Page 46 of Meet Me After Life

‘And though it hurts,’ I cut him off, gaining some semblance of courage by the way the flickering stops for a millisecond. I continue.

‘To think that I’m forgetting.’

After these lines, there is more of a break in his affliction. His apparition becomes less faint; the strain in his body noticeably decreases. And the dungeon bars begin to fade and rise as if we’re travelling in an elevator, and the floor we were just on was only in passing.

‘And this won’t be the very last time

Filled up corners, with sunken tears,’

The way he’s looking at me is far too intent, and much too closely. His gaze is unnerving at the best of times. Right now it’s too much for a coward like me to bear. I close my eyes and finish the last lines of the chorus.

‘My fears are drowning, but so am I,

So am I.’

I finish the last line and open my eyes to see Walker looking at me, with a mix of confusion and trepidation. I have the insidious urge to smooth the frown line above his brow with my thumb. What would he feel like beneath my fingers? Would his skin be warm here? Would it feel real?

I must stare too long. He corrects his expression. Stands, straightens his lapels, taps his finger to his thumb once before making a fist. Wherever we were when I first appeared is long gone now. The space we stand in is not good or bad. Just empty.

It’s hard to tell if you stand too far or too close, when there are no markers to guide your proximity. Walker is close enough I can see a freckle I’ve never spotted before, so close to his bottom eyelid it gets lost among the dark lashes there.

Too close. We both take a step back simultaneously. The space shrinks us back to where we were. I huff a laugh. Walker rubs the back of his neck.

‘I…’ he begins, but changes course. ‘My thanks.’

‘You’re welcome.’ I offer him a half-smile. ‘Happy to help.’

This too seems to confuse the poor, beautiful fool. Basic manners seem beyond comprehension; his brows bunch-up again.

‘I just don’t…’

‘Don’t what?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ He waves away whatever questions are swimming behind his eyes.

I let it go. It’s obvious that’s what he wants me to do. This too confuses him… and makes him… what is that expression? Anger? I can’t tell. The muddy waters of the dream have begun to ripple and it’s too hard to see beyond the sediment of consciousness.

We’re pulled apart, spiralling in different directions. I, to a dreamless state, and he, to wherever tortured souls abide between hauntings.

I wake in the forest with a crick in my neck and three long scratches carved into the skin of my shin. I shudder to remember those deranged long-taloned creatures. But how did I get them in real life? I touch them lightly and suck in a breath through my teeth. How did I get here? I must have sleepwalked. Maybe a branch scratched me while I was gallivanting through the forest. Stranger things have happened, surely.

A chill whips through the trees and a shiver runs down my spine. I shudder.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and gooseflesh puckers my skin. I turn slowly and lock eyes with glowing slitted pupils staring at me through the shrub and scream.

‘You pervy little cluckers, amscray!’

The chickens scatter in a chaos of feathers and squawks.

I open my closet and roll my eyes before grabbing the last clean, un-holey blouse from the hanger.

‘Good morning, Walker.’ It’s just wonderful to see he’s back to his darling, dreadful self after last night’s terribly embarrassing gaffe.

‘You barely jumped this morning.’ His decapitated head floats beside me.

‘I’ve come to expect your early morning treacheries.’

A look of deep sadness invades his features before his eyes brighten and a cruel smirk appears on his lips.