A Flight of Souls
Page 7
I felt taken aback. I wondered how many other witches might be living among humans, undetected. “Do you mind telling me how you died?” I asked.
“Our death followed soon after we both contracted a fatal disease while on holiday,” Nolan replied.
“Almost exactly fifty-one years ago,” Chantel added, glumly.
It was odd to think that witches could die of a disease. I was so used to witches curing illnesses.
My mind continued to spin. I thought back to all of the ghosts I’d seen in The Shade, who’d been beckoned by Jeramiah’s instrument—they had all been humans in their previous lives. None of them had taken the same potion I had to become ghosts. I’d assumed at the time that there must be some other way to become spirits, to stay behind in this world rather than move on to whatever awaited most people after death. Judging by the looks of that crowd of ghosts, they had all died in some kind of sudden and violent accident—and so my speculation had been that perhaps those ripped too suddenly from the world remained attached to it.
But a disease? I wondered what kind of disease Nolan and Chantel had —whether it had caused a sudden, unexpected death. But since neither of them were offering more information about it, I didn’t want to intrude.
“So you… became a ghost just by dying from a disease?” I asked.
Nolan and his wife both shook their heads. “No,” Chantel replied. “It’s unlikely that anybody would become a ghost from what we died from… Before leaving the supernatural realm, we had taken a stock of a special kind of potion, just in case we would ever need it. It allows one to detach from the body, but still remain in one’s abode of choice. It’s actually common among witches to keep a stock of such a remedy—at least, among those who do not wish to pass on after death.”
“Why did you want to stay behind?” I asked.
Nolan raised a brow. “Why does anybody? It’s fear of the unknown, isn’t it?”
I nodded slowly.
As Nolan spoke, I was realizing that he and Chantel would probably be able to tell me more than Ernest ever could. They had been witches, and appeared to be more knowledgeable and, more importantly, more willing to talk. Trying to get information out of Ernest had been like trying to rouse a dead ox. He had been so mired in his addiction to dreams, he had barely wanted to resurface for even a moment.
Perhaps, finally, I had met with a stroke of good luck in finding these two ghosts, though I was still waiting to discover exactly what they were here for.
“I took that potion, too,” I said.
Surprise flashed across the couple’s faces.
“Oh, interesting,” Nolan said. He eyed me from head to foot. “From the looks of you, you were a vampire, am I right?”
“Yes, I was,” I replied. Using the past tense to describe myself brought about a strange feeling.
“How did you come upon the potion, then?” Chantel asked, frowning.
“It was given to me by someone,” I replied, before changing the subject. “And now, what are you doing here?”
Nolan heaved a sigh. “You know, Joseph, this life as a ghost gets old. Very old. We’ve hung onto this existence for decades, but it’s worn us down.”
I shuddered internally. I did not want to contemplate my life as a ghost for a year, let alone decades. I’d only been one for… I had lost track of the time, but from the moment I’d discovered myself to be a ghost, I had been itching to escape from this half-life.
“We’re here for this gate,” Nolan continued, gesturing downward to the crater. “Have you ever wondered what is beyond those swirling tunnel walls?”
My eyes shot toward the walls, made of a light blue, ethereal substance.
I recalled my journey through this portal with the ogres. On my way down, I had paused to wonder what exactly was beyond the walls. I’d even considered sticking my hand through the translucent barrier out of curiosity, but I’d been in a hurry to return to The Shade at the time, and I hadn’t wanted to risk something happening.
Now curiosity flared up in me again. “I have wondered. Do you know?” I asked Nolan.
“Not exactly,” he replied. “At least, we have never witnessed it for ourselves.”
I raised a brow, prompting him to continue.
Nolan’s eyes took on a distant quality, as if recalling a memory. “There is an open secret among ghosts—a legend, if you like. It is said that all those spirits who mistakenly stay behind in this mortal world still have a chance to correct their mistake and pass on to where they ought to be… once every full moon.” He glanced at me as if gauging my reaction before going on. “According to the rumors, soon after midnight on a full moon night, these supernatural portals glow with a warm, welcome light. A light that can be seen by ghosts alone, for it is only meant for us. Any ghost within a glowing gate’s proximity feels an irresistible calling to the light, and none can resist it. Not even the most self-willed spirit. They are sucked toward it, and then down into it… never to return.”
His words hung in the frigid air as he finished.
I stared at him in disbelief. “Uh… If these gates suck in all ghosts present, never to return, how could there be any witnesses left to tell the tale?”
Nolan shared my frown, and paused. “That is a good point,” he said.
