Chapter 1
The car sailed smoothly down the highway, yellow highway lamps whizzing by periodically in the haze of early night. In the distance, Bobby could see the lights of houses twinkling on the hills, punctuated by open spaces of dark fields and trees. Cool air blew out of the dashboard registers, and a forgettable tune played on the radio, its tinny sounds barely audible above the gentle hum of the engine. Bobby was on his way to the city to drop by his sister’s new place. She and one of her high school friends had decided to go to the same college Bobby had attended and were setting themselves up in an off-campus house that weekend, happy to be out of the dorms. His mother had asked him to go and help her out, as he had settled in Philadelphia after graduating and could stand in for their parents who lived almost three hours away.
This was a busy time for him. Between having to go into the office to work earlier, this moving project, and the meet-up with his own friends at the bar later, he didn’t really have a whole lot of time on his hands today. Or at all, really. His sister had given him an earful earlier when he called to say that he wasn't coming down during the day to help unload the truck, but it just wasn't possible. There was always something going on. Someone to go see, calls from work for overtime. or a night out with his friends. Bobby was young, but he was feeling worn down lately.
He lived in a house with three of his former roommates from college. They had all been business majors at school, two of them worked in the same accounting department at the insurance company with him, and they got along well together. Their shared house was big enough; many of their friends still lived around the city after graduating, and nights at the clubs seemed just like they had been back in school. Everyone knew everyone else. Bobby had a good job and made decent money, and although he hadn’t had a girlfriend since the year after he graduated, he was pretty content. He felt secure, and the future held promise of greater things to come.
The quiet night sailed on past as Bobby merged into the left lane in preparation for where the highway splint. He would merge off and onto the connecting ramp to the Interstate, then merge left again. He did this automatically. He had done it hundreds of times before. Ahead of him and close upon his right side, a semi-truck with a small yellow diamond sign and lettering that said "Coast-Central Transport” signaled that he, too, was going to merge left. Bobby slowed down to allow the truck to merge ahead of him. At that moment, the car lurched violently forward as he was struck from behind by another vehicle, causing his belongings in the back seats to scatter throughout the cabin and into the front seats. His hands were knocked off the steering wheel, and the car swerved off the ramp and flipped violently. It rolled down the embankment and landed upside down at the bottom of the ditch. The car was shattered. Bobby felt nothing, saw nothing. He died on impact, crushed by the roof.
Shivering.
His eyes wouldn't open.
His skin cold and clammy—as though doused with ice-cold water,
He couldn't wake up.
Something touched his face—warm, soft, annoying.
He tried to swat it away.
Darkness.
More contact with something against his face.
He swatted again and then tried to kick out his leg, and his eyes suddenly opened. He had awoken on a cold cobblestone street, where a weak breeze lazily meandered from time to time. The stones were freezing and damp and seemingly scrubbed clean. The air was frosty as he breathed deep, the frigid air pouring into his lungs like he had stayed underwater too long and now needed to struggle for oxygen. He felt a sharp pain in his chest, like being stabbed with frozen daggers. He was wearing the same clothes he had put on before setting out that night: a pair of baggy jeans and a T-shirt with a Cincinnati Reds logo on it. He now noticed that a large brown dog with short, smooth hair licking his face. He brushed away the dog, but after a few moments, it came back and started licking his face again. He just wanted to clear his vision, so he lifted his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes, but his head was buzzing, and it was just too damn cold. The surface he lay on was hard, and the persistent dog just would not let him be. He was lying near the wall of what looked like a two-story building with faint lights shining out from the second-floor window above. The lights were very dim, as was the whole street in general. There was a lonely, old-fashioned streetlamp on the corner across the way from where Bobby was lying on the street. Bobby couldn’t see anyone else walking around. The whole place seemed deserted.
