as Mary-Elle, who lived a life sitting on the sidelines, watching the world age, living in the shadows and keeping to herself. Until she finally decides to do something with her life and meet someone. Someone she wants to marry. On her first outing with a man, he murders her. Leaving her beaten and broken in an alleyway, left with the only regret that she should've stayed home.

Yep, these freaks will eat that shit up.

I complete a rough draft before Eren gets back and decide that I'll finish and post it later. I read out loud what I have to Ghost Lady as she stands beside me, the glow of my laptop doing nothing to lightener her in anyway. It's always so weird seeing light pass through spirits, they're invisible even to the sun.

I get bored enough that I leave before Eren gets back. I leave him an assholeish note on the fridge saying that he'll have to meet me there. Besides, drives with Eren are a kind of torture I can only endure a few times a month, and I'm pretty sure we carpooled into town two weeks ago so I think I'm good.

As I drive across a futuristic bridge that some people call 'The Two Knuckles" to Mount Pleasant. Armin only lives around twenty minutes away and the view is always nice, so I don't mind it. I also kind of like driving, it's usually the only time I can get alone. I mean, without any ghosts or anything. Usually they stay behind during my drive, eventually catching up with me after about an hour, always finding me. Even Glenn can't keep up, but I'll catch him in my peripheral vision sometime. That is, until I let him Move On. Which I don't even know if animals can do. Knowing Armin he probably has some way to get pets to heaven.

I drive down to the border. Passing massive acres of swamp. Just flat grassy plains that no one can really build on. The bright South Carolina sun lights up the fields and create this vibrant green that you can't find anywhere else. I mean, I say that because I've never ventured to far from Charleston. I've been here all of my life. You'd think I'd move after learning that it's one of the most haunted cities in America, but I like it too much, it's home.

Armin lives on the beach. Sullivan's Island is a private beach so most tourists don't bother people here. It's beautiful. Armin's house looks over the sparkling water and soaks in the sunlight. This kid's house is huge. Like, this-should-be-in-a-movie-

because-it's-so-big, huge. I mean, the guy is crazy rich, guess he kind of deserves a big house. Whatever, I'm still jealous everytime I come over.

If me drooling over the thing doesn't give you a clue to how spectacular it is, Armin's house is gated, like, Victorian curved iron gate's that are electronically activated. (And yes, his gates are iron because it wards away spirits.)

I pull up to the intercom and push the call button. It rings for a little until a cheery voice leaps out of the speaker, "Arlert residence, do you have an appointment?"

"Hey Mina, it's Jean, Armin doesn't know I'm coming," I say back to the speaker.

"No problem! He's just finishing up a call, come on in," Mina's voice chimes as a loud buzzing sound releases the gates.

I roll down the paved driveway that takes me to a miniature parking lot at the side of his house. (Yes he has a fucking parking lot.) And I stride up to his grand front door. It's an arched opening with glass tiles that turn into light's at night. There are four tall white columns that frame his front porch that is adorned with a homey swing seat and a circular glass table with metal framed chairs. I still feel like I'm meeting the Queen every time I'm here.

I ring the doorbell and wait awkwardly with my hands in my pockets and try to nonchalantly look around for one of my ghost friends to pop up. The door swings open to a smiley Mina. Always smiley.

"Hey Jean! Come in, come in," she says as she steps aside. I smile at her and shuffle inside, thankful for the air conditioning. "Armin's in the study with Harvard, he said he'd be finished around one so you're good to mosey about until he's out," she nods. I smile at her for using the word 'mosey.'

"Thanks, I'll probably go to the library," I say scratching my ribs.

"Sounds good, I'll let him know." And she's off with her next chore in line. Mina's pretty cool. She works for Armin as his receptionist/housekeeper. She was actually one of Armin's clients back in the day. She was in a really shitty situation and Armin offered her a job as a way out of it, and she's been here ever since.

