Second Life

#2 Am I Losing My Mind?

The next morning, Dream was reminded of that night's occurrences by the sound of the piano. At first, he once again thought that it was just the TV. Then, the memories come flooding back to him like waves hitting the shore.

It felt like a dream. It couldn't be real. There was no way. It was just his imagination playing tricks on him.

He wandered down the hallway, half awake. Dream pushed open the door to the study gingerly, holding his breath, wondering if it was all a strange nightmare.

George sat just where he had been that night, hands folded neatly in his lap.

George turned to face Dream. "So, you really are real," Dream said.
To which George nodded politely. "Indeed, I am."

"Do you mind if I ask you something?" Dream inquired. George twirled a piece of his hair between his thumb and index finger.

"Depends on what it is," he decided.

"How did you die?" Dream's voice echoed around the empty room.

George stared for a moment, his lips parted and eyes far away. It was so quick, Dream wouldn't have noticed if he wasn't paying close attention. He shook his head and the look was wiped off his face. "I was...well, it's complicated. I suppose."

"Oh," Dream said, staring at George with the interest of a child hearing a new story, "sorry if that was too personal."

George gave a polite smile. "Don't worry, I just haven't thought about it in a while. That's all." George sounded more like he was telling himself that than he was telling Dream.

George had an enchanting quality about himself. Maybe it was just that Dream had never seen anyone like him outside of TV. He looked wise, but far too young to have the jaded look he had in his eyes.

Dream looked at his eyes carefully. One was brown and the other was white and cracked. The scar interrupted its natural way of laying. His brown eye had flakes of gold scattered in it and looked like melted chocolate and rich soil. The white looked stormy and harsh like the sky as lightning strikes. He had to entirely separate worlds on his face.

George cleared his throat, noticing Dream start to zone out. "I didn't know anyone was living here. After your grandmother passed, I assumed this place would be left to rot."
"Would you prefer it that way?"
"Not at all. I love this house just as much as she did. I was around when she and your grandfather built it, after all."

Dream tried to process that. The person before him who had such a youthful quality to his features was older than his mother.

"How long have you been around?" Dream tried his best to phrase it politely.
"No need to be so cautious, dear, I know you have a kind soul. I've been dead for a while, how long, I couldn't say. But, I'm sure it's farther than the history books care to go."

Dream didn't really understand the first part, but he smiled and nodded. "Well, lucky you, I didn't pay much attention in history class anyways."

George chuckled. It was light and fair.

"Um, now what?" Dream asked, still slightly stunned. He had just found the proof of a question he'd had for years. Ghosts were real. There was one right in front of him.
"Whatever you want. I don't mind, it's been a while since I've talked to anyone...well...alive."
"It's been never since I've talked to someone dead, so that evens us out."

They looked at each other. Both were now acutely aware that they were so different from one another.

Dream thought for a moment. "Do you ever want to be alive again?"
"No, not really. Life looks so boring now. You all just bumble around until you can retire, even then you look sad as you embrace your elderly body, and lay your young minds to rest."
"When you put it like that, it makes us sound depressing."
"In truth, you are. At least most of you. Your grandmother wasn't. She loved adventure. I suppose that's why I let her stick around."

Dream smiled at the thought of his elderly and weak grandmother braving uncharted lands. Then he registered the second part of what George said.

"What do you mean?"
"Dream, I am an immortal spirit. If I wanted to, I could be rid of any unwanted guests. Besides, I was there before her. The ruble of my kingdom lays beneath the hearth."
"Do you want me around?"
"I have watched you grow up, you have nothing to fear. Besides, you intrigue me."

Dream only really understood what half of what George said meant, but he liked it anyways. George had a very pretty way of talking.

His voice, even when just talking normally, sounded like music. It was to the ears what the most beautiful cursive handwriting is to the eyes. Precise and quick, curving and twisting delicately.

Dream felt so allured by the other. He was so different from anyone Dream had met before. He had only known him for a while, but Dream felt like George would play a big part in his life.

However, as the shock settled in, Dream realized how absurd this all was. He was talking to a ghost. Not only a ghost but a ghost in a king's robe.

"This house is so dusty it's giving me delusions," he thought to himself, "oh well. If I'm going crazy at least it's out here, in the middle of nowhere."

Dream very quickly realized he was not going insane, as George walked past him and he felt a very strong chill run down his back.

George's steps were silent, as he had no weight as a ghost, but his cape made a sound as it dragged across the floor.

"Well, nothing to do but embrace the crazy. I need some friends anyways," Dream thought to himself as he decided to trust that this was real. What could be the harm in believing?