The Observer by Brian Thompson
Waking up dead is just the beginning for Frank Hess.
He finds himself a disoriented spirit in a complex afterlife, forced to witness his family’s unbearable grief from beyond the veil, stripped of his memories and unable to ease their pain. This is a world teeming with telepathic Guides, shadowy Demons, unpredictable Tricksters, and the enigmatic Gods who rule them all.
Frank learns he is an “Observer,” a spirit driven by an innate need to help. But before he can understand his new purpose or even attempt to comfort his loved ones, he’s swept into rigorous training by a centuries-old guide who seems to know more about Frank’s potential than he does.
His training uncovers forgotten powers, the ability to traverse time, and the horrifying truth about ancient “Dark Spirits” that threaten existence. As fragments of his past life resurface, Frank is identified as one of a handful of spirits with immense potential—perhaps even the “Chosen One” of a prophecy foretelling a challenge to the very Gods themselves. The fate of both the living world and the afterlife now rests on his unprepared shoulders.
Faced with an impossible destiny and the crushing weight of his past, can Frank master his abilities to save everyone, or will he become another lost soul in the unending spiritual war?
If you love intricate worlds, reluctant heroes, and high-stakes spiritual conflict, you’ll be captivated by The Observer.
Will Frank Hess embrace his destiny or be consumed by it?
Excerpt from the Book
I decide to take a closer look at the rest of the room, hoping it will give me a hint as to what’s going on. The heart monitor next to the man on the bed reads no heartbeat at all, indicating that he has flat-lined. He’s probably dead, judging by the look on the nurse’s face. The doctor isn’t ready to give up, though. I notice a chart hanging on the edge of the bed. I look at the name: Hess, Franklin Joseph.
The room starts to blur. Once everything comes back into focus, I’m no longer in the hospital room. I am standing in front of a house, bending over to pick up a newspaper. I involuntarily stand up and wave at the next-door neighbor. He waves back and says, “Good morning, Frank.” Everything blurs again, and I find myself lying down in a large wooden cage with an open top. A male and female giant stand over me. The woman turns to the man and says, “I don’t really like your father’s name. I would rather name him after my grandfather Franklin, but we can use your father’s name for his middle name.” As that blurs away, other visions appear. They continue to come faster and faster. In every one, someone is looking at me and saying “hello Frank,” or “goodbye Frank, yes Frank, no Frank, sorry Frank, oh Frank.”
The visions are all starting to blur together. I can’t make any images out. I just keep hearing the name Frank being repeated over and over again. Every time it’s a different voice. The inflection is different. Sometimes it’s screamed. Other times it’s whispered. The name keeps coming faster and faster, overlapping itself before finally culminating in all the voices saying “Frank” simultaneously.
Everything is silent. I am back in the hospital room. Nothing has changed. I know who I am now, though. I am Franklin Joseph Hess. I am the man lying in that bed. And that means… I’m dead.
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