The Seers

Chapter 1

        It always started like a dream.

        She'd slip into it, similar to the feeling of slowly drifting off to sleep. It was smooth, like silk, and before she knew it, she was there. No longer standing in front of the tombstone she was intently focusing on, but in a new scenery entirely. She smelled the scent of hospital, and heard the shrill and slow beeping of the heart rate machine displaying how fast the patients hard was beating. Soon enough, sight came into view and she saw unrecognizable faces stricken with remorse and grief surrounding the hospital bed she- or he- was laying in. As the beeping got slower, the hand that Jansen hadn't noticed clinging onto hers- or his- tightened their grip. The owner of that hand also owned a pair of red, teary eyes and a stuffy nose with a permanent- looking frown on their face. The stranger was saying the same words over and over again, "It's okay to let go."

        And then she was thrown out. Practically identical to the sensation of being slapped awake, Jansen shook her head as she took in her environment again. Trees. Grass. Tombstones.

        She was back at the graveyard. It took a few seconds for her whole mind to recover, and a few more seconds for her body to. By her side, her father, Christopher Mayweather, stared at her intently, watching to see what she would do or how she'd react. Sometimes, the persons death was extremely violent and terrifying, like a nightmare, and it was hard to suddenly wake up from a blackout like that and be calm afterwards.

        They called them blackouts, because they didn't know what else to call them.

        She blinked. He blinked. She turned to him. He kept staring at her.

"I'm alright." She finally managed to breathe out after she regained control of her body. The tension in her fathers body visually dissipated.

        After analyzing her father and understanding that he needed no further reassurance, she turned back to the tombstone she was just staring at.

        Alfred Turner, 1934-2013, A beloved husband, a treasurable father, and a loyal friend. From birth to passing, he was always surrounded by ones who loved him.

        Literally, Jansen thought, as she reassessed her blackout, and remembered all the crying faces. It pained Jansens heart to think of it, but the strain it put on her was no longer unbearable; throughout the years, she'd learn to coexist with the sadness. She had no other choice in the matter.

        This was a normal Sunday for Jansen and Christopher Mayweather. It was a tradition in the family to visit the cemetery. Jansen didn't enjoy it, but, like most of the things she did, it helped her get used to the dead. It was a pattern: eat, blackout, talk to dad, eat, sleep. She wasn't sure if it was healthy for her, but it wasn't like anything she did was.

        And so, they continued their walk through the cemetery while they tried their best to ignore the moans of tormented souls and endure the blackouts when they looked at a tombstone for too long. The early morning dew was evident on the blades of the grass, and the air smelled of potential rain. Jansen wondered if they should start walking to the house before they got wet.

        And then it happened.

        Unlike the normal, peaceful drift she usually experienced, Jansen was thrown into the vision. She felt her stomach flip-flop as if she was riding a roller coaster as she crashed into the unknown. For a second, the empty darkness surrounding her was intimidating. And suddenly, everything was illuminated. There were flashing lights. Someone was crying. It only took her a short moment to realize it was her own sobs that she was hearing. It took her a moment more to realize that the light was a flashlight pointed into her eyes. All Jansen could hear was herself crying, and all she could see was her own silhouette, hunched over and letting out racking sob.

        I've never seen someone die in person, she kept thinking in her head. There was something terrifying, but almost expecting of it. Like it was a memory.

"Hide." Vision-Jansen chocked out between a wheeze and a sob.

        Why do I have to hide? The thought kept echoing in her head as her vision went black, and she was thrown out of the dream-like experience almost as violently as she was thrown in. Gasping for air as if she'd just reached the surface of drowning water, Jansen tried to think. Her sight was slowly coming back. Trees. Grass. Tombstones. Her dad had her by the shoulders and shook her hastily. When she found her voice, she yelped. That's when her father let go. For a moment or two, they both caught their breath. Not because of any physical toll, but because of the panic their hearts just went through.

        "You weren't looking at a tombstone." He stated, but she knew what he wanted was an explanation. She didn't have one.

        "No, I wasn't. It just happened." Jansen did her best to explain.

        "What did you see?" He asked her, giving in to asking a question this time. After a slow intake of breath, Jansen told her father what her mind was still having trouble processing.

        "I saw myself."