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1.
Eric Chapman looked at the empty village square. The earlier sunshine was replaced by clouds that seemed to suck the colour out of everything. The villagers who had so enthusiastically greeted him after his arrival were nowhere to be found. He took a few unsteady steps out of his new home. A familiar cold started clawing inside his chest.
"Hello?" he shouted. "Is anyone here?"
Not a single soul responded. He was all by himself. There might be someone at the mayor's office. Or the church. If he could just get there, maybe he wouldn't be alone anymore. His legs refused to move. The cold had travelled all the way down to the soles of his feet, keeping him in place. He wasn't supposed to feel like this again. The island was supposed to be a fresh start, away from it all. Then why couldn't he move forward?
His racing thoughts were interrupted by a creaking noise from across the square. The dreary outside of Funn Funerals didn't look much different from before. The creaking must have come from the now open door revealing only pitch black darkness inside. As Eric kept staring he could slowly make out a pale face surrounded by black hair. He wanted to say something, shout or scream, but found himself unable to make a single sound. With a loud bang, the door snapped shut.
Eric woke with a start. He groaned and dragged his hand over his face. Not the best dream to have in his first night in Piffling Vale. Hopefully, not an omen for what the island had in store for him. He glanced at the clock next to his bed. It wasn't even five a.m. yet. But he wasn't likely to fall asleep again, might as well start the day early. He got up and on his way to the bathroom couldn't help taking a look out of the window. The square below was deserted in the early morning hours, eerily like his dream. The door to Funn Funerals stayed shut as he stared at it.
2.
Eric was surrounded by darkness. "Antigone, are you still there?"
"Of course I am." Her voice settled some of the panic in his chest, but he still felt like his lungs couldn't properly fill up with air.
"Breathe," she said. "Relax."
And he tried, but there still wasn't enough air around him. Every breath he tried to take just seemed to fill him up with this wretched darkness.
"You're fine. I can see you."
How pathetic he must look in the darkness. But as long as Antigone could see him, he at least wouldn't just disappear into black nothingness.
"I could hold your hand if you like."
The awareness of having a body came back with that sentence. "Please," Eric said and stretched his arm towards her voice. "I'm holding my hand out."
A cool hand slipped into his and softly squeezed. The panic was replaced by a feeling of warmth. If there was just a little bit of light, he could maybe see if their hands really fit as well together as it felt.
Eric's left arm was stretched out across the bed, as if he had reached for something. This was the third night in a row he had dreamed of the incident. He really needed to do something against his fear of the dark. It was affecting him more than he ever would have anticipated. He couldn't even imagine what it would have been like without someone to keep him calm. He was glad he could repay Antigone with a visit to the circus. Just two more days. In the meantime, he should probably also avoid eating any memento mori chocolates after dinner. They clearly hadn't helped his sleep and with whatever properties they might have could be even responsible for his restlessness at night.
3.
The funeral seemed rather cheery. A lot of Chapman funerals were. But there was something distinctly wrong with seeing Rudyard Funn laughing at one. Or really at all. He was standing around the coffin with Georgie, Nigel and Henry. They all had drinks in their hands and seemed to be deep in animated conversation with each other. Eric walked towards them past a smiling Bill and Tanya.
"Time to get on with it," Rudyard said. "The coffin doesn't get itself in the ground on time."
Nigel nodded. "Yes, we should make this a quick affair. I still have a wedding to plan!"
The group moved away from the coffin opening up the view for Eric. He peered down onto a familiar face. It was quite disturbing to look at your own corpse. But not nearly as disturbing as the complete lack of grief present in the funeral attendees. Almost the entirety of Piffling Vale was here, but not a single tear in sight. He had never wanted people to be sad about his eventual demise, but it was to be expected after someone they cared about had died, wasn't it? If they cared about him.
He heard a sigh to his right. Antigone had shown up out of the shadows, like she always did.
"Tell me that you care, please," Eric begged. "If there's anyone, it has to be you!"
She didn't react to his plea at all, just kept on looking at his still face.
"I think I did a good job on the body," she finally said. "Just like the living and breathing Eric Chapman."
Eric couldn't help smiling a little. "Of course you did a good job. There's no one better."
"We're in a sad profession," Antigone echoed her previous words. She stepped forward and leaned over the coffin. Her hand drifted towards his face and rested on his cheek. "Today, it's extraordinarily sad."
He was on the floor. Why was he on the floor? A look around revealed that it wasn't even his own floor.
Wait. He flinched at the memory of his earlier breakdown. Best to head home and lick his wounds. He got up and absentmindedly scratched his itchy upper-lip.
There was light in the kitchen and he debated whether he should just sneak out quietly or say goodbye to the Funns. They tried to help him after all, so it was probably right to thank them.
The scene in the kitchen was quite strange. Georgie was leaning against a counter, stone-faced, not a spark of her usual mischief. Antigone held her hands and Rudyard had put a hand on Georgie's shoulder.
"What's going on?" Eric asked quietly.
The three of them looked at him.
"Nana... she died," Georgie said with her voice breaking.
"Oh." Eric had spent the entire day unable to console people and help them with their grief. But in this moment he regretted his failure the most.
4.
Antigone just seemed done with the world and she was looking way too lovely in her dress in the moonlight for that.
"Turns out he and I have nothing to say to each other."
Eric shouldn't feel so glad to hear that, but Antigone had looked wrong with Henry to him from the start. "Maybe he's not right for you."
She huffed a joyless laugh at that. "Then who is?"
"Well... only you can answer that," Eric replied. "But I'm right here, you know."
His subconscious really liked torturing him. The dreams could just stop now, he finally got it. He had some sort of crush on Antigone Funn. It wasn't like he could do anything about it.
"Bugger," he murmured.
"Shut it, Chappers, I'm trying to get my beauty sleep," Vivienne snapped next to him.
"Sorry," he said. "Just a bad dream."
She didn't answer.
5.
"I love you Antigone, you're life and I'm leaving you!"
It was ridiculous. It wasn't just him dreaming love confessions from movies now, they kept rattling around his brain all day, too.
"No one knew the answer to this silly old world and I found it in your voice."
She didn't even like him. Competitors is all they ever were and would be. She made that abundantly clear. Leaving was the right thing.
"I loved you from the first syllable."
Maybe if he had realized sooner. Maybe if she had accepted his very first invitation to coffee. Maybe if he was just better at being a person.
There was no use in dwelling on the past and maybes. He had to move on.
+1
Antigone Funn looked beautiful in the morning light.
She opened one eye and her face immediately morphed into a scowl. "Why didn't you draw the curtains closed all the way?"
Eric smiled. "Sorry, I forgot. I usually leave them open."
She groaned and buried her face in a pillow.
"Let me make it up to you with some breakfast in bed. What do you want?"
He barely made out the word toast through the muffled sound of the pillow.
Eric got to his feet and made his way to the kitchen with a new soring in his step. He couldn't really remember the last time he had slept that well. He couldn't even remember any dreams. Not that they were needed anymore.