"What the fuck," I couldn't help from saying aloud, ''Are you being figurative or...''

The girl beside me dropped her bottom lip and cocked her head to shake it. I imagined she was thinking something along the lines of 'oh wow, what an idiot.' I looked past her to her posse for a moment to see that all of them were retaining the same somber expressions and stances.

It shouldn't have been a surprise at that point that they were ghosts or something, yet my brain just couldn't allow me to immediately accept it. The fact that these little assholes had been pretty shitty didn't help either.

''Okay,'' my gaze dithered between Emma and the other teens standing behind her while I waited for some manner of evidence, or for them to get tired of toying with me,''The four of you are dead. Got it.''

''Just prove it to him, Em, so we can move forward with this,'' one of the young boys rolled his eyes.

Their leader gave an exasperated sigh as she stood, peering down at me, ''Where's your razor?'' she demanded.

''Um, what?''

With heavy stomp toward me, she grabbed my wrist before I could even think to react. Pulling on it harshly until my forearm was vertical directly in front of my face, she repeated angrily, ''Where is your razor?''

I looked from the cuts and scars on my arm, back to her, ''It's in the den,'' I almost whispered.

She threw my arm down and stormed out of the bedroom, her friends following quickly behind. I sat on the mattress watching after them until all were out of sight, then I glanced around the room. If this wasn't a dream... I put my hands onto the blankets beside me and rubbed them between my fingers. Not a dream. If this wasn't in my head, like my mind finally had melt down for good, then what the hell had I gotten myself into?

''Hey! Get your ass in here!'' Emma called from the other room.

I took a deep breath and got to my feet. How pathetic was I being a grown man and letting some teenage girl boss me around? Well, if McGraff had killed her and his last murders had been three decades ago, then I guess she was actually older than me. I sauntered into the room at the other end of the hallway. 

Goth princess had located the box-cutter that I had left on the coffee table and was standing in front of the TV waiting for me. The guy with the bat was leaning against the front door of my apartment, frowning and not appearing to be focused on anything in particular while the two others had made themselves comfortable on my couch, eyes on their leader.

Emma slid the utility blade in her hand open two notches. I listened to the familiar clicking sound of the tool settling into place. Gripping the handle firmly, she carefully reached it over to her opposite arm and rested the blade against her skin.

''Wait, wait just a second,'' I spoke, as what little sense I had caught up with what she was doing. One of the kids on the sofa twisted his neck to laugh at me while the other kept his sight trained on Emma, a wicked grin stretching across his face. Bat boy at the door stayed the same. 

''Don't-'' I started again although I should have known that any protest of the angsty gang was futile. 

In one quick, fell swoop, she dug the blade deeply into her inner wrist and dragged it upward through the entire length of her forearm, ripping the flesh apart. Blood gushed out in various spots as the veins and arteries were torn before easing to slight, sporadic spurts of crimson. The thick red liquid dripped across the white, undamaged parts of her skin like rivers. 

These streams met at her elbow and fell to the floor beneath where she stood. My vision followed the drips all the way to the ground, observing as they stained the once beige carpet an almost sickening maroon color. For a moment, I forgot where it was coming from and what was going on. All I could think about was how much there was, how it had to mean death, and how that thought oddly both scared and comforted me.

However, the feet standing in the growing puddle moved, jarring me from my daydream. My head shot back up, sight on Emma. The girl stood there, unwavering. Her body was strong, but as I looked into her green eyes, I saw great sorrow. I wanted to speak, to comfort her, or even cry for help so that I could save her from dying. I wanted to do so much, but I was too weak. So instead, I just stared.

''Look,'' her normally harsh voice was laced with compassion.

Her eyes trailed from me down to her arm. Mine did the same, once again in awe of the grave wound. She twisted her arm abruptly and let it fall back into place. The gash, the cleanly cut flesh, the blood, the beautiful horror...was gone. Just like that. My jaw dropped and I gawked at the scene as the girl made a fist once, then twice, and then allowed her arm to come to rest on her hip as her expression hardened to its usual state, a teasing smirk reaching her face.

I stepped further into the room, eyeing the carpet around her. It was like nothing had happened at all. ''Yeah, okay,'' I scratched my head, focusing on Emma and the others at once, ''I'm convinced.''

Out of my peripherals, I saw the now confirmed ghost in the trench coat at the door smile. As I turned my attention to him, he did likewise, ''What's your name?''

''Damian,'' he replied gruffly, ''And that's Chris and Todd,'' he added, gesturing toward my couch with his chin.

''Hi,'' I muttered, resting my vision to the youngest members, who waved and chuckled.

''So this is what we need you to do,'' I spun around at the sound of the girl's voice. She had tossed the razor back on the table and crossed her arms under her chest, ''We-''

''Wait, hold on!'' I squeaked, ''I never agreed to anything here."

Damian lifted himself from the door and strolled between us, taking a position facing me. Our noses were almost touching as he asked, ''You want to die, don't you?'' 

''Well, yeah, but-''

''You gonna do it yourself?'' he pressed, not even waiting for my full answer to his first question.

