None of it made sense.
Not the weightless way she drifted through this place, not the silence that muted everything, not even the strange sensation of existing in two places at once. She couldn't feel her own emotions in this half-formed state but she could feel them bleeding from the girl in the hospital bed. Her body.
The heart monitor's slow rhythm, the ache in her limbs, and the fear curled tightly in her chest, all of it echoed through the tether between them.
But beyond confusion and the numbness… There was one thing she knew for certain. Death was here. She could feel it, thick in the air. It had a subtle and sickening scent, faintly metallic, decay masked in sterility. It curled around her throat, making her want to gag even though she no longer breathed.
Down the hallway, a flurry of doctors rushed past her, their energy frantic and focused. She followed them instinctively, gliding behind them as they burst into a room where time slipped through fingers.
Inside, a patient lay surrounded....flatlining.
The doctors fought hard with quick hands and desperation. Pads shocked the chest while orders flew. Blood pressure was called out. But nothing changed.
The line stayed flat.
"Time of death, 14:35," a doctor finally muttered, his shoulders slumping with defeat. One of the nurses gently drew the sheet over the body. Her expression was composed, but her eyes betrayed her. Tired, hollow, and quietly mourning what she'd have to say to someone's family.
And then… something stirred beneath the sheet.
Alisha blinked.
A shadow rose slowly from the bed. It took the shape of a man. Not breathing. Not quite solid. His face was the same as the one beneath the sheet, only clearer now, more alive in death than he had been seconds ago.
He stood there, dazed.
Looking around the room as if unsure how he got there.
Alisha stood frozen by the door, watching in silent disbelief. She never believed in ghosts. Not really. But now, she wasn't just seeing one.... she was witnessing the very moment a soul left its body.
The man stared at the medical team working around him, tilting his head with regret and awe. His gaze drifted to his own covered corpse. He the frowned, looking like he wanted to speak… but couldn't.
There was no fear in Alisha, strangely enough. Maybe it was because she was also a ghost now. Or maybe because, in this place, emotion didn't reach her fully.
He turned and began to walk, passing through the door without resistance like the world no longer had any weight on him.
He wandered down the hallway, quiet and invisible.
Looking for something.
No, someone.
Or maybe… simply trying to figure out where to go next.
Alisha followed him.
The man's steps were slow and uneven as if part of him was still hoping he could turn back time, as if maybe none of this was real. He moved through walls like air, weightless.
Up ahead, in the waiting room, sat a woman doubled over in grief. Her body trembled with every sob, arms wrapped tightly around a little boy who couldn't have been more than seven. The child clung to her, confused but silent, his small hand buried in her shirt.
The doctor must have just delivered the news.
Alisha stopped at the corner, watching the scene unfold from a distance
The ghost of the man paused when he saw them.
His expression twisted...shock? Disbelief? Pain? His face didn't wrinkle the way living ones did, but the agony still lived there, in the hollow of his eyes. He moved toward them with a purpose only desperation could fuel.
He reached for his wife, his hand trembling as it moved to her shoulder but passed through her like mist. He tried again. Again. Then he turned to his son and knelt down, trying to take the boy's hand.
But there was nothing to hold.
No matter how hard he tried.
He was a whisper in a world that no longer heard him.
Alisha's chest ached from the sheer weight of the scene. The helplessness. The silence. She had never thought ghosts could feel. In movies, they were angry. Spiteful. Tricksters or horrors. But this… this was just a man, broken and lost, watching the life he loved move on without him.
A new figure entered the room, a man who bore a striking resemblance to the ghost. His brother, maybe. He knelt beside the sobbing woman and gently pulled her into a hug, his other hand rubbing the boy's back. After a while, he led them both away, trying to hold her grief together just long enough to get her out of the room.
The ghost stood motionless for a moment.
Then quietly sank onto the bench beside the wall, burying his face in his hands...not to cry, because there were no tears here, but simply to feel what was left of himself.
Alisha watched, her thoughts spinning. She never knew ghosts could grieve. Could ache. Could want so badly just to be seen.
She hesitated.
Was she supposed to do something?
All she knew about ghosts came from fiction, from jump-scares and horror shows and spooky stories told under blankets. But this didn't feel like any of that.
This was a man who died with too much left unsaid. A soul tethered to the living by regret.