Oh right, Armin's job. Honest to God, I really don't know what this guy does. I do know that he has like four different PhD's, and the incentive and courage to do just about anything. I don't really know what he sees clients for, sometimes they're cases like mine, but others he just like a therapist to. Although he's written, like, a half a dozen books on varying smartsy topics that I've never gotten around to reading.

The one thing that I know he's special for; is his religion knowledge. He knows literally everything about almost every single religion out there. Plus he has a hobby of researching folklore and ancient legends. So all this knowledge he's collected makes him a pretty good outlet for identifying what is what. On the side, I know he secretly dabbles about the dark arts and a little alchemy, but he doesn't really like telling people that.

I walk the museum of a house to the library, my favorite room in the house. Armin has books you didn't even know were a thing until you've dug hard enough. He has books imported from all kind of countries, including Spain, Greece, and Egypt. He has stuff written in dead languages and scrolls from hundreds of years ago. Just the smell of this damn room makes me want to break into a Beauty and the Beast song.

Armin may be rich as fuck, but he's one of the most humble people I know. When he started building the house six years ago (he was only nineteen) he said that it was still a home he was creating, not a castle. So despite all the marble, arched ceilings, modern artwork, and intricate chandeliers, he still walks the house barefoot. Even when he's meeting his clients. He encourages people to do the same when they come in. His mahogany floors are lined with beautiful rugs and the urge to sink your toes into them is hard to overcome for most people. I never do though, I always like keeping my shoes on, just in case.

The library is in a long semi circle shape, kind of like a rectangle with a rounded end. The farthest end is the rounded part of the room and it has a loft-like second floor that's a nice reading place. As soon as I walk into the room, I connect to the bluetooth speakers. Despite Armin's colonial and victorian style, he's got a bunch of cool technology that only rich fucks like him can afford. Sometimes I secretly think he's Bruce Wayne. I scroll through my spotify and play some Rolling Stones. Although I can't turn it up all the way, Armin has a set volume for the library, because yes, it's still a library.

I stroll around the room, trailing my finger along the books lined on the walls, Paint it Black humming through invisible speakers. I make my way to the farthest point of the room where there is a bookshelf that can be pulled out like a door revealing another locked mahogany door. It's Armin's secret stash of dark magic books. The kind of books you can't just have laying around for someone to flip through. Only a choice few know that this room is here. And yet, I don't even have the fucking passcode.

I've been in the room a few times with Armin, sometimes Levi, in special cases. Armin only uses the books whenever he needs to, he's not one to through that kind of power around.

"The only reason you don't have the passcode is because you're an idiot," a voice say behind me. Ah, just who I was looking for.

"Beautiful Mrs. Arlert, how are you doing this fine morning?" I say, turning and closing the bookshelf-door, giving her my most charming asshole of a smile.

Annie stands there with a book in her hand and a dead stare in her eyes. Always unfazed. How is she always so unfazed?

"It's one thirty," she huffs, sliding her book onto a shelf, "And my last name is not Arlert."

"Ah, but soon shall we see," I hum, striding past her, "And I will get that passcode one day, just you wait."

She stands there and sighs, "Not from Armin you won't, he thinks you're too irresponsible and flighty."

"He didn't say-"

"I read him," she grunts, "And he's too nice to tell you that."

I pause to process, "Touche."

Annie and I go way back. I knew her even before Armin did. We were psycho shits together. We met at my therapist's office when I was first starting out. At first, she never talked to me, I would just babble on to her about useless shit in nervousness. The reason why Annie was there? Well, I'm glad you asked. Annie's a telepath. She can fucking read people's minds. And on good days, she can talk to you in your head. It's fucking wicked.

Her gift is way cooler than mine. I'm just traumatized by dead people, but she can actually get inside people's heads. So cool. I introduced her to Armin in high school after Armin and I got deep about my problem. And since he helped me with mine, I thought he could help her with hers. They've been together ever since. I'm a true match maker.

"You're an idiot," Annie sighs turning and making an exit from the library.

She secretly loves me.

"No I don't," I hear her mumble from the doorway.

