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“She ran and ran and ran. She had to get done with running her friend’s fields so that she could write the letter she had been putting off for weeks. She owed that much to him. Finally she stopped, panting. The only thing she could taste was blood. The wolf that had attacked her lay dead, probably half a kilometer back. ‘Wolves are stupid,’ she thought, slowing her pace to a walk.
“Coming around the final bend, she felt relieved as her giant dog ran as fast as he could to the very end of his lead, surprised as his lead snapped him back a few paces. “Titan, you’re so stupid,” she told him, scrunching up his face in her hands. “I guess I should go write that letter now,”
“As she entered her study, she heard the mail runner come by. ‘Yay, another thing to help me put it off!’ she thought sarcastically, racing down the stairs and through the door. She picked up the bundle of papers. Flipping through them, she found another excuse in a red envelope lined with gold, like all that finery could disguise the hard reality of her job. She opened the envelope.
Odelia Ida Germain
Time of Death: 04:29. June 89, 4081
Cause of Death: Fever
Next of kin: Riona Henress, Anton Falk
“It was a death note and she had the ‘honor’ of having to write condolence letters to the deceased's next of kin. She took the red paper down to the archives and grabbed a prototype condolence and filled it with the necessary information.
“Finally she was done. ‘Guess it’s time to write that letter,’ she thought, going up the two flights of stairs, grabbing the cup of tea she had made earlier. Arriving in her study, she debated how to word it. Being used to writing formal letters, all her suggestions sounded impersonal and bland. She sat down, dreading her task, and began:
Dear Rayne, to whom it will concern,
I was notified that our dear friend Wilburn was killed on January 7th, 4082, at 10:34 pm. I apparently have inherited his fields, which I ran this morning. I should be coming to Eastthome as soon as the passes melt and I can get through quarantine and customs. I will bring you some books I’ve found in his study so we can reminisce. I hope not to worry you on my account or the legal complications that come with his death. I hope my arrival does not undermine your position or influence on any upcoming referendum.
Your Dearest Friend,
Archivist Seykah Hydre Adrak
“Suddenly a dark shadow fell over her. ‘That’s odd,’ she thought. ‘It’s midday and I’m facing east,’ She could smell a drift of mint, ash and wool on the air. She turned quickly, only to see the dried plant on her dusty windowsill and a clutter of books, maps, and notes, a usual in her study. She heard a rustle of papers to her left, right out of her vision. She whipped her head around the other way and suceden in having her thick, black hair smack her between the eyes. Brushing it away, she noticed that her cup of tea was gone.
“Unnerved, she took her letter, walked down the stairs and out to the road and her mailbox that she wished wasn’t used so often. She set it down inside and commenced her customary walk through the town. As she was doing so, her curiosity was piqued by the graveyard, which had quite a few more stones. ‘Well, curiosity may have killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back’ she thought, angling her leisurely pace towards the entryway.
“As she entered through the gate, the midday sun seemed less brilliant; like the souls of the deceased were overbearing in their expectations and unfinished plans for the world. The dank smell was sharp in the waiting air. To any passerby or person in the yard, she would have appeared troubled or discontent, but the reality was she was at peace. Her buried friends were content and happy to be talking again with Wilburn. They might even be waiting for her and Rayne to come, but not too soon, of course. She could feel it.
“And then she felt it again, right out of perception. The same gust of wind, with mint, ash, and wool being carried as kings on the litter of the clouds. She scanned the area, careful not to disturb anything. Then something caught her eye. A small, blonde child crying over a grave, with a pale, tall figure standing over him. She could only see his gray coat and beanie, covering his dark brown hair. He seemed bland, as if life itself had been drained out of him. She turned away from this evidently private scene. Apparently, there were lots of these strange spectrels. Some were sitting on the tombstones or walking about. A pair of pale figures drifted over the bend to a lady, wrinkled with age. These peaceful scenes were interrupted by a boy clad with a trail of dark mist, bounding across the stones that littered the hill.
“Get back here, you Afterlife rejects! Last night was the only night you got! Wait another hundred days ‘till you can come back!” he yelled, making the pale figures turn towards him and meander their way over. The boy then grabbed a short knife from under his misty cloak, and ran over to the old mistress. He sat next to her, aggressively humming a tune as the ghosts, as Seykah now identified them, gathered ‘round. He put the knife down and she felt inclined to grab it, but as soon as she rose to get it, it was snached up by the old dame. The dame turned a drab color and opened her eyes as youth came back to her pale features. A grave digger came from his spot in a tree and lifted the dame’s body as it separated from the young lady that sat in her place, and carried it over the bend.
“She hurried to catch up with them, and arrived just as the body was lowered into a marked hole. It seemed that the ghosts had also caught up with her. They all grabbed shovels out of who-knows-where, except the young lady, and filled the rest of the hole not occupied by the dame.
“As she marched back up the hill, it seemed as if she were the only one who had been distuded by the lad and, presumably, the death of the old dame. Turning around, she saw all the ghosts following the lad into the forest beyond the back gates. She felt inclined to run after them, but a feeling inside cautioned her of the fact they were dead and she, presumably, was still living.
“Ignoring the feeling, she sprinted to the back gate and walked through. She didn’t think it was possible but the forest was even darker than the cemetery. Walking farther, she found a glade full of misty spectral figures and floating light points, casting shadows all over the glade, except for the familiar figure in the center, crying silently over a letter in the middle. There was a restlessness in the glade, implemented by the figure. She could not place the familiarity she felt for it, but knew she recognized him.
“As the moon came up, the boy from the necropolis entered the glade and helped the figure up. As they turned around, she caught the eye of the figure and the letter he held. It was her letter to Wilburn, and the man who held it was the same. “
A crash allerted her to the fact she hadn’t finished her homework or her letter, completely captured by the characters she had been daydreaming with.
“Seyn! Have you finished your letter to Red yet? She needs to at least know you need to come and live with her, now that your brother died! We need to have dinner if you’re going to eat before heading to talk our counseling session! You also have to bring down your teacup!” called her aunt, up the stairs. She probably had time to write down her fantasies before going downstairs, since she had her notebook, but no one would ever be able to read them again. Not that it mattered, since no one but her brother cared enough to ever ask.