Do you ever wonder where souls go after death? If these souls have something incomplete they yearn to finish? If souls can still possess emotions? Or do these souls get eaten up by powerful entities?

If heaven – if hell at all, exists? And how do those places look like? Will there be fire in hell? Is it hot and torturous there? Are there really golden gates right in front of that land many call heaven?

If there is no place for souls to go, is it dark after death, dark like when we close our eyes for some sleep at night? Do souls end up pointlessly wandering, searching for an escape? For that light that probably doesn’t exist?

Even till today I am left with many questions unanswered. Have you heard that at the point of death a person will envision, will see the most valuable moments of their life flashing before their eyes? That in those 3 quick seconds as life selfishly drains from you, you spend those seconds mourning and reflecting?

Before death takes us, many of us are left without the appointment of goodbye. We are scarred with the biggest regret. The grim reaper plays an astounding role in all our lives taking and taking and forever, taking. We are left with the overwhelming thoughts of 'I didn’t get to apologize for intentionally breaking your favorite tea cup' – humans are so emotionally driven it’s unbelievable what kinds of petty things go through our minds.

There are those who are left hanging. Rushing, panting as we hurry to the morgue to verify the dead or maybe perhaps the hospital if one is lucky. Then there are those who don’t get to see a body at all; those who don’t get to hold a simple funeral for a last farewell.  

I no longer question what has happened. I now believe that the moment we are born something invisible, unseen, and unexplainable has been set in motion to send the events of our life thriving forward. There are no coincidences. There are reasons paths cross, why we meet who we meet, why we are born where we were born, and why we are who we are. Maybe you are meant to be changed as you grow old and maybe not. It could be in the simplest of ways or the cruelest. There is fate, there is destiny, and there is purpose. We all exist for a purpose no one understands but there is a reason, trust me.

Death and the living have collided for reasons beyond my understanding but it has happened. Beyond the line of explanations there are no words to describe the experience there and back.

They say that when you experience something out of the world, your eyes open and you see life – your surroundings, friends, and family in a greater light. That is what happened to me. This is what I learned when I met death, when I woke up from my two month coma after a string of frightening events that has forever changed me.

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There’s a saying all paranormal specialists share. And it’s that the non-living are always listening. It’s the moment when anyone being is at their lowest, most depressed phase that these things are at their strongest.

They know. And they are always watching for that right moment to tap into you or to step into your personal boundaries and taunt you.

You ever heard that doors are never to be left open when you’re alone? Open doors are an invitation for the uninvited, even when they are already all around us.  

Kim Namjoo is a mental medium. She communicates with the spirits through the use of telepathy. They let her know, see, and hear. She is the bridge between the physical world and the spirit world, delivering messages from those no longer existent to those who still do. She is the sole counselor who can provide for other’s loss but her own.

A year ago pilot husband Park Chanyeol’s plane disappeared off the coast, disappearing into the nothingness. A 10 day search by the national coast guards, volunteers, the Civil Air Patrol, and rescue teams that conducted land, air, and water search showed nothing and in the end, was brought to a halt. Park Chanyeol was dead with and without his body – his corpse to prove it.

Left with that Namjoo was forced to move on with a pat on the shoulder, “We’re sorry, Ma’am. We did all we could.” The common words of comfort that could not touch the heart, mend the pain, or make it diminish into ashes.

Sometimes people spend the entirety of their lives grieving. Namjoo knew, because she saw and the grieved were the only people she dealt with. She spent a period of time believing a closure might help move her on, so she prepared her own quiet funeral for Chanyeol. It did nothing to ease the bruise deeply rooted in her heart, pulsing all the way down to her bones.

She often spent hours pitying and filled with sympathy for the weeping, the fickle minded, the sensitive because they weren’t her. The situation had overturned. She was one of them. Weeping, starving, and in one of the most common of all cases, suffering from insomnia. She called out to the dead because she knew they were listening, they always hear, and they were near but Chanyeol never came to her.

Namjoo gave up being a medium two weeks ago, exhausted and deprived of life. Where to now, she often wondered. Without the husband at her side she felt like a wandering soul herself – only she had land to walk on, locations mapped out in her world, and there was light even in the dark.

Two weeks ago when Namjoo called quits to this weird gift that had neighbors judging her when she happened to pass by, was when her life slowly began changing for the worst she believed.

That Tuesday after closing the agency Chanyeol had helped her set up, the old woman who lived above her stopped her on her way in.

On the concrete stairs the elder’s hands had felt bony against her arm, digging into her skin ever so slightly. Namjoo often did not feel the creeps as she often contacted the dead for payment but something about the way the woman looked at her made her wary.