I smile to myself and continue to scan the walls of books. I do like Annie though. I have an odd bond with her because she is the only person who can actually see what I see. One time, me, Annie, and Armin did a little experiment to test Annie's abilities. Armin had given her a weird green smoothie to drink and was able to have her get into my head and look through my eyes. Annie was able to see things how I saw them. Them, as in, ghosts. Armin had asked me, for the experiment, to keep around as many spirits as I could for a month so it would be easier for Annie to see them. It sucked, and by that time I had like six different spirits watching my every move, but it worked. Annie saw them all. She sat there with her eyes closed, looking at the ghosts as I was. She described them just to be sure. Although, after sitting there for twenty minutes surrounded by ghosts, she backed out and was on the verge of tears. She calmly left the room, trying to cover up her shakiness, leaving a message for me buzzing through my head: "I'm sorry." I knew it wasn't because she left, it was for what I had to deal with all the time. I think since then, she's been able to tolerate me a little more. Out of pity? Maybe. But I don't care. She's one person I'd like to have on my rag tag team of superheros.

Annie stays here with Armin most of the time. Sometimes she goes on these mysterious trips with her two friends Reiner and Bertholdt. But for the most part she likes to be with Armin.

Speaking of-

"Do you listen to anything besides 80's rock?" Armin says as he skips through the library. His hair half tied up and his bare feet poking out of his cuffed jeans. A kind smile as always.

"Stones are 70's, genius," I snort. One of the things Armin knows nothing about: good music. This kid's taste is about as good as a grandma in the fifties. I guess you have to sacrifice something for knowing everything else.

"So is your clothing style, but I'll let it slide," Armin jokes, standing in front of me with his hands on his hips and a dumb grin on his face.

"Shut up, John Lennon wannabe," I shoot back at him. The joke goes over his head so we both decide to drop it.

Armin already knows why I'm here, so he instinctively leads me back to the Holy room. Yeah, remember how I mentioned how Armin knows almost everything about religion? He has a whole room dedicated to a bunch of them. A lot of the time, his more faithful clients will come in here to think things through. The reason I use it? To get rid of spirits that are trailing my ass.

Thankfully, there isn't anyone in here that Armin has to kindly kick out. If some of these people find out what we do, they'll probably have a midlife crisis questioning their entire faith. Plus, it kind of sucks to watch what happens.

At least I'm able to actually step in the room, always a good sign. Sometimes, the spirits that hang at my heels are...evil? I literally won't be able to walk into the room, every time I do, I'm physically pulled back by the spirit. From that point Armin has to improvise.

The room is actually beautiful. I don't know why I'm always so surprised, but I'm not particularly religious so I always feel like I don't belong in this room. The entire far wall is stained glass in the landscape of a field of irises. Armin's a dork and used a field of irises as a symbol for an abundance of wisdom, faith, hope, and purity. He thinks these attributes are enough to cleanse anyone of their sins. Purples, blues, and yellows pop in front of the green grass. A white sun reciprocating the same light that shines through it onto the flowers. Tiny intricate shards reflect the light in different ways, illuminating the room in an abundance of colors. One side of the room is lined with wooden pews, the other is little green floor sitting pillows. The main aisle leads to a platform that has no podium, only more stuffed chairs. Again, this room is meant to be religion neutral, there's no crosses or stars of David or little buddha's sitting anywhere. If people come here to worship, they're allowed to bring whatever need to do so, Armin won't supply it. He said it extinguishes favoritism.

I mindlessly make my way to the front platform and sit in the safe comfy chair that I always do, waiting for my lady ghost friend to show up.

"So who is it this time Jean? Battle broken civil war soldier, hopeless driven college student, chemical plant explosion?" Armin says as he pads up to the platform beside me.

I snort. "You've got to stop reading my shit," I mumble. "This time she's a first date murder."

Armin nods, going to his personal bookshelf on the side wall of the platform. He takes a few books, ones I've seen many times before, and sets them on a side table to the chair across from mine. I don't know why he always takes out the books, he's got the most used ones memorized by now, guess it's just habit.