The dog patiently continued to lick Bobby’s face, a layer of strangely warm slobber starting to form on his forehead. The sensation seemed familiar. Bobby looked at the dog, and it was then that fear first seized him. He recognized the dog. Now apparently satisfied, it sat down on its haunches and cocked its head, staring at him. It was Boomer, his dog from his childhood. Boomer had died when Bobby was 14 years old. He had been devastated, the first real loss he had ever experienced in his life. No close relative of his had ever died, and he had never been attached to any other living thing like he had been to Boomer. And now here he was, sitting in front of him with his head cocked like the dog in the old record advertisements.
“Boomer?” Bobby ventured as he pulled his body up into a sitting position.
The dog barked twice and wagged his tail. He reached over and looked at the tag on the dog's collar. His parents' address was engraved on a small metal plate. Bobby patted Boomer gingerly on the head, and the dog seemed delighted.
Bobby now began to frantically look around for someone to talk to. He tried to remember how he got to this place, but his memory was full of holes. Where was his car? Did he park it there? What part of the city was this? How could Boomer be here? He felt terribly confused, and his head was killing him. He stood up and looked around frantically, trying to get his bearings and find out where he was. Boomer looked up at him, trotted off a few paces down the street, and then looked back at him. Without thinking, Bobby took a few steps after him, stumbling. Boomer looked up at a wall, and Bobby’s eyes followed.
The sign was quite large, with a cream-colored background and bold black writing with pictures around it. "Welcome to the Beginning!”
Bobby immediately thought the sign must be some sort of stupid advertisement and looked away, but the dog barked at him twice and looked back up at the sign. Puzzled, he read on.
“Please note, if you are newly arrived, immediately find a daeva to speak with. Information stations are staffed by daeva at all times and are indicated by a bright green lamp.”
There appeared to be a picture of a green, Chinese-style lantern pictured on the sign.
“Directions to information stations are clearly marked with signs displaying green arrows.”
Bobby looked around. Lo and behold, just a few feet down the street, there was a sign with a green arrow and a big question mark where a no-parking sign would normally be on a regular street. Bobby suddenly realized there were no cars or any vehicles of any kind in view.
“Please be wary of taking advice from non-approved sources. Consult an information booth attendant first!”
Bobby wondered at this last line. There was not a soul in sight anywhere.
Having little else to go on, Bobby started walking down the street in the direction indicated by the sign, Boomer bouncing along happily next to him.
The streets all looked the same, and the sky was pitch black, with not a star to be seen. It was surprisingly cold, unseasonably so. It was late summer still, and the air should have been quite warm, even after a storm. Had there been a storm? He didn't remember the rain, but the street was damp, and the sky was an inky black. Time seemed amorphous, like in a dream, and his eyes still couldn't quite focus. Bobby turned a corner and down the street a short way, he saw a little kiosk sitting right in the center of a four-way intersection festooned with small green lanterns. There also seemed to be an open space beyond one corner of the intersection where he could faintly see streetlamps. He stumbled toward the booth with the green lanterns, trying to get a better look at what was written on the big signs attached to the office for some clues on where he was. It was as he approached that he first got a clear look at the booth attendant and stopped cold in his tracks.
The creature sitting in the booth was roughly human in shape and wore what appeared to be a blazer and shirt and tie, like an airline ticket agent. Its face, though, was not a human face. It was pale, featureless, and glowed with a faint luminescence. It had no nose, but the face was half filled by two overly large, pupil-less eyes that emitted a soft yellow glow. It had small ears, partly hidden behind silvery brown hair and a mouth that seemed to be upturned in a look of sympathetic concern. The creature looked straight at Bobby and waved at him politely, beckoning him over.
All the hair on Bobby’s head was standing straight up. He didn’t move at all. At this point, he began to actually think about what he had been seeing, and the fogginess seemed to clear from his mind as his eyes came into focus. Boomer sat down at his feet and looked up at him. Boomer was dead; he had died a long time ago. And yet here he was. Bobby began to feel queasy and knelt down for a moment to catch his breath.
He looked up. Boomer was still there. He looked at the kiosk. The figure was still there, looking on with interest. Despite his odd appearance, he seemed to be about the least threatening individual Bobby had ever seen. He literally radiated calm.
