Chapter 1:

The Anniversary

How Not to Be a Medium

I lazily opened my eyes to greet another day. Instead of the blinding sunlight streaming through the window, I saw a face that I didn't want to see. I reached for the book I'd been reading the night before and hit the unwanted visitor's head with it.

"You want to kill me?" he muttered dissatisfied, falling to the floor.

"You're already dead," I said, looking for the phone. "Go bother someone else."

When I finally found my communicator, I decided it was time to get moving. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and rubbed my eyes, ignoring my guest. He had been following me for a year, and no threatening return to the Underworld would work on him. Such charms of being a Medium ... I shivered as my feet touched the cold panels, I was sure I had left my slippers in that exact spot.

"Where did you hide them again?" I said furiously, staring at the levitating spirit of the young man.

"Let me steal a kiss, and then I'll give it back to you," he replied with a gallant smile.

I shook my head and headed for the kitchen to prepare my own breakfast. On the way, I looked into the living room to see if Mrs. Judy, with whom I was renting a room in exchange for taking care of her, was already up. She just stuck her head out of her bedroom, so I asked what would she like. She just smiled warmly and hid it back in her place. I sighed heavily and went to make sandwiches and tea. A quarter of an hour later, breakfast was ready in the living room for my elderly roommate. Today she dressed in an exceptionally cute dress and with the utmost care not to get it dirty, she ate her meal.

"Can you tell my Judy that she looks particularly beautiful today?" I heard a whisper in my right ear.

I nodded my agreement, always ready to help the two communicate. The ghost who asked me for a favor was Mrs. Judy's husband, he died quite young of cancer, and since then he has never left her for a moment and makes sure that she is happy and lives in the best possible health. He once confessed to me that he would like his wife to find another husband, but she stubbornly did not want to be associated with anyone else. I was touched by their story, they often remembered the old times and their shared days. Mrs. Judy showed me a lot of souvenirs, and all I could do for them was convey the words.

"My Ronald is here, isn't he?" The old woman asked, tucking an unruly strand behind her ear and blushing slightly.

"As always, where you are," I replied and smiled. "He says you look beautiful today," I said.

"Really?" I was able to pass it on every day, and she always reacted the same, embarrassed and waving her hand in a charming way, as if she didn't agree to be given so many compliments.

"And of course, he remembers why you dressed like this today," I passed on another message. "And he asks you to eat breakfast."
Syed Al Wasee
Ataga Corliss