He shrugs, "I like reading your stuff, I don't get to read that much fiction, and your once a week stories are a nice little read."

"Sure," I grunt scratching my stubbly jaw. "So how are you and Annie?"

Armin sighs and runs a hand through his hair, "Oh y'know, I've only asked her to marry me, like, four times now. I guess I'll just let her come to me when she's ready."

Poor kid. He's so in love with her. Has been since the moment he laid eyes on her. Annie? Not so much. I give him the most encouraging smile I can muster, "It'll happen, she does love you, you know."

"I know I know, I just…" he looks down at his hands, "Don't want her to be scared anymore."

I nod, not really knowing what else to say. I may have set them up in the first place, but I got no advice when it comes to the real relationship stuff. No way. I've only ever been in one relationship that lasted more than two weeks, which still ended tragically. I'm really not the relationship type. Especially when I'm constantly followed by 'people' on a regular basis, I kind of like alone time whenever I can get it.

"Why don't you ask out Eren?" Armin says with the most innocent and curious voice, a total bluff for him knowing exactly what he's doing. My face boils red and my heart skips a beat. I hate him. I can't believe he keeps bringing this up.

"I. Don't. Like. Him." I spit. I mean, seriously? I told Armin that Eren and I have hooked up a few times, so what? Doesn't mean I'm in love with him.

Armin puts his hands up in defense, "Okay okay, I won't budge." I just glare at him and cross my arms, making my best to pout like a grown man.

I tense as I feel that weird clutch in my chest, I take a quick scan of the room, and there she is. For the first time since appeared to me, she's not looking at me, she's standing in front of the stained glass, totally engrossed by the beautiful scenery. Her faded silhouette in the bright light makes her look softer. I take a moment to look at her so curious.

"Is she here?" Armin whispers. I exhale and let the clutch in my chest release.

"Yeah, over there," I nod, pointing him to the bottom right corner of the window. He looks over and just hums, I know he can't see her, but I think knowing where she is in the room helps him with his process.

"I'll lock the door," Armin mumbles as he bounces up to the front door. The room is actually lined with iron, pure salt, and a protection sigil behind the drywall. The perfect recipe to keeping spirits out or in. In most cases we have to wait for my ghosty ghost to catch up to me to close the door, because after that, they're stuck. "You ready?" Armin asks as he walks back up to the platform grabbing a rosary and flipping a bible open.

"Yeah," I sigh, standing with him. A fleeting thought of Eren wanting to come leaves my brain after Armin begins to talk in latin under his breath.

Armin always starts with the Christian route to helping spirits passing on, only for the logical fact that Christianity is the most popular religion in the world. And if that doesn't work, Armin has a few tricks up his sleeves to get them to where they need to go.

During the process, I always have to be ready to hold the spirit down. Sometimes they don't want to move on or maybe they're malicious. Many times, spirits have tried to attack Armin and I'm the only one that can physically hold them back. I guess it's another ability that comes along with the whole seeing-ghosts thing, is that I can actually touch them too.

Ghost Lady doesn't do anything as Armin recites his Christian verses. That either means she's unaffected by it or willing. His voice gets louder as the more powerful parts come along. At this, she slowly turns her head and looks at me. The clutch in my chest rises to my throat as I see tears fall down her cheeks.

The nasty part of this whole ordeal, is that when a spirit starts following me around, they've connected a part of themselves to me, and the bond has to be broken. It's usually always painful for the both of us. Our souls being separated by the latin words of Christianity. She looks at me, turning away from the beautiful glass, and cries.

I watch her as she clutches at her throat and sinks to her knees, breathy gasps escaping her lips. My heart wells with her same pain and I drag my feet to her, the overwhelming need to comfort her overbearing.

I kneel in front of her, offering a trembling hand. After a moment of silent contemplation she takes it. Her hand feels light but her strength is powerful. It's always an odd feeling that I haven't really gotten used to, you know, touching a spirit. It's a trespass on the boundary between life and death, it just always feels...wrong.