And if there's one thing fiction had taught her that might actually be true, it's the fact that ghosts who die with unfinished business don't just move on.
They wander.
Maybe forever.
Alisha took a step forward.
Maybe she could help.
Alisha approached slowly and sat beside the man, unsure what she could possibly do… or say… but knowing deep down she had to do something.
"Sir?" Her voice trembled, small in the heavy silence.
The man lifted his head, startled. His eyes scanned the room in disbelief, as if expecting someone else or anyone else to be the intended recipient. But the moment their eyes met, he knew.
"You… you can see me?" he asked, hesitant, confused.
"Yes," she said softly. "I can see you."
"Are you… Are you dead?"
She hesitated. "Maybe. I can still feel my body... my mother's touch… my friends near me in the room. So maybe I'm somewhere in between."
He nodded slowly, the weight of her words sinking in. "A coma," he said. "You must be in a coma or something."
"Maybe," she said again, voice low. "I saw what happened. You tried to touch your wife and your son." She glanced toward the hallway where they had left. "It must break your heart."
"It does," he whispered. "My son turns seven next week. And my wife… she's pregnant with our second. I wasn't supposed to drive that car. She told me to stay home. I should've listened…"
Regret laced every word. And it ran deep.
"I get it," Alisha said. "You wish you could go back, undo it. But this… It's already happened. You can't change it. The only thing left is to accept it."
"Accept that I'm gone?" he asked. "That I'll never see them again?"
She looked at him, something steady in her voice now. "It starts with that. You're still holding on. Still hoping you'll wake up. But you can't keep waiting for a miracle. The truth is, some things can't be undone."
Silence settled between them.
"What's your name?" the man asked.
"Alisha. Alisha Montes."
The ghost gave a soft nod. "Alisha Montes… if you ever wake up, I need you to do something for me."
She listened closely.
"Tell my wife, Hermione West, that I saw her. That I love her. And our son. That I'll never forget them. And… tell her she's still young. She should remarry. Love again, if she can." He smiled, bittersweet. "They deserve to live."
Alisha swallowed hard, her throat tight. "I'll tell them. I promise."
"What's your name sir?" She asked.
He managed a faint smile. "My name is Daniel West ....."
But before the last syllable fully left his lips, the room lit up in a blinding, pure white glow. Light poured from the center of the hallway, swallowing every shadow in its path.
Daniel rose slowly, eyes wide in awe. Alisha stood beside him, silent.
They both knew what this was.
"It's time," she said gently.
Daniel nodded, his voice breaking. "Thank you, Alisha."
He turned and stepped toward the light, his form growing brighter as he walked. With each step, he became less man and more memory, until, without a sound....he was gone.
And the light disappeared with him.
But in its place… came a scream.
A shrieking, mind-shattering scream that ripped through Alisha's eardrums like a thousand needles driving into her skull. She clutched her head and stumbled backward, her body convulsing from the raw agony.
And then she saw it.
A figure stepped from the darkness, tall, cloaked in rotting black robes that flowed like mist over the hospital tiles. Its presence froze the air, and as it stepped into view, the scent of sulfur and death lingered.
Its face was skeletal, hollow-eyed, withered, and ancient beyond comprehension. A towering crown of bone wrapped around its head like thorns.
The Grim Reaper.
Alisha's breath hitched.
She felt him....his power, his hunger. The very force that tore souls from bodies and dragged them into the underworld.
"Harbinger," the creature growled, its voice not one but many layered and thunderous, like whispers echoing through the pits of hell. "You were meant to deliver souls to the underworld… not help them find peace."
She stumbled back, eyes wide with horror. "What .....!"
The Reaper let out another shriek, his skeletal arms outstretched, and Alisha fell to her knees as her body spasmed from the sound.
"You will be punished… Harbinger."
He stepped closer.
Alisha trembled.
His bony, ice-cold fingers reached out and traced her lips sending a wave of frost down her spine.
Then, without warning, his lipless skull bent down and pressed his mouth to hers.
It was a kiss from hell.
Cold fire raced through her veins, her skin burned from the inside out, and her soul screamed as the world around her shattered.
And suddenly.....
GASP.
Alisha sat up in bed with a violent jolt, her chest rising and falling in rapid gasps. Sweat clung to her skin. The machines beeped rhythmically beside her.
She was back.
Alive. Feeling fire course through her veins, so cold it burned.