Alison Williams, 16, has a nasty accident one evening--a painless death and a lack of vinyl ducks summons the Grim Reaper to her bathroom door. The Reaper, however, is a bit different than she'd imagined.
A diabolical plot unfolds, and it requires a few ghosts, Grim, and Alison to save the land of the dead.
I suppose, as I am literally standing at the edge of hell, I might as well put my time to good use and tell you something that none of you will believe. A good man, albeit an eldritch spirit, died today to secure both our world and the layers resting above.
I get ahead of myself though. My name is Alison Williams, and I suppose and introduction is in due order.
As I write this, I am dead. Shocking, no? Read on, anyway. It wasn't a particularly spectacular thing, though--from time to time--I wish it were so. I didn't die fighting terrorists or saving somebody from a train. No, I had to die under the most mundane of circumstances. You see, dear reader, I fell in the shower.
I've read somewhere that most household deaths occur in the bathroom, but I never actually thought it true. Wouldn't it be more along the lines of the kitchen, with all those sharp bits just waiting for an errant fruit on the floor to trip you? Or perhaps the workshop; saws sound dangerous enough, right.
Grim always told me I was easily distracted, so I'll make an effort to stay on task.
Also, to anyone snidely asking their friends how I'd write this if I were in the Underworld, don't be such a smart-aleck. I have a journal.
It was a while, actually, before I realized I was dead. I just sat there for a while--well, lied there--and looked at myself lying halfway in the shower. Then I perked up, hearing a subtle click, followed by a large amount of crashing and some swearing. Whoever had come to see if I was okay, they just tripped over everything.