Bobby knelt there for some moments and waited. Nothing. He looked around. It seemed real. He touched the cobblestones, and they were still ice-cold and solid. This did not seem like a dream. He waited a bit more. The figure gestured again for him to come over. Bobby rose to his feet and slowly approached the kiosk.
“Hello there. May I help you? You look like you have some questions,” the creature inquired in a soft, melodious voice.
“Uh, yeah.” Bobby fidgeted nervously. “Where am I?”
“That is a very good question!” The creature seemed very excited to be communicating with him. “Well,” said the creature, "in the normal parlance of your culture, this environment we are currently located in is referred to as a ‘Lost Alley.’ This is but a name assigned by convention. This place represents the starting point for spirits who have just been separated from their corporeal bodies. It exists outside of time, space, and the greater world of spiritkind. It is where you will start your journey of discovery!" The creature spoke with great enthusiasm, like he was attempting to sell Bobby a new car or magazine.
“Am I dead?” Bobby ventured.
“You most certainly are!” The creature smiled understandingly and quickly added, "But this is no cause for concern, not at all. You are safe here. No harm will come to you. This place exists because of souls like you, so that you can get a good start in your future development.”
The creature handed Bobby what looked like a brochure with a picture of the very street he was standing on, lamps and all. The headline read "The beginning of everything!” in big yellow lettering.
He looked up at the sign over the kiosk. Neon letters surrounded by green lanterns proclaimed “Information," and amidst the many other reassuring statements was a small sign: "Daeva on duty: Merton."
“Are you Merton?” Bobby asked.
“I am!”
“What’s a daeva?”
“That is also a great question! A daeva is a spiritual being whose purpose is to help souls like yourself." He paused for effect. “We are the guides of the afterlife, answering questions, pointing souls where they need to go, helping them find their true place in the great beyond. We are known by many names in the human languages, depending on the various cultures of your species.” The creature grinned happily at him.
Bobby, for his part, couldn't help but feel suspicious of the creature, with its infomercial-like tone and overly emotional delivery.
“If you are a guide, where am I supposed to go?” he asked
“Well,” said the creature “Where do you want to go?”
It had specifically accented the word "want."
“What?”
“Where do you want to go?” It continued to stare at him with giant glowing eyes.
“I don’t know. I thought you were a guide?”
“I most certainly am, but I can’t guide you if I don’t know where you want to go.” It nodded solemnly.
Bobby had no idea how to proceed. He just continued to stand in front of the booth, feeling more and more confused. He looked around at the different notices and bits of fluff written on the booth, which seemed to him somehow out of place in the afterlife. Mostly, it was simple slogans advertising the helpfulness of the daeva, admonitions that questions could, in fact, be answered, and silly lines like "Don’t Worry! Eternity is waiting for you!” and “You are where you are supposed to be!”
The headache-inducing bright neon glow from the signs was not helping. Bobby looked around and saw what looked like a park about 20 yards away from the Information Booth. There seemed to be some benches.
“I'll just go over there for a little bit...” he said, pointing across to the bench. "To sort things out.”
“Absolutely! Yes, that is an excellent Idea! That’s what the park is for!” The daeva beamed at him.
Bobby shook his head and walked over to the bench, Boomer in tow.
The park was quiet but still freezing. A cold breeze blew down from right above, which was strange to him. He sat for a few minutes on one of the benches, just thinking. The dog had by now laid down on the cool stone on his side, relaxed but alert. Bobby craned his neck to look around at his surroundings. The space was open and around 40 yards across, with many well-maintained plantings of various small flowers, all covered in frost. There were a ridiculous number of benches here, almost like an airport waiting area. Bobby wondered where the flowers got sun from. There was no sky discernable in the pitch-black void above, and the only light visible came from the numerous yellow streetlamps. And how could they survive the frigid temperature, which was more like February back home? Bobby looked back and forth, trying to see into the inky distance. He turned his head back across his right shoulder to glance behind him and froze.
