Chapter 1: Buried Alive for a Ghost Groom

It was only after I died that I learned you have to line up to get another shot at life—well, I died... and then found out you don’t just get a second chance handed to you.

The absurdity of it all hit me right then—death’s DMV. There was a line longer than Black Friday at the mall. The afterlife had bureaucracy too—who’d have thought?

The clerk handed me a reincarnation application. I stared at it, wondering if this was really happening.

He wore a bored expression, glasses perched on his nose, shuffling paperwork like he’d rather be anywhere else. The form was thick. The kind that made my old school permission slips look like Post-its.

I couldn’t read it, so he helped me fill it out, nice as could be.

He leaned over, his pen hovering above the page, waiting for me to answer. He asked questions in a tone as gentle as a small-town librarian. I felt a little embarrassed, but grateful for his patience.

Cause of death?

Buried alive, forced into a marriage with a ghost. Yeah, you heard that right.

Even saying it out loud made my insides twist. My words seemed to hang in the air, heavier than the silence at a funeral.

The clerk looked up at me and asked, "Who were you supposed to marry?" I felt a jolt of nerves at the directness.

His pen stopped mid-scratch, his eyes narrowing. It felt more like a police interview than a simple formality.

I hesitated, but said it anyway. The youngest son of Mr. Hargrove from Maple Heights, Jesse Hargrove.

I pictured Jesse’s face. I’d only seen him from afar. The Hargroves owned half the town, and Maple Heights was as fancy as the name sounded.

The clerk stopped writing. He flipped through the Book of Life and Death for a long time, then said, "This person isn’t dead."

He thumbed the pages, brow furrowing. The red glow of the hall reflected off the book’s gold-edged pages.

"He will be soon," I replied. My heart thudded.

I blurted it out, but the words felt cold and certain, like a draft sneaking under the door.

When I first arrived in the afterlife, I didn’t understand anything. Not a clue.

It was like getting off a bus in a strange city—no signs, no map, just an endless shuffle of lost souls. Everyone seemed to know where they were going except me.

I followed the crowd of souls, drifting to the base of Raven Hill. The air smelled faintly of wet earth, and my nerves prickled as I shuffled along.

The place was all shadows and silence. Mossy stones, old oaks, and that hill rising up like a warning. I stuck close to the others, way too nervous to ask.

It was gloomy and solemn here. The stone steps at the foot of the hill stretched into the clouds. The words "Judgment Hall" glowed red through the mist.

The light was eerie, pulsing like a heartbeat. The steps looked slick, and the mist clung to my ankles, cold and clammy.

Countless souls waited in a long line, stretching so far, it just disappeared into the mist.

The line snaked back and forth. Everyone shuffled forward inch by inch. The air was thick with boredom and regret.

I was at the very back, and occasionally, a soul glowing with golden light would cut in line. Figures.

They moved through the crowd like VIPs at a concert. Nobody dared complain. The golden glow made them look almost holy. But also a little smug.

An older soul told me the golden light meant they’d lived a life full of good deeds, and those folks could secure a better shot in their next life. He leaned in, voice raspy but kind. "You help folks, you get a golden ticket. That’s just how it goes."

That’s when I understood: good people get rewarded when they come back. I felt a pang of longing.

I made a mental note. Thirty years is a long time to stew on your mistakes.

Thirty years later, I finally entered Judgment Hall. My legs almost gave out from relief and nerves.

By then, I’d watched generations of souls shuffle past me, some fading away before my eyes. My patience was worn thinner than a dime.

The clerk gave me a rebirth application. He cleared his throat before saying I had to fill it out before I could step into the cycle again.

He slid the form across the desk, his voice as dry as the paper. "Fill this out, please." I hesitated, the weight of the moment sinking in.

I told him I couldn’t read, and he helped me out.

He didn’t even flinch, just nodded and took his time, reading each line aloud so I could answer. I felt oddly grateful, even as my heart pounded.

Name?

Maggie Carter, Maggie Ann Carter—my name is Maggie Ann Carter! I said it seriously, my voice almost trembling.

I pressed my hands to my chest, as if the name alone could anchor me in this strange place.

Age?

Fifteen. Forever fifteen.

It felt strange to say it, frozen at that age forever. The words hung in the air.

Cause of death?

Buried alive, forced into a ghost marriage. The memory made my stomach clench.

The words tumbled out, my voice barely a whisper. Even in death, it stung to admit.

The clerk looked up and asked, "Who were you matched with for the ghost marriage?"

He peered at me, pen tapping against the desk. I could see my reflection in his glasses—pale, uncertain. My heart skipped a beat.

I thought for a moment and answered, "The youngest son of Mr. Hargrove from Maple Heights, Jesse Hargrove." I swallowed, nerves fluttering.

His name tasted bittersweet. Maple Heights was the fanciest neighborhood in town, all manicured lawns and wraparound porches.

The clerk paused. He flipped through the Book of Life and Death for a long time, then said, "This person isn’t dead."

He turned pages with a practiced flick, lips pursed. The hall seemed to grow colder.

I said anxiously, "He’ll die soon." My voice shook a little.

I felt a chill run through me as I said it, like I’d spoken a curse out loud.

As soon as I finished speaking, the birth and death dates for Jesse Hargrove in the Book of Life and Death suddenly appeared. I stared in shock.

The clerk glared at me. "How do you know when this person will die?" My pulse raced.

His voice rose, echoing off the marble walls. The golden light around me dimmed, flickering like a candle in the wind. For a second, I thought the whole place might go dark.

"Detective Quinn told me," I answered softly. The words barely escaped my lips.