How to be a Ghost for Dummies

Lesson.1

It wasn't quiet. Voices drowned in and out of her ears, all of them sounding annoyed and hysterical at the same time.

The girl's brows knitted together in a frown, the scowl already forming on her lips.

She wanted to ask where she was, but she felt too tired. Too sleepy. And too lazy to do so.

The voices, if possible, raised an octave higher than they were before. Strange shouts like, "I need a Doctor!", "Why I am here?!", "My son, my son is all alone down there!" confused her very much. What did they mean? But she finally decided to investigate what the marshmallows was happening after another hysterical shout, a man's this time, shrieked like a bloody Banshee.

Too slow for her like, her eyelids rose slightly, and striking blue eyes scanned its surroundings. The girl blinked warily but snapped her eyes shut when a near-blinding light hit her full on the face. She tried to peer through her eyelids - find something she could recognize. Anything. It was in vain, but the ruckus she heard before still was on full swing. Looking down owlishly at her lap, she found a white ticket tucked between her fingers, like the ones they gave when you were on a raffle. It only had the number 901 with - 

The girl frowned. Looking at it with a calculating eye, she could only tell that it was a red substance... which smelled rusty, like the metal was, to her.

"Nine Hundred and One!" a shrilly voice called. "Nine Hundred and One! Cassandra Hall, on window thirteenth!"

"It's Cassie," said the girl defensively but no one answered back. Besides, how did they know about her full name? Whenever she was asked, Cassie always avoided saying 'Cassandra' because she believed it to be too long to be used on a conversation.

Always the curious, she stood from her seat and tried to pinpoint from where exactly came the shouts of the woman's distorted voice. Stumbling, Cassie looked around.

She was on what looked like a Postal service office, which reminded her of the one in her hometown, Mappledale. But there were many differences; instead of white, the walls were a murky green, having stains of... Cassie wasn't exactly sure what kind substance it was, but she came to the conclusion that she didn't want to find out. Old ripped couches filled the waiting room, propped up on telephone books and torn National Geographic magazines without their covers. There was a "Take a Number" machine glued on the wall, the number registering in millions.

Cautiously, the blond girl approached the only open window with the gold plate number 13th hanging upside down. Inside of the small cabin full of Post-it pink and yellow notes, was a beautiful lady. She looked to be in her mid-twenties and had blond dyed hair - Cassie could tell by just watching the dark brown roots carefully hidden behind her fringe. She wore a dark red corset with black laces and a long red skirt. Cassie looked down to her bare arms, only to widen when she saw two perfectly knife slashes on the lady's wrists. Where was she, again?

"Cassandra Hall?" the lady asked in a sort of raspy voice that usually belonged to those who smoked. Cassie nodded silently. "Good. Your appointment has been miraculously made by Mr. A - you're a lucky bitch by the way," she hissed and by the way she winked at her, Cassie knew the woman wasn't being serious.

"Excuse me?"

"He's waiting for you. The sixth door on the left down the hallway," the lady pointed out. "Next; Nine Hundred and Two!"

"Wait - where I am?"  Cassie demanded, only to back away when a hand was laid on her shoulder and saw its owner. She was extremely reminded of Lurch from the Addams Family; he was tall and his eyes were bloodshot, and when he spoke again, blood gurgled out his mouth and stained the already dirty Janitor suit he wore. Terrified but shocked, Cassie worried more about what he could to her with the mop he had on his not severed arm. "Why - why is he bleeding? Why are your wrists cut? What the hell I am doing here?"