I don't believe in ghosts. Poltergeists either, or anything of the paranormal sort. I'm more the kind of guy to believe what I can actually see. So, ghosts and such aren't listed very high on my list of worries.
That's why part of me is still convinced that guy was full of shit.
He'd been tailing me for a few blocks while I was walking home from soccer practice. I'm a pretty big guy, so I wasn't too worried about some random guy all dressed up in black; I just pumped up my iPod and kept it moving. Before long though, he'd caught up to me, and blocked my path. The scrawny bastard motioned for me to pull out my earbuds. I rolled my eyes, but I was in a generous mood, so I did what he wanted, and asked, "What do you want?"
"Consider this a warning." His lips barely moved as he spoke, that much I remember. The rest of what he said is kinda fuzzy; something about Reapers, blah blah blah, sorry to inform you that…
"Wait… what was that last part?" I shook my head, and looked the guy up and down.
"You're going to die."
Well, by this point, I was starting to get annoyed. I could easily pick up this scrawny goth wannabe, throw him into the nearest dumpster, and go on with my day… not that I ever would. I gave him my infamous death glare, a look that the goalies on opposing teams had learned to fear, and asked, "Was that a threat?"
"No, a predetermined event. I've been sent to tell you that tomorrow, May 27th, at approximately 8:03 PM, you are going to die."
"What the hell? Why are you telling me this?"
"Everyone gets their 24 hour warning, Mister Underwood. It's courtesy."
"Whatever. Are you done screwing with me? I've got places to be."
The guy's eyes bore into mine, and for a split second, it felt like he was staring into my soul… then, all of a sudden, it was night time, and I was by the train tracks. There was some nutjob standing in the middle of the tracks, just waiting, and I thought to myself, Why the hell am I watching this? Then, it occurred to me that the nutjob… was me. The second I realized that, the 8:03 express to Poughkeepsie appeared down the tracks, coming on fast. I tried to shout out a warning, but nothing came out; I could only watch as the train slammed into me, forcing my body to virtually splinter into several pieces, each dripping blood as various bits of me littered the area. With a jolt, I was pulled back into reality, and looked around to see that the crazy goth dude was gone.
My name is Max Underwood, and if that dude was right, I'm going to die.