Vanessa Cross had never seen a ghost before. Not a real one, anyway. Sure, she had binge-watched every season of Spectral Encounters: Paranormal Patrol, and yes, she'd once sworn that her Airbnb in Edinburgh had an eerie presence. But this? This was different. This was work. And worse, it was her work now.
Two days ago, she had been sipping overpriced iced coffee in a cubicle, plotting mild revenge against Boss Lang for making her come in on her day off. Now she was dressed in an official (though slightly oversized) black cloak and holding a soul tablet that pulsed faintly with the name of her first assigned soul.
Vanessa stared at the tablet like it might explode.
"Deep breaths, Intern Cross," said a calm, unbothered voice beside her.
Enter Joss, the junior reaper assigned to mentor her for her first job. Joss had the build of a teenage swimmer and the soul-weary eyes of a middle-aged man who'd seen one too many afterlives. His cloak fit perfectly, and his scythe gleamed like someone actually polished it.
"I'm calm," Vanessa said through gritted teeth, gripping the soul tablet like a stress ball.
"You're vibrating. Like, visibly."
Vanessa ignored him and checked the name again.
Harold Binks, Age 72, Died peacefully in sleep. Location: Block E Retirement Home, Room 409.
"At least it's not, like, a murder scene. Right? Peaceful death. That's manageable."
"Peaceful for him. Not for you if you start freestyling again."
Vanessa flushed. The memory of yesterday's incident where she'd accidentally insulted a centuries-old ghost and screamed louder than the actual soul she was supposed to escort still clung to her like embarrassment glue.
Joss clapped his gloved hands together. "Alright! Let's portal in. No big speech. Just don't talk to the soul until I say so, and absolutely no waving. Souls don't like waving."
"Wait, what?"
Before Vanessa can continue asking, he already tracing a sigil in the air with his scythe. The air shimmered and cracked open like a glitch in reality. Vanessa barely had time to yelp before she was sucked through the portal.
They landed softly in the dimly lit room of the retirement home. An elderly man lay motionless in the bed, his chest still. Beside him, glowing faintly, was the ghost of Harold Binks looking slightly confused but otherwise in decent spirits.
Vanessa's heart thumped.
"Remember," Joss whispered, "observe. Let me do the talking."
Vanessa nodded furiously as she cautiously hide behind a curtain, while doubting if the curtain can cover her enough so the hovering soul won't notice her.
Joss approached the soul of Harold with the gentle professionalism of someone trained to do this a hundred times a week.
"Mr. Binks? Harold? Don't be alarmed. My name is Joss, I'm here from the Department of Existential Logistics and Transference. You've passed on peacefully, and we're here to help you transition." Reaper Joss introduced himself as if he's interviewing someone. Well, technically, this is some kind of interview isn't it? Vanessa thought while giggling in her mind.
Harold blinked. "Huh. Thought it'd be more... dramatic."
"Nope. Just some paperwork and a ride, really." Joss approached him while smilingly trying to explain it in a simple way.
"Oh. Well, that's... pleasant."
Vanessa, watching from behind a curtain, nearly sighed in relief. This is fine. This is fine. I can do this. It's like Uber for souls.
Then Harold turned toward her.
"Who's the jumpy one behind the curtain?"
Vanessa stiffened.
"She's... observing," Joss said quickly.
Harold's ghost floated closer, peering at Vanessa. "You look nervous. First day?"
"No! I mean yes! But also no, well technically yes, but I'm a fast learner—"
"She's not allowed to talk yet," Joss cut in.
But it was too late. Harold floated within inches of Vanessa's face.
"You're not even dead," he whispered.
"N-N-Nope. Intern. Temporary. Paperwork issue," she stammered.
Harold's eyes widened. Big mistake.
The ghost let out a shriek and began phasing erratically through furniture, screaming about how he was being taken by the living.
"Oh crap, oh crap!" Vanessa said, flailing.
"Don't wave!" Joss shouted.
"I'm not waving, I'm panicking! It just looks like waving!"
The chaos snowballed. Harold's ghost knocked over a lamp. A nurse entered the room and screamed. Joss threw his hands up.
"Abort! Abort the transition! Portal us out, now!"
Vanessa accidentally smacked a vase while trying to draw a return sigil. Glass shattered. Joss yanked her away as Harold ricocheted between two walls yelling, "IT'S A LIVING REAPER! THE END IS NIGH-!"
With a loud crack, the room folded around them.
---
Back in the Land of Death, the briefing chamber was filled with silence.
Joss and Vanessa stood like guilty schoolchildren while a tall, imposing figure glared at them over her skull-framed glasses.
This was Miss Krau, the Recruitment and Intern Oversight Officer.
"So," she said slowly, "you freestyled. Again."
"It was unintentional," Vanessa muttered.
"You waved at the soul."
"That was panic jazz-hands." Vanessa argued softly, keeping her head down.
"And the elderly soul is now refusing to transition until a fully dead reaper comes to fetch him. He's unionized with two other ghosts and started a protest in the Waiting Corridor."
Vanessa winced.
Miss Krau turned to Joss. "And you let her talk?"
"Technically she let herself talk. I'm just the chaperone."
"Ugh." Miss Krau pinched the bridge of her nose. "Intern Cross, as of now, you are banned from freestyling. No talking to the souls unless directly instructed. No gesturing. No 'vibes-based' communication."
Vanessa saluted. "Understood. Zero vibes."
Joss raised a brow. "You might just make it after all."
"You say that like it's a compliment." Rolling her eyes, arguing with Joss.
"It's not." Joss countered
---
Later that night, Vanessa sat on her cot in the intern dormitory. A floating cluster of clouds shaped like filing cabinets nursing a ghost-induced bruise on her shoulder.
She pulled out the contract she had signed in a daze. Faint green ink spelled out the terms:
Temporary Intern Reaper (Level 1),
Duration: Until Bureaucratic Error is Rectified,
Compensation: Conditional Reinstatement in the Human Realm.
She sighed.
It was insane. It was a mistake. It was a bureaucratic horror show.
And she kind of loved it.
"Maybe tomorrow," she whispered, "no one will scream."
From the hallway, she heard a soul wailing.
Vanessa flopped back on her pillow and muttered, "Or maybe I'll scream louder."