Ghosts

2 A new companion

It was pitch black around Jules. He didn't know how long he had lain motionless and dwelled on his thoughts. He remembered a sudden pain and that he could no longer move. He had tried, but the pain had overshadowed everything. Then the pain had suddenly disappeared and it had gone dark.

He had heard voices, but they didn't seem to be talking to him. He had heard his brother talking about him. He must have been dreaming until the church bells had abruptly woken him from his sleep. Blinking, he looked into the darkness. Still no light. Where was he? He wanted to get up, but something was different. He carefully tried to put his feet on the floor, but he couldn't feel the ground. He couldn't feel anything at all. He carefully felt the surface he was sitting on with his hand, but there was nothing there. Was he still dreaming? He slowly stood up and listened to his body. No pain. No feeling. He pinched his arm. Still no feeling. A little relieved, he grinned to himself. He must still be dreaming. He took a few weightless steps. Suddenly he noticed a slight shimmer next to him. He turned around. A man was standing opposite him in the darkness, looking at him in amazement.

The man was older, he had a thick, white beard that still couldn't completely hide his high cheekbones. His hair was also completely white. His clothes looked strangely old-fashioned and yet brand new. He wore a white shirt with a brown vest over it and an open coat that went down to the back of his knees. His legs were in high leather boots. His eyes were deep and serious. In a strange way, his face was familiar to Jules. Then he remembered it. The picture on the top floor. Standing in front of him was none other than Alastair Nourney.

Jules felt the old man's gaze on him, until finally his astonishment gave way first to a timid, then a warm smile.

"Jules Nourney," he said in a solemn, albeit somewhat thoughtful tone. "What an extraordinary pleasure it is to meet you. I am Alastair Nourney."

"I know who you are," Jules replied cheerfully. "I rather wonder what you're doing in my dream." Alastair said nothing for a long time. Finally, he took slow steps towards Jules and stopped right in front of him. He put his hands on Jules' shoulders and looked deep into his eyes.

"This is not a dream, Jules Nourney. You're dead.

"Sensations exploded in Jules' head. He still didn't know where he was, clinging to the thought that he was about to wake up bathed in shit, that he would brush his teeth, forget the dream and start a new day. But at the same time, deep down, he knew immediately that the old man was telling the truth. His perception was too clear, too coherent, too conscious. This was not a dream. Snatches of Ramon's speech penetrated his consciousness. 'Jules has passed away ... tragic death ... happy memories'. A thousand questions whirled through Jules' head. He asked the first one he could grasp:

"Where are we?"

"In the Nourney family vault. You were buried here today and lay in your coffin until just now." Alastair looked at Jules with questions written all over his face, but he didn't press him.

"How did I die?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that. I read about your death in your obituary, but there were no details. Just that you died unexpectedly last Thursday."

"In my obituary..." Jules repeated haltingly. So far, he had had little success in clarifying his situation with his questions. Why was his ancestor, who had died 350 years ago, reading the obituaries? This time Alastair beat him to it with an explanation.

"I've been reading the obituaries on the churchyard notice board every day for almost 200 years - ever since they started being posted there. Before that, I always had to go to the service on Sundays where the priest called out the deceased. That was much more time-consuming, but I didn't want to miss it if the soul of a Nourney was to defy death once again. It can be surprisingly difficult to locate a spirit once it has been separated from its body."