image

 

The light shining on the wall made him nervous. His fists trembled at his side making me sort of feel bad for the guy. Sort of. He was intruding on a sixteen year old girl, in her boxer short pajamas, at five in the morning. The steady red digital numbers on my dresses corrected me; he was a five-forty intruder. He wasn’t all that bad looking though. Shaggy hair, five-eight or five-nine, and glowing blue eyes. He had a sickly pale complexion but that was to be expected from the dead.

My movements were heavy as I drew the blinds and released the curtains primarily used for decorative purposes. In the ten years since my family moved to West Bab, I hadn’t once sealed off my room from sunlight. For one, it kept my room nice and warm. And two, it usually kept the peskier spirits at bay.

“Hey, are you new or something?” My money was on the or something. They usually invaded my dreams or sat on my chest to get my attention where as this guy stood as far from me as possible, visibly shaken up. “Hey! Hello?” The pillow throw did the trick. He snapped out of whatever daze he was in.

“Whitney Whittaker?”

I had to ignore the spine chill his gravelly voice gave me and nodded. “I prefer Whit.” I’ve been going by the nickname for years. You’d think the dead would pass on the word but apparently not. “So what do you want? Do you want me to talk to somebody? Pass a love letter?”

“They’re coming.”

“I know. My cousins come every summer.” Naturally, my joke was a waste. It soared over his pale head. “Who’s coming?” I crossed my arms. Might as well entertain him.

“The Gods.”

“Look, I have to be up in five hours-” I didn’t get to finish my dismissal. I blinked and there he was, his face hovering inches over mine.

“You’re their passenger.” I tried to will some snark remark out of my mouth but nothing came. I guess he knew he had me then. His face got closer. I instinctively stepped back but he gripped my arm, hard. “You mustn’t talk to the others.”

I think I nodded. My head was too fuzzy from the touch to tell. Talking to the dead was easy, touching them however, sucks the energy out of you.

By the time things cleared, he was gone. I dragged myself back to bed, pillow forsaken, to lay there. The red numbers read six-twenty two. That gave me less than four hours of peace but sleep was the last thing on my mind. Not even the impending rowdiness of my cousins bothered me.

If the guy wasn’t playing a sick death prank then my life was seconds from crumbling and I had no idea what to do about it. History books are riddled with the legends of Gods; Greek, Roman, Egyptian, Norse, Celtic…the possibilities were endless. Where was I supposed to start? Sighing, I closed my eyes. Only one person could really help me and the last time I saw her, she wished death on me.

“I hate summer…” I grumbled. Nothing but bad news came from it.

Advertisements