There sitting, maybe 15 feet away, was another person. Bobby wondered where he came from. He hadn’t seen him before when he walked over and sat down. He was on a bench a bit behind Bobby and facing the other direction, and he looked like he might be dozing off. His head was cocked back as though he was looking at the sky, but Bobby could see his eyes were closed, and he was breathing slowly. His appearance seemed eerie, almost out of the past. He was wearing a black leather jacket and jeans with a white T-shirt, like something out of West Side Story, and his long black hair was slicked back. He moved only slightly and appeared to have taken no notice of Bobby at all. Boomer moved his eye back and forth, watching the man and then looking back to Bobby. Bobby stared at him for some minutes, wondering what to do.
Time passed and slowly Bobby began to build up a desire to speak with the man in the jacket and find out who he was. Bobby was not generally in the habit of speaking with strangers in public places, but this seemed to be a singular situation, and he hoped that talking to another person and not the weird thing in the booth might be more productive in shedding light on the situation.
“Uh, excuse me," Bobby shouted over to the man.
He continued to sit with his eyes closed.
“Uh, Sir? Hello?”
The man stirred and opened one eye, looking at Bobby. “Oh, hey,” he said.
“Excuse me, but can you tell me about this place?”
“New guy, eh?” The man chuckled slightly. “I’m probably not the best guy to be answering your questions. The guy in the booth could probably help you better.”
“Oh,” Bobby said, disappointed. “Yeah, um...what exactly is the guy in the booth?”
“Daeva…” the man closed his eyes. “They’re kinda like traffic cops. Giving out directions to places, answering questions, and creeping people out with their helpfulness. I don’t really like them that much. They give me a weird feeling. But they’re harmless.”
“Right. What are they, though? Not people." Bobby wasn’t really sure how to say what he wanted to say.
“A daeva is a spiritual being. The right hand of providence, a universal paragon of order and destiny charged with the superintending of souls and assisting them in finding their place in the universe.” The man said this in a deadpan tone, as if he was reading the line from a textbook. "That’s the standard answer you get if you actually ask them.” He opened his eyes again and looked at Bobby. “I used to be like you. Showed up here with no damn clue where I was or what I was. I probably spent 3 days trying to figure out what that guy over there was talking about. They’re patient, though, and will stand and talk to you all day. They love it. It’s their purpose, I guess." He smiled weakly. “You’re a ghost now, champ. A spirit. You’re dead.”
A weird feeling of tightness came across Bobby, a prickling that ran down from the top of his head across his face and down to his chest. He felt his throat tense up, and he thought he might be sweating, as cold as it was. He didn’t speak for quite a few minutes. He was here now. He didn’t feel different. His body looked the same, as did his clothes.
In the infrequent moments when he had contemplated the afterlife and what it might be like, this was not the image he had in mind.
“What's your name?” he asked the stranger in the jacket.
“Sammy. You?”
“Bobby.”
Boomer looked up at him from the ground and licked his lips.
“How long have you been here, Sammy?”
“Here, in this park? Or here, being dead?” Sammy grinned at him.
Bobby could only stare black blankly.
“Well, as you will no doubt come to realize, time kinda works differently here than it does in the other world. Kinda has its own flow for each person. For me, it feels like maybe I’ve been here for 10 minutes or 20. For you, I may have just gotten here. Or maybe I’ve been here for 2 days. Who knows?” Sammy laughed. “It’s hell on appointments!”
“What are you doing here?” Bobby asked.
“Waiting for someone. I figure they will be along soon.” Sammy smiled sadly and looked away.
“How do you know?”
“Well, kid, sometimes you just know things like that. You’ll get better at it, sensing things. You’ll get better at a lot of things. You have all the time in the world to do it. You just need to get started.”
“The daeva thing asked me where I wanted to go. I don’t know what my options are.”
