Some people call other people who can talk to the dead 'mediums'. It wasn't my case, not exactly. I don't know shit about mediums - nothing except for the fact that 90 percent of such is a farce. You can call me a hypocrite for being oblivious about this particular type of stuff, but most of these people who say they are mediums wouldn't put themselves out so often, for example. There are two main reasons for me to believe on this: 1) No one likes being called crazy. No one likes feeling crazy. 

2) If these people had such intense connections or whatever, I doubt they would get rid of them in 40 mins (the average length of an episode of a tv show). That's why they are so rare. 

I might be horribly wrong. However, I say this because I have been through something alike.

'But you basically said mediums are a farce when then put themselves out. Why should I believe you?' are probably your thoughts right now.

Well, basically because I'm not a fucking medium. 

Anyway, even if it sounds the opposite, I'm not here to convince you into believing me. I'd just waste my time.

I sat on my bed contemplating about what the hell I had just heard. I mean, it was hard already to think I wasn't going insane before that happened. So.. There were dead people inside my head. This is great.

'Oh, congratulations, you just fucked everything up.' Alison said.

They all started yelling again and I simply got up, went to the kitchen upper cupboard and took out one of my mom's moose Christmas plates and mildly angry, dropped it in the floor. Ok, maybe more like.. Smashed it. Completely. Coming to think of it, actually, very violently.  My white and blue tiles were then covered with millions of fragments of the porcelain dishware. But the dead people went silent - like they should had been in first place.
'I have no idea what the hell is going on. If you don't tell me what's going on, I'm putting on The Smiths with headphones for the next fours hours.'
'No no no no.' the girls said commonly. I knew all of them hated any type of indie music since the car episode and used to my advantage. I only wanted to hear Matt, the intelligent, who has good taste in music, British Matt.
'Go.' I ordered.

'Feck it. I'm going to tell her. Protocol can go wank itself.'  the British accent came strongly. 'You are not supposed to know of us. I don't understand what happened, exactly, but we shouldn't be able to talk freely like this when you are so sane. We are to act sublimely and inject ideas in your mind so you do our wishes. People think themselves came up with it but it is, in reality, us. When you have strong cravings, strong dreams. This kind of stuff. Not always, I should say, but many times.'

'Why?' I ask.

'Our lives were abruptly interrupted. Before moving on, we get the right of a final wish sort of thing.' he answered. 'So far we hadn't that any luck, though. We got into children's minds, people who, hm, couldn't deal with us... And sometimes we weren't strong enough to incite what we wanted in some heads. We have to jump from one to one until all of us can move on, but we are only allowed to stay for some time. I don't know why. Sometimes we just found ourselves in another person..'

The girls continued to be quiet and so did I. It was a lot to process, but I was relatively calmer. How to process? Should I google 'how to deal with dead people making requests in your head'? Everything was running so fast I stumbled when Alison asked:

'So... Are you going to help us or not?'

'Because if you are you have to leave in a few hours. They are already suspecting something is not right and they will erase your memories if you are not fast. Or if you don't care.' Angie hadn't sounded so serious up until that point, so my blood ran cold.

Did I care? Absolutely not.
But would I let someone erase my friggin memory, the only thing that is truly mine? Hell no.

--

I didn't know where to start. Jerry, my boss, had called me a dozen times.  I had to run away temporarily. There were dead people in my mind. And shit, it was Thursday! The day Andrew, my 4-months-boyfriend, comes over with pizza as usual. But he comes only at seven o'clock.  Wait, what time is it?

And OF COURSE, as I reach for my phone,  the doorbell rings.

'Babe, it's me!' I hear through the door.

Damn it. It was freaking seven o'clock.

'Andrew, you have to go home. I'm really sick and  I don't want to contaminate you. I'm sorry, baby.'

'What? You were fine last night. Stop playing silly, open the door.'

I fake a cough and say: 'I know, but suddenly I got bad. Heavy flu. Sorry. I will call you tomorrow.'

'But it's pizza night. I don't care if you're dead, just let me in.'

'For fuck's sake, this guy is so persisting. Just leave her, asshole.' Angie complained.

'SHUT UP!' I unnecessarily screamed as my nerves boiled.

'Oh, okay, sorry, I'm gonna g-' Andrew's boots stomped the floor as he leaned off the door to walk away.

'NO! I wasn't talking to you.'

'Wait, is there someone there? Is that why you don't want to open the door? I cannot. Fucking. Believe. This..' he muttered angrily.

'What, NO! I'm just in the phone and..'

'So open the door, M.' I could feel his rage through my heavy oak door.

'No. I told you I can't, I'm sick..'

'Yeah, right. Sick.' he scoffed. 'Let me in or I'm going home. Single.'

'Let him go, Ms. Wolf. You will fix things up with him later. We are wasting time.' Matt said.

'No! This is my life! It's not fair!' I banged the door like a spoiled child, keeping my voice low, almost breaking.

'That's it. I'm going. Bye, Germana.' Andrew said.

'No..' I whispered, without energy to speak up.

'It will be alright.' Alison assured me.

'I hope so. Otherwise, I'm killing someone - and it doesn't matter if they are already dead.' I thought to myself.