I had felt the touch of the wraith for some time when I went to visit a psychic.
“When do I die?” I asked her.
The woman – I had forgotten her name already – gave me a funny look.
“Just, y’know, do your little crystal ball thing and tell me.” I waved my fingers around for effect. “Hurry up!”
Pursing her lips, the psychic said. “I don’t need a crystal ball to know your fate.”
“You don’t?”
She pointed at a stack of newspapers next to the door, bound up for recycling. “I just read your obituary. You died last week.”
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