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August 10 | After Midnight

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August 10 | After Midnight

I considered discounting all the Supernatural stuff. Angels, demons, vampires? It was too much to accept—especially the part about me being a ghost—but, whether I wanted or not, Death was making me a believer.

When I tried opening the ornate hand-carved door, my hand went through it. Would I go through everything else I touched?

Entertained, Mys reached around me and turned the latch. I realized as soon as I entered the building there was something off about the "basement" studio. By some strange magic, instead of descending stairs, I entered at ground-level. There were also high windows that weren't visible from outside the cathedral.

I took in the view with interest. A sleek, modern kitchenette lined the side wall to my left, separated from the rest of the room by a marble island. Only one barstool. Across from the kitchen, there was a comfy leather couch before a bookshelf and mounted TV. Along the far wall was a full-sized metal bed dressed in a white duvet.

It was a fascinating space that revealed a lot about my new friend, here. The palette was neutral and the décor, minimalist. Somewhat stark, but Zen-like.

"Make yourself at home," said Mys.

"Easier said than done."

Mys guided me to the couch. "You can't impact the Real World—like opening doors or moving objects—but sitting on the couch won't change anything. You can do that without a problem, Yokai."

"In other words, if it shouldn't be moving on its own, I can't move it. Got it. What's a yoke—?"

"Yokai? It's Japanese for 'pesky spirit.'"

"Well, gee, thanks!" I pouted.

Mys flashed a devilish grin that, surprisingly, stirred the butterflies in my tummy. "The kanji, or letters, making up the word actually express something like 'beguiling' and 'ghost.' I hope you don't mind. I tend to give pet names."

"Weird flex, but okay. I like my Japanese pet name."

"Mm-hm. It preempts the question of where I'm from, too. The answer is New Orleans, by the way." Another grin. I shyly smiled back as I sank to the leather couch.

As the psychic medium pattered around the kitchenette, my gaze wandered over them: Tall, thin, dark-haired, dressed in a black lace tunic. Alluring or whatever.

Mys continued small talk in a husky voice that was pleasant background noise. However, my thoughts turned inward to how to get home. I tried to backtrack from my death, but my mind went blank at pinning down details. Hadn't I been out with someone? Focusing seemed impossible as my attention drifted again to...

The mysterious psychic whose presence was making me feel "alive-ish." They brought over coffee. I reached for the mug. We both shied away as it dawned on me, I didn't need to eat or drink anymore because "alive-ish" still meant Very Dead.

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