"You're going to be okay," I whisper to her, trying to sound convincing, "All you need to do is, let go." She looks at me with fearful eyes, trying to find a reason to stay. I hold her hand until her expression falls. Some spirits are easier to persuade than others, and she doesn't seem to be putting up a fight. She lets go of my hand, stands on her own, and looks down at me. I can't really do anything about the pain now, I feel like someone is trying to rip my lungs out of me. It's always the same.

I wheeze and try to still look convincing for her. She's no longer crying or in pain, she's ready. The only thing she needs is for Armin to finish the verse.

And just as her souls is about to fade to a ball of shimmering light, the world goes dark.

A plunging glup of burning and fire fly through Mary-Elle and I's mouths and down our spines, we both collapse on the floor. I've told Armin that he should never stop the verse once he starts it, no matter what matter what happens to me, he has to finish it.

But something's wrong. Something is very wrong.

I'm trying to scream around the burning fireworks in my chest and stomach, pulling myself into the fetus position in struggling efforts to ease the pain.

There's a pounding in my head and it feels like the ground is shaking. I hear Armin yelling the verse, his latin fluent and strong. The burning gets worse and I can hear Mary-Elle start to scream.

I blearily look up at Armin, the light nearly extinguished by a horrifying darkness at surrounds us. He's looks scared, but he's still using all the power he has to move Mary-Elle's soul to the next life. He's having to grip onto the headrest of a chair against the trembling ground. Who the hell is this girl?

Just as I'm about the try and go back to her, Armin's bible and rosary are ripped from his hands and flung behind him. He keeps yelling the memorized verse looking at the stained glass as the darkness grows thicker.

What's happening?

I'm screaming and wheezing through burning and breathlessness when I hear Armin shout my name. My heart sinks knowing that he's just broke the verse, and in that instant, I'm flipped onto my back from an insane amount of strength from nowhere. I gape at the thin air above me, struggling to breathe.

Then, she's there.

Mary-Elle, three times her size, grinning down at me with pitch black eyes. She moves her giant foot above me, stepping down on my torso, crushing me for all I'm worth. I cry out for Armin, knowing he can't really do anything, but I'm pretty aware that I'm about to die and I really don't want to be alone.

She bends down to me, her giant grinning mouth only a foot away from my face, "Fall. The living will be mine." Her voice gurgles and and slurs making me want to puke.

I'm going to die.

She's going to crush me.

There's nothing more I can do.

"You don't have to do this!" I scream with all I've got, which is not much, "Let go!" It's the last effort I have before my life is squeezed out of me. I don't say it for her to release me, I say it to remind her that she can still move on, that there's still hope.

For some holy reason, it works.

She tilts her head, he expression falling to the same scared girl I saw when she started to be ripped from me. She lifts her crushing foot and her skin fades like burning ash until she's back to her normal size.

She looks at me, lying broken on the ground, and falls to tears beside me again. She rests a hand on my forehead and whispers to me through hiccuping sobs, "Beware him, he is coming to reclaim his rightful place on Earth."

Having no fucking clue what she's talking about, I try to wheeze out a question, nothing comes.

"Find Marco Bodt, he will lead the way to safety."

She pauses to wipe her cheek.

"Save us all, Jean Kirstein."

She stands and steps away, her hands covering her mouth, her eyes full of fear. I roll onto my side to try and reach her for some reason. I need her to explain more.

"Forgive me."

She stretches her hand out to me and I reach to take it. But the thick black fog rolls through the glass window behind her and she lets out a blood curtling scream. The fog forms a hand and swoops down a runs right through her, she disappears in the smoke. Her scream echoes through the room and seems to get louder and louder until the entire glass window shatters into million of pieces. The fog and scream recede, thinning away, revealing only a sunny beach front that's Armin's back yard.

What just happened?

Who was she?

Where's Armin?

Am I alive?

I close my eyes and let the bright South Carolina sun fade to wretched darkness.