Sammy smiled. "Well, you can pretty much go anywhere you want to go, man. A lot of fresh fish like you end up going back to where they came from. You seem to be taking things pretty well, all things considered. I’ve seen people just come across who are just frickin crazy in the head. They died in a bad way, or they don’t believe they’re dead. They usually end up getting into trouble when they try to go back, but you’ll probably be OK." He sized Bobby up. “Anyway, a lot of people go back to tie up loose ends or find peace or what the hell ever. Most of the rest end up in this city or that. There are cities for us, by the way, for ghosts. You should probably go check them out when you're ready. Everything you can imagine is there.”
A seed had now been planted in Bobby's head. More than anything, he wanted to go back and see his family once again. Were they OK? What was happening with them? He struggled to remember what they looked like, already the features of their faces seemed to escape him. It was difficult to focus.
“It’s hard to remember things,” he confessed.
“Oh yeah!” grinned Sammy. “I couldn’t remember nothing when I got here. See, that’s another reason lots of people go back. They’re all blanked out and need to get the story straight. Going back usually fixes that up, and you get the holes in your mind filled in. Familiar faces and whatnot." He nodded approvingly.
“So how do I do it?” asked Bobby.
“Just go ask that guy in the booth. He’ll send you wherever you want to go. May argue with you a bit on going back where you came from, but I think they don’t want to encourage us in that, ya know, haunting our old stomping grounds or whatever. Some people get all obsessed about their regrets and try to hang on to the past. It’s no good; you have to keep moving on. Start over again and stuff."
“How long have you been here. I mean, as a ghost?"
“Years, man. It’s hard to keep track of time the same way you do on the other side, like I said. It doesn’t really matter as much here, and the clocks never line up exactly with the ones on the other side anyway. You’ll see. But I’ve been around a good while, same as I was when I passed away. Some people come over, and they are like they were when they were kids; some are older over here than when they died. It’s all in the perception of things, you know?”
“OK," said Bobby, still not completely understanding. “Thanks a lot for your help. I guess I'll go talk to that daeva thing again."
“No problem, Slick. Hey! Don’t forget to ask him to teach you how to transfer and split ether. It’s how you pay for stuff around here. You'll need dough sooner or later. Even death can’t fix that.” Sammy grinned.
“I need money?” Bobby said, incredulous.
“It’s not really money, but it’s what you can trade with. Your body is made out of this stuff. They call it ether. You make it all the time, but you can also use it for stuff. If you give away too much, you’ll get weak, so don’t overdo it. I’m a bad explainer. Ask the guy. He’ll show you how to do it and probably give you 10 more little handouts before you’re done. Good luck!”
Bobby walked slowly back to the booth. The creature in the uniform looked up at him, smiling.
“I have a few questions," Bobby said.
“Of course."
“Can you tell me about, uh, ether? How to make it into money or whatever?"
“I am not sure what you mean by money, but I’m guessing you wish to know how to fraction and transfer ether, which is an excellent question,” it chirped.
“What exactly is ether?”
“Ether is our term for the components of your body, that which to you now appears solid but is, in fact, more akin to energy in your current state."
Bobby stared blankly back at the creature, feeling this was just another thing that was going to end up confusing him.
The daeva paused momentarily, as if sensing his new student’s thoughts and began again on a new track. “Your body is made of ether. Everything in this reality, this afterlife, is made of ether. You produce this substance naturally, and you can manipulate it naturally after being instructed, of course."
Bobby smiled back. This was a little more straightforward.
“Imagine…” he continued, "that your body is filled with coursing streams of light, that it is what makes up your vital essence.” It paused again, considering the audience. “Imagine your blood is actually made of light and that it flows through you."
Bobby, though suspicious, complied and pictured in his mind that things were as the creature said.
“Now imagine that some of that light fluid is coursing out of its natural channels in your body and collecting in your right hand. Close your eyes and imagine it as hard as you can. See it happening.”
Bobby closed his eyes and, in his mind, imagined some of the blood flowing in his arm, collecting in the palm of his hand. He continued this for a few moments and suddenly felt a strange sensation in his right hand. He opened his eyes to see a rather unsightly mass of slimy red goo covering his right palm. Disgusted to find his hand covered in what looked like glowing scarlet snot, he motioned as