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In the darkness, the flames stood out, large and casting shadows around the place as chanting echoed across the air. Boys danced around the fire, each with a pig head on a spike, grotesque and glaring.
Ralph cringed, not wanting to remember the worst of his humanity, yet—
The nightmare stuck with him, the nightmare of the island, something he tried to forget, but—
He saw Simon, standing there, bloody and pale compared to his usual tanned skin from his time on the island, dark hair plastered against his head, hand reaching out.
Ralph started away, the night sky—
He didn’t look at the window, a tree branch tapping at the window, and sweat covering his body. The darkness of the room and the moonlight haunted him, his mind wanting to forget, to—
Ralph turned his head, then froze, letting out a scream as—
It wasn’t a tree tapping at the window, but someone outside.
“Outside a window on the second story,” Ralph thought to himself. He froze, watching the person outside, not wanting to approach as the hand disappeared, only for it to knock again.
Ralph took a deep breath, deciding to approach, perhaps because—
He didn’t want to remain a coward, someone who didn’t do the right thing, even when he saw a shadowy figure land in the tree.
Taking a deep breath, he opened the window.
“It’s okay.”
Ralph sucked in his breath, hearing a familiar voice.
“Really, Peter, it’s okay. Don’t want another lost boy, right?”
“Simon?” Ralph said, swallowing. “Why?”
Simon—
Ralph’s eyes blinked, watching Simon float over, moving himself into the window as Ralph came in.
“Hi,” Simon said cheerfully, the tanned skin from being on the island there instead of his paleness in death, while he looked healthier, well-fed, and his clothes were not in worn-out scraps, which were dirty.
“Why?” Ralph said.
“I wanted you to know I’m not mad,” Simon said.
“You’re dead,” Ralph said.
“Where do you think the Lost Boys come from?”
“Lost Boys?”
Simon glanced over his shoulder, at the shadow in the tree, a boy, who looked—
A shiver ran down Ralph’s spine.
“Peter Pan. A rather old story, no?” Simon said. “That turns out to be true.” He turned back. “Please. Don’t blame yourself, okay?”
“Yeah,” Ralph said. “But you’re…”
“Dead, but happy. Peter’s boys are,” Simon said. “We don’t have to worry about all of that, all that happened on the islands, but I get a childhood, no?”
“Yeah,” Ralph said. Then, “That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, right?”
“It’s okay to grieve as well,” Simon said. “And if Piggy says something…”
“You’re visiting him as well.”
“Well, I don’t want either of you to blame yourselves.” Simon paused. “But with Piggy, it’s a little different? He leans more towards the grieving side of things.”
“Because,” Ralph said, thinking how he’d not connected with any of the other boys, including Piggy, recently. “I should reach out.”
“Not what I am here for that, but that would be nice,” Simon said. His head turned as the shadow called out, a light floating nearby. “I have to go now. Sleep well.”
“Sleep well?” Ralph thought to himself that, after the nightmare he had, the bonfire they had made felt all too real, despite having happened so long ago.
His eyes opened and closed, and the wind blew the tree, almost as if it were the tree branch all along that had tapped at the window and not Simon.
And then he remembered Piggy was also dead.
Simon either didn’t know, or—
Or Ralph was still dreaming.