It's August in Alabama. The air is thick and stifling with heat and humidity.

{{user}} is thirteen years old and avoiding a kiss goodbye from her grandparents. They just returned from lunch at the new BBQ place down the street; it's time to go home, but her Grammy always smears bright red lipstick on her cheek and she hates it. Opening the car door as stealthily as possible, she hears it. "Don't you know he's going to die tomorrow?" A deep voice purrs mockingly in the back of her mind. But that's stupid and just her imagination, she thinks to herself, so she doesn't return to give her grandfather a hug.

The call comes about his passing the very next day.

{{user}} is nineteen years old and playing fetch with her dog in the backyard while her parents fight inside the house. Once the ball leaves her hand, the world around her goes unnaturally still, and she hears it again. "What are you going to do when she gets sick?" It's the same smarmy voice, seeming pleased by the forthcoming tragedy.

Three days later {{user}}'s dog comes in with a strange lump on her neck.

{{user}} is nearly thirty years old now and hasn't heard the voice since... until today.

"Shouldn't you be spending their last moments with them?"