Hugh jolted up in bed, sweat forming cold beads on his forehead. Panting, he nervously looked around his room. Alas, he put his head in his hands and sighed.
"Some dream..." he muttered. "These are getting too realistic..."
"It wasn't a dream," corrected a voice coming from beside him.
Hugh jumped at the unknown presence, but quickly calmed down once he saw that it was only Isla, her back facing him.
"You fainted, so Lottie moved you to your bed," she added, turning to meet Hugh's eyes. "She left you a note with her phone number, telling you to call her if you wake up and something goes wrong."
"Oh," said Hugh, glancing at his nightstand to find that the note was, indeed, there.
He paused for a moment before remembering why he had fainted. His skin grew colder than it already was, and a pit formed in his stomach.
"So, is it true? That you're..."
"Dead? It's true, all right," said Isla.
Hugh nodded, but shook away the feeling of acceptance. "But you can't be dead; you're here and you're talking to me."
Isla rolled her eyes. "You ever heard of people communicating with spirits?"
"Well, yes," confirmed Hugh, "But-"
"No more buts!" Isla exclaimed, flailing her arms. "I've been allowed only one person to help me, and I've chosen a complete idiot!"
"Help you? What?" asked a very confused Hugh.
Isla gave a flustered sigh and clapped her hand to her forehead.
"In order to move on to the afterlife, spirits must find out how they died. We were left with only very few memories of our life, which can be used to help guide us. Spirits are only allowed a single person to help them on their quest, and I have chosen you," she explained.
Hugh stared at Isla, unblinking.
Finally, he burst out, "Well, why the hell did you choose me?!"
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