PROMPT: write a story of two characters whispering during a church service

"You shouldn't be here right now," I mutter to the newcomer next to me. He settled down beside me at the start of the service, but I've only just gained the courage to confront him.

"And why not? Everyone's a child of God, right?" He murmurs back and interlocks his fingers before resting them on the pew in front of him.

"You know that's not what I mean." I shake my head, glancing at the other spirits dotted around the church. Every Tuesday night, the priest here runs services for the deceased, and we flock in, seeking whatever form of redemption that's offered to us.

See, people who had violent deaths can never leave the plane of existence very easily. We hover around as spirits, some of us becoming vengeful after countless years of wandering and witnessing humanity's violence.

The priest here believes we can find peace and pass on to the afterlife. So that's why he stands at the front of an empty church and preaches about forgiveness to empty pews. He must be able to sense our presence, though.

On the other hand, the boy next to me is different. He can see and hear spirits. He's a bit of an odd one, but I'm grateful for him, even if he shouldn't be at a service for the dead.

"No, seriously, Noah – you have to leave," I insist, keeping my voice low so as to not disturb the other spirits around us. "Not all spirits are as accepting of the living as I am."

He raises his thick eyebrows and looks around the narrow church, his eyes squinting as he looks through the veil to see the other spirits here. I wonder what they look like to him; for me, they are barely lightened by the moonlight filtering in through the stained-glass windows. They glow slightly, their weak forms flickering even with the slightest draft.

I wonder what I look like to Noah.

"Son?" The priest pauses his sermon and raises his voice, looking directly in our direction – well, Noah's direction. To him, like almost every other mortal, I am invisible. "What are you doing here?"

All the spirits turn to face us, though their expressions are blurred from the distance of even a few pews.

"I told you, you should go," I whisper urgently to Noah as his cheeks pinken, and he fumbles for words. Bless him, he's never been one for speaking to the living. "Get outta here before you get in trouble or something."

"This is a closed sermon, son. Is there something I can help you with?" The priest is now gliding down one of the aisles towards us.

"I'll find you again, Natalie," Noah whispers to me, stands and disappears out the side door – all before I can think of something to say in return.

He's long gone by the time I whisper to myself,"I'll find you too."

(486 words)