Chantel coughed out a bitter laugh. “We are desperate, Joseph,” she said. “And desperation has a way of making one look past such details.”
“Our death followed soon after we both contracted a fatal disease while on holiday,” Nolan replied.
“Almost exactly fifty-one years ago,” Chantel added, glumly.
It was odd to think that witches could die of a disease. I was so used to witches curing illnesses.
My mind continued to spin. I thought back to all of the ghosts I’d seen in The Shade, who’d been beckoned by Jeramiah’s instrument—they had all been humans in their previous lives. None of them had taken the same potion I had to become ghosts. I’d assumed at the time that there must be some other way to become spirits, to stay behind in this world rather than move on to whatever awaited most people after death. Judging by the looks of that crowd of ghosts, they had all died in some kind of sudden and violent accident—and so my speculation had been that perhaps those ripped too suddenly from the world remained attached to it.
But a disease? I wondered what kind of disease Nolan and Chantel had —whether it had caused a sudden, unexpected death. But since neither of them were offering more information about it, I didn’t want to intrude.
“So you… became a ghost just by dying from a disease?” I asked.
Nolan and his wife both shook their heads. “No,” Chantel replied. “It’s unlikely that anybody would become a ghost from what we died from… Before leaving the supernatural realm, we had taken a stock of a special kind of potion, just in case we would ever need it. It allows one to detach from the body, but still remain in one’s abode of choice. It’s actually common among witches to keep a stock of such a remedy—at least, among those who do not wish to pass on after death.”
“Why did you want to stay behind?” I asked.
Nolan raised a brow. “Why does anybody? It’s fear of the unknown, isn’t it?”
I nodded slowly.
As Nolan spoke, I was realizing that he and Chantel would probably be able to tell me more than Ernest ever could. They had been witches, and appeared to be more knowledgeable and, more importantly, more willing to talk. Trying to get information out of Ernest had been like trying to rouse a dead ox. He had been so mired in his addiction to dreams, he had barely wanted to resurface for even a moment.
Perhaps, finally, I had met with a stroke of good luck in finding these two ghosts, though I was still waiting to discover exactly what they were here for.
“I took that potion, too,” I said.
Surprise flashed across the couple’s faces.
“Oh, interesting,” Nolan said. He eyed me from head to foot. “From the looks of you, you were a vampire, am I right?”
“Yes, I was,” I replied. Using the past tense to describe myself brought about a strange feeling.
“How did you come upon the potion, then?” Chantel asked, frowning.
“It was given to me by someone,” I replied, before changing the subject. “And now, what are you doing here?”
Nolan heaved a sigh. “You know, Joseph, this life as a ghost gets old. Very old. We’ve hung onto this existence for decades, but it’s worn us down.”
I shuddered internally. I did not want to contemplate my life as a ghost for a year, let alone decades. I’d only been one for… I had lost track of the time, but from the moment I’d discovered myself to be a ghost, I had been itching to escape from this half-life.
“We’re here for this gate,” Nolan continued, gesturing downward to the crater. “Have you ever wondered what is beyond those swirling tunnel walls?”
My eyes shot toward the walls, made of a light blue, ethereal substance.
I recalled my journey through this portal with the ogres. On my way down, I had paused to wonder what exactly was beyond the walls. I’d even considered sticking my hand through the translucent barrier out of curiosity, but I’d been in a hurry to return to The Shade at the time, and I hadn’t wanted to risk something happening.
Now curiosity flared up in me again. “I have wondered. Do you know?” I asked Nolan.
“Not exactly,” he replied. “At least, we have never witnessed it for ourselves.”
I raised a brow, prompting him to continue.
Nolan’s eyes took on a distant quality, as if recalling a memory. “There is an open secret among ghosts—a legend, if you like. It is said that all those spirits who mistakenly stay behind in this mortal world still have a chance to correct their mistake and pass on to where they ought to be… once every full moon.” He glanced at me as if gauging my reaction before going on. “According to the rumors, soon after midnight on a full moon night, these supernatural portals glow with a warm, welcome light. A light that can be seen by ghosts alone, for it is only meant for us. Any ghost within a glowing gate’s proximity feels an irresistible calling to the light, and none can resist it. Not even the most self-willed spirit. They are sucked toward it, and then down into it… never to return.”
His words hung in the frigid air as he finished.
I stared at him in disbelief. “Uh… If these gates suck in all ghosts present, never to return, how could there be any witnesses left to tell the tale?”
Nolan shared my frown, and paused. “That is a good point,” he said.
Chantel coughed out a bitter laugh. “We are desperate, Joseph,” she said. “And desperation has a way of making one look past such details.”