''I don't-'' I started, then realized that I wasn't talking to just anyone. These guys were already dead. They could teach me so many things, couldn't they? All these things I wondered about existence after death. Things I needed to know in order to save Tyler.

''Would there even be a point?'' I countered his interrogation with my own inquiry.

I didn't think it was possible, but he moved even closer to me, furrowing his brow and steeling his gaze, ''I don't know. You tell me. You're the one with such a shitty life.''

The statements came out with such cruel contempt that I couldn't help a shiver. As soon as I felt it, I tried not to let it show. However, I failed, as was proven with the cold toothy grin he gave me before stepping back to the side and letting Emma take the lead once more.

''The short answer, Mark,'' she stressed my name as her eyes briefly went after her friend and then re-situated upon me, ''Is that death and what happens after is unique to everyone. We can't judge for you if you should force your own end or not.''

After Damian's chilling words, hers sounded warm and caring. Nonetheless, after the initial shock of him wore off, I understood that she was only speaking matter-of-factly. I barely caught what she said and found it difficult to focus. My mind and my vision kept returning to Damian who had resumed his sentry-like pose a couple of yards from the rest of us. I couldn't help but to feel a hidden story behind the things he had said to me.

You're the one with such a shitty life. He had made certain to emphasize 'shitty' like he was in firm disbelief that my life was so bad that I should want or need to end it. My first thoughts to this were defensive.

Growing up, not as a teenager even, but a young child that could hardly walk or talk, living with the constant fear, each and every day, that maybe it was finally the day your father would throw you hard enough you'd die. Always wondering if he would burn, hit, cut, choke, or even conduct some new form of torture he hadn't done before just to get a bit of entertainment. 

Living with an incessant pang of hunger in your stomach or the cold of winter tearing daily through the holes of your raggedy clothes all because any money he acquired was used for alcohol or cigarettes. But that wasn't even the worst part. Falling into addiction, then falling in love, only to kill the one person who made life bearable...

''Mark? Are you listening?'' Emma tore into my thoughts.

''Yeah, sorry,'' I muttered even though I hadn't caught a thing she'd said.

She sighed and began backtracking. Apparently, it had been pretty obvious that my mind was elsewhere, ''Somebody still alive has to make a doorway for McGraff to get into this world. You have to find him and bring him back.''

I paused for a moment and thought, "Find him? Where?"

"Where do you think?" one of the twins laughed, "Hell, you idiot."

"You want me to go to Hell?" my vision narrowed.

"More than you know," I heard Damian utter from his spot, causing the other boys to laugh.

"So," I ignored them, "You want me to astral travel to Hell and do what exactly?"

"Let McGraff take over your body," the girl said simply, "Your spirit will stay there and he'll have a new vessel. It's a win for the both of you."

"I'm kind of missing the win for me, being literally stuck in Hell," I protested.

"Well, you don't have to stay there, you know," Emma seemed to be growing impatient, "You're there of your free will; it's people like McGraff who get stuck there."

My vision narrowed on her, "Full offense, but I don't trust that. I'm also not going to set a serial killer loose here because I want to be somewhere else."

"Pay attention, Mark," Damian took in a deep breath, "He won't be free. He'll be facing our retribution."

"Then why don't you just let him stay where he is?" I threw my hands up in an incredulous gesture, "Isn't that what he's there for?"

"Not good enough," the four spirits spoke in unison, which was the creepiest thing they had done thus far.

A few minutes of silence passed, but they said nothing else. 

"Well, it's not good enough for me either," I sighed, "If anyone is going to swap places with me, it's..." my gaze fell downward as my words halted.

"It's who?" the girl's voice was soft again.

"Never mind," I shrugged, "I don't even know where he is. I know it's not there though."

I caught the sight of Emma and Damian exchanging glances. 

"How did McGraff get here before?" I changed the subject, "After he died, why was he able to keep killing people?"

"He died purposely," the now amused goth boss explained, "Through a necromantic ritual, he was able to tie his spirit to this realm instead of it flowing freely through the astral planes like others do when they die."

"Then," I wondered, "Who sent him to Hell? Was it Ames?"

She nodded solemnly, "She managed to banish him twice."

"Twice?" recalling what I had learned about his murders, it made sense. After he was sent to prison, the murders stopped until he was beaten to death. Then, there was another short period of time where the killings ceased before returning to their normal spacings, "I see. And I guess you're here due to your 'unfinished business' or something?"

"Something like that," she confirmed, "Who's this friend of yours that you mentioned?"

I placed a dead glare on her, "That's none of your business."

"It's obviously someone who died," Damian stepped in, "My guess is that you feel responsible."

My furious eyes cut to him, "So?" I growled.

"So why don't you take our offer," he scoffed, "You should already know how much easier it would be to find a wayward spirit without a physical body weighing you down. Take advantage of this opportunity."

Shaking my head with a grim chuckle, I replied, "Why don't I just kill myself and accomplish the same thing without releasing a mass murderer on innocent people?"

"Why don't you?" he returned, not missing a beat. After a pause to let the full effect of his rhetorical question sink in, he carried on, "By the way you make it sound, you have plenty of demons already fucking with you here that it should be no problem just to cut the cord."

This little motherfucker...