Death Watchers

New Life

Now, back to where I was. I was officially eighteen, the prime age, ripe for the picking. I had just graduated from high school and was ready to start my life. What I wanted to be, I had no idea, but I knew it was going to do with ghosts. Clayton was jealous because I was out of school now but I assured him high school flew by.

Besides, with how many friends he had collected, it would be like the blink of an eye for him. For me, who was coincidently friendless, it had been harder and longer. I had seen people talking amongst themselves and wished I could be like them but knew it couldn't happen. Not if I wanted to appear somewhat normal. This Death Watcher thing was seriously taking its toll.

While everyone had made plans to go to the beach during the summer, I had doodled on my notebooks and tried ignoring them. They all seemed so happy in their little worlds and I didn't want to ruin it for them. More than once, I caught myself wishing I wasn't a Death Watcher just so I could have a normal life with normal friends, like Clayton. But then that stupid voice in my head would say being a Death Watcher made me special because no one else was one. I was the only one.

Well, being the only one got pretty lonely.

I was sitting in a coffee shop, quietly sipping my mocha while watching people go about their business. I wondered if anyone else could at least feel there was a ghost about, but no one seemed perturbed. I noticed the difference between breathing people and dead a few years ago. Where living people were bright and living, dead people were...well, dead. Their color would be washed out, their eyes lacking that spark of life, and they seemed to float more than walk. A few of them even made themselves looked as they did when they died, which was helpful, but seriously gross.

There were a few of them in the coffee shop, going around and trying to talk to people, seeing if they could hear them. When they came to me, the hairs on my arms stood up but I refused to listen to them. It didn't matter though. My aura, or something, attracted them. They knew what I was even when I tried to pretend I wasn't.

"Please," a woman said, crying. "Please help us."

My lips remained closed, barely moving as I replied, "I can't help you. You have to understand what happens when I help one but not the other."

A man approached us. "Little girl, do you know how long I've been here?"

"No, I don't. And I don't care, honestly. Now leave me alone."

It had been a few years since I had dealt with any angry ghosts, but I knew this one wasn't that bad. I had been ten, talking to an elderly man that had seemed grandfatherly, when he suddenly got angry and started throwing things. I had run, screaming in terror, until Dad had gotten me to stop and explain what had happened. He had checked it out, noticed my broken room, and thought I had done it on purpose, breaking all of my valuable statues even though I had loved them. Since then, I've kept quiet about everything with my Dad. I don't even think Clayton knew.

But this man was angry. He slammed his fists on the table, shaking my mocha cup. "You have to help me, little girl. That's your job. Did your dad not teach you responsibility yet?"

The woman took a small step forward. "Please help us. We don't want to watch this anymore. I want to move on but, instead, I'm stuck here watching people in the same coffee shop every day since the day I was murdered outside. Please. I need to get away." She started crying, weeping into her hands.

I sighed and grabbed my cup before the man decided he wanted to tip it over. "Look, as liable as your stories sound, I can't help you. I simply don't know how. I kind of missed Death Watcher 101, so I suggest you find someone else."

The man crossed his beefy arms. "Well, at least you know what you are. There's a step." He surged forward, getting in my face, and spat, "Which means you can help me."

I grabbed my head and started rubbing my temples. Every time I had an encounter with the dead, my head would start throbbing. "Okay, seriously, you both need to leave." I thought about pushing them away from me until they weren't there anymore and took a shaky breath when I no longer felt them, daring to open my eyes.

Across the shop, I saw a man—a living, breathing man—watching me. His purple eyes burned into me, like he knew I wasn't normal. His dark hair obscured a good majority of his face but I still noticed how red his lips appeared, not to mention how full they were. He flipped his hair out of his face, revealing a grin, before getting up and exiting the shop.

My breath caught.

He knew.

^**^

Dun, dun, duh! Somebody knows her secret. Or do you think she's paranoid?

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