• I suggest you put this book down now, mortal.

    Mourning Mist

    It’s been a long time since I’ve been to the realm of the living. Much has changed. People have lost their belief in spirits. People of today are stubborn, rarely stopping for just a moment to see what is displayed before their very eyes. They now rely on technology to live their lives for them. What strange machines that they use to prove our existence, while the people from the past could do it from sheer eyesight! Humans have become duller as a race; they will soon fall. I know it. I have learned many things since my death almost sixty years ago. I have gained many capacities to manipulate what I see. Yes, I still see. I see all that the Humans have done wrong, to lead them to this time of strife and sorrow. I see all that they are doing today, almost nothing, to stop themselves from furthering the path of their destruction. I see when that path will reach its end, and the Humans will be lost. I see many things.
    I no longer remember my name. I’ve tried to find my gravestone, but the letters are too worn away to know if it’s truly me. Ghosts aren’t the type to spend much time with each other, anyway. We’re more of a solitary people, which is why we have lost the need for names. However, on the rare occasion that other spirits do need to communicate with me, they call me Mist. It is neither my first name, nor my last, not even the only one that I am called by. It is simply a word. A word that I use to identify myself in a world of invisibles.