To The Grave

Chapter One

Present Day

Something bad is going to happen today.

I don't know how or why I know this, but I do. I feel it in my bones as I sit on the edge of my bed, watching the amber streetlights seep through my drapes and play with the linen beneath me. Maybe it's the rain shooting against my window like hurls of ammunition or perhaps it's the dead guy sitting at the end of my bed.

Either way, something bad is going to happen.

I bite my lip and try not to let the tingling nerves take over. It's hard deciding which is worse: the fact that I have to go back to my old school today or the knowledge sinking into my gut that I've found myself a leach for the morning.

Okay, sure. I know what Mum would say — carpe diem and all that crap. But, seriously.

Seriously.

It's hard to carpe diem with this dead guy watching my every move, drilling a hole into the side of my face like a cigarette burn. If I ignore him, he'll probably – hopefully – go away. After all, it was only last month when the dead party clown started following me, and it took about two days to shake him.

Sure, it was a pretty shitty two days, but like always, I got over it.

Gritting my teeth, I listen to the howling wind, refusing to return his beady glare. To meet those eyes and see his pale, dented skin still glistening with blood will automatically ruin my day more than it already has been. But just try to tell Mum that.

I sigh heavily. I've been back from the hospital for two days now (they say you're not supposed to call it that, but that's pretty much what it was — a big building filled with white rooms and sick people), but between shopping for school supplies and analysing my new reading list, I still haven't found the time to actually unpack anything.

It goes without saying that my room is a mess, and I'd be lying if I said a part of me isn't slightly embarrassed that this guy has to see it like this — even if he is gone with the wind, per-say.

I take a second to look at him, fascinated as I always am in some sick way.

He looks around my age or older, with unruly hair and wide, stark eyes. He must have died recently, because his skin is grey and his blue football jersey is all matted in blood. Not to mention the gory dent in his head, which makes me wince just looking at it. I tilt my head: judging by the bemused expression on his face, I'd be willing to bet he must have died in the last forty-eight hours.

Enveloped in silence, his eyes scatter from one corner of my room to another, shoulders tense and brows creased. It's like he's trying to work out why he's here — as if he hasn't realised that his whole life has changed, that he'll never be able to go back home. There's always a weight of unease when a newbie finds me like this, and the stillness between us is interrupted only by the clattering of pans coming from downstairs, signalling breakfast.

MI pick at my thumb as questions rush through my mind.

What happened to him? How did he get here? If I turn on the news, will I see his face? These thoughts haunt my mind as though I'm walking through a graveyard; I just can't help it. An instinctive part of me always wants to know what caused them to be here, how I can help them move on even when I know I shouldn't.

After a second, I'm worried he can hear my thoughts, because he turns to face me and I flinch away as though burnt. Jeez. Why is looking at me like that? Why is he here and what does he want? Entering high school mid-term is hard enough without some dead guy stalking me. How am I supposed to act normal with him watching over my shoulder all day?

I shake my head.

It'll be fine. I can do this.

Hell, if I try my best and just focus on the work, I won't even notice him. And as long as he doesn't know I can see him, it'll be an okay-ish day. All I have to do is —

'Lee, you ready?' My bedroom door slams open and I jump as the wooden panel hits my wall. Cora walks in, rocking her hip to one side when she sees me still on the bed. 'Well?' A brow raises. 'Are you just going to sit there all day?'

A shrug. 'I was considering it.'

'Funny,' she replies, though her pin-pointed eyes say otherwise. I grit my teeth and watch as my little sister reaches for my school bag and throws it at me. It lands in my lap with a heavy thump and I flinch, but Cora only smiles. 'We have this thing called school, though. Remember? There are teachers, lessons, track. We should probably go to it.'

'Whatever,' I mutter, grabbing my journal from the desk and shoving it into my bag.

Cora's eyes watch my every movement as I check around the room, collecting school supplies that are scattered around chaotically. It takes approximately thirty seconds of her playing this little game for me to snap.

'You know, you don't need to put on your tough act here.' I look at her over my shoulder as I shove in my pencil case. 'Your friends aren't around, so what's the point?'

I stand up and glare at my sister, who for so many years followed me like a shadow. Cora's changed in the last twelve months — that much is clear.

I tilt my head at her blonde highlights and pink lips, how the shirt she wears purposefully accentuates her lean figure and new-found curves. The girl standing before me is nearly a stranger, but how much of that is due to me? Is Cora just another name to add to the list of those I've hurt? I tighten my lips into a straight line, hoping my thoughts aren't as clear to read in my eyes as they are in hers.

If I look hard enough, I can see the hate in her set jaw and pinched lips, how there's a hidden layer inside those eyes, a dark one only I can see. She wears make up, but it's so light on her skin that the blush on her cheeks appears almost natural, unnoticeable to anyone except me. But the mean glint in her eyes – the one she only gets when she looks at me?

That's the most unnatural thing about my sister.

Cora's lips part, but I roll my eyes and shove on a jacket before she can snap back. She can play pretend at school, but she can't escape the girl I know she is. Or was. My heart pounds and something in my gut makes me want to be sick, but I grit my teeth and turn away.

That's when I see it.

Across the room, Cora frowns. 'What're you looking at?'

I shake my head at the empty space on my bed. 'Nothing.'

She scoffs. 'Well, let's go then. We're already late as it is and I'm supposed to meet Brianna before class. I told you this yesterday, but as per usual...'

My sister's voice drifts off as I stare at the end of my bed. Where I expected to find a set of grey eyes following me, there is nothing — not even an indent in where he sat. Any sign someone was here in the first place has disappeared completely. I bite my lip, blinking back the burning in my eyes. This is a good thing, I tell myself. It must mean he's moved on or whatever the hell they do on the Other Side.

So if it's a good thing, why do I feel like crying?

'Lea, are you even listening?'

I take a deep breath and grab my bag. 'Yeah, coming.'

When I leave the room, shutting the door gently as Cora strides off, I can't shove the feeling that a part of my self stays there, hidden in the empty room where the dead boy sat.