Tom Riddle | Short Stories

The Other Side I

My name is Amity Melinoe. I am beginning my story this basic ass way because it's how I begin every day.

You see, I am in contact with *spooky music* the other side, and I know what you think it means, but no not republicans or conservatives, worse than that. Or actually better. Yeah. Better.

I talk to dead people. On the other side.

I wake up to the voices and I have to remind myself that I am not in fact Elie Parkson born 1895 died 1916, or Pauline Fleur born 1750 died 1789.

The thing about bitchy souls or consciousnesses or whatever form of dead person I talk to, is that they can never accept their deaths, and then they decide, aha! A living person, they shall solve all my problems, and I can convince them that they are me, or um I am them I guess? Let me start over.

My name is Amity Melinoe! And I am- why am I shouting?

It's more dramatic this way,

You were a failed actor, Walter. Honestly. Quit it with this. Anyways,

My name is Amity Melinoe, and I can talk to the dead. Communicate with the other side. But you'll never guess the coolest thing about me...

I'm left handed.

It's very rare, and I'm willing to bet I've got you hooked on my story now, huh?

Me going through like having to use quill and ink and having chronically smudged work because of my left handed ness? Now that's a title card,

"Do I have to go?" I ask my mother, and she turns to me, the proud Melinoe wife as ever, she was a bitch and a half if you asked me,

Which half?

The bottom half. Thank you for asking, Charles. Sometimes the voices are kind to me. Sometimes their real pains in my rear end.

I have always wished that I could pick and choose who speaks with me, but sometimes they manifest in my mind's eye and suddenly I'm eating cake with Marie-Antoinette, and she's complaining about how she never said that,

You'd think after all these years she'd just accept that she would always have that as her famous tagline.

"Yes, Amity." She said, rolling her eyes as we sat in the back of the ministry town car, dad was nice until he got this new job,

Used to listen to me talk about the voices, and ask me to try and find specific dead people to talk to, but as soon as he became chief of whatever or head of something bureaucratic, suddenly I was an embarrassment,

"You need a proper schooling environment," said mother,

Here it comes. The big, it's all in your head lecture, and all I want to scream is that THATS THE GODDAMN PROBLEM MOTHER! A THOUSAND VOICES OF DEAD PEOPLE SOUND OFF IN MY HEAD ON THE REGULAR! YOU TRY THINKING STRAIGHT WHILE QUEEN ELIZABETH THE FIRST AND GEORGE WASHINGTON ARE IN THE MIDDLE OF AN ARGUMENT.

Lizzie was possibly my favourite person to pop in and out of my head, she had terrible morals of course, but hey, she had a goal and she stuck to it, and she had really been helping to get me through my whole drug problem. Mostly because she wanted someone to talk to and the drugs made everything including the voices and the pain go quiet,