No, Eleanor

Prologue

I saw her. Last night. The memory no different than before. She was lay beside me, young as ever, her hair knotted with blood and it trickled down her forehead like a gentle creek. I wasn't afraid, but I remained frozen, my gaze locked with hers. We buried her just over a year ago now, but she always comes to visit me. Though, my mother doesn't believe me. She tells me,
"No, Eleanor, you're dreaming".
She tells me it's 'all in my head', that I need a 'psychological evaluation', but that's not true. She visits me, she does! If anybody else knew, mother reckons they'd throw me in with 'the crazies', that they'd strap me up and capture me like a wild beast. But I'm not crazy. I'm just fine. I don't just hear voices; I see faces. And no matter how much I medicate, no matter how much I drink or smoke? They come back. I think they have a message for me, or perhaps they are trying to reach out for help. But, 'no, Eleanor'. The two words that suppress me.

My name is Eleanor Anderson and I can speak to the dead. Your nightmare material is real and I'm sure if you listened to your gut, you'd know for sure. Those little whispers or coincidental gusts of wind are no misconception. It is a sign of energy amongst you, not to be ignored. Those ever so delicate taps at your window are not just in your head, nor creation of your paranoia. The truth is? The supernatural is just as real as we are - humans. Except, they don't have a pulse. They do, however, have feelings. A story. A motive to carry out until they may finally rest.

The world is vain and does not understand what I do. This may upset the spirits, the ghouls, the banshees, and all of the others known to us as 'fiction'. This is why the world is in danger; the reason why lives will be lost. Non-believers are at risk.