It was fall. Winds were turning chilly. The world was fading out, dying in wait of its revival after the cold weather set in. Even today on that sunny day Namjoo felt chills sweeping down her spine almost as if someone was breathing down her back. Usually the playground on her right would be filled with the neighbors’ children right about now. School was out. She knew because she’d seen children walking down the street together, some with their mothers and others with their friends. But today, out of all the other days that month, it was bare and empty, appearing abandoned and cold.

Voices from the parking lot she’d just come from drifted over the wind, flying over her and the woman who was almost a head shorter. Remaining calm, Namjoo stared.

“I couldn’t help but stop you on my way in, I know you’re a busy woman and you just lost your husband, which I’m very sorry about. I know how hard losing someone so close to you can be.” The woman sympathized with her croaky voice.

Smiling, Namjoo nodded. “Yes, thank you. Be careful on your way out. It’s cold today.”

“About that,” she went on, “I understand that living alone might be hard and having some company around is really nice and all, but at night – you see, I’ve been napping during the day these days and I do sleep at night,” she quickly nodded as if to make herself sound practical, “anyhow…do you think you can tell her to turn the music down a little? I know you work mornings and afternoons, so you aren’t home. I would appreciate it if you tell her that. Sorry to have kept you.”

The elderly woman brushed by and Namjoo turned to watch her go.

She and Chanyeol had purchased the complex located in the heart of Seoul when they got engaged, moved in, and then married after. They had lived here – here was their home. No one else’s.

Chanyeol was a single child. She had a sister who remained distant from her and whom she dulled in comparison to. They were surrounded with friends but none Namjoo considered close enough to stay with her. Underneath all the warm words Namjoo could easily sense the disapproval of her ability hidden in their voices. She was weird, everyone thought she was weird – one other reason why her family often singled her out.

Compared to the beautiful sister who many thought was the epitome of perfection she was an ugly duck beside the swan – would never be as good as the swan. Her father’s eyes told her so whenever he walked into the living room and looked at her. Maybe that was why she rejected a stable career path and chose to become a paranormal advisor for the grieving, because by helping others she might heal her own heart from the parental affection never received.

As she entered the lift up to their complex she wondered if the elder woman’s eyes had seen wrong. There was no roommate, no friend, and no sister with her. Maybe she was depressed but she certainly had not asked for anyone to help soothe it.

The fifth floor seemed deserted when the elevator opened and she stepped out. Silence. Walking forward Namjoo worked to pull out the keys from her bag and stopped in front of their door – her’s and Chanyeol’s home. Right before inserting the key she let it hover in front of the lock and stared at the door.

What if, she thought, she did find something on the other side?

Maybe someone had heard her calling out after all.

Namjoo shook her head before unlocking the door and walked inside. The curtains she’d opened that morning were still in place where she’d left them. The fresh sunlight hitting the living room had her conjuring up the image of Chanyeol sitting comfortably in his recliner, ankle on his knee with a newspaper sprawled out over his lap. He would be looking at the sports section for news on his favorite baseball team. Maybe he would even bribe her with an expensive dinner after the ball game.

The thought had her heart tumbling forward in agony.

She had lost him. Had been so utterly unprepared to.

Then she turned to peer into their fair sized kitchen donned in a creamy white with too many salt and pepper shakes sitting around because Chanyeol had liked how they were designed. The spices were his also. Fried Salmon had been a favorite of his.

Namjoo’s heart ached and that was when her eyes landed on the CD player just beside the microwave. She had forgotten it was there. Somewhere at the back of her mind she’d been sure she’d packed it away after complaining to Chanyeol it was a nuisance and didn’t belong in the kitchen. But somehow, it was there.

Stepping over to it Namjoo pressed the ‘open/close’ button at the top open and discovered a CD inside. Closing it she pressed the play button and waited for the screen to turn red with a digital number. Nothing played. She repeatedly hit the volume button watching as the little graph on the side grew in numbers. Still nothing.

It sounded as if air was dancing in the kitchen. Surrounding her was an insurmountable quiet that Namjoo suddenly felt frustrating. Her finger slammed down on the ‘volume up’ button once more before the sound of music blast through so loudly she nearly jumped, heart leaping up . Then just like that the CD player immediately shut off.

Namjoo stared at the machine flabbergasted, shocked, and still filled with jump. Reaching forward she punched the volume button again. Nothing. Pulling the plug out she plugged it back in, slammed the ‘power’ button.

Nothing.

The CD player was dead.

Pulling the plug out she swerved around to stomp off. After a refreshing shower and lone dinner she climbed into bed, ready to slip off after reminiscing how Chanyeol would sometimes roll over and wrap an arm around her. She didn’t know how she would cope with always missing him for the rest of her life.

Namjoo nearly slipped off before her eyes sprang open when music began drifting down the hall, quietly then slowly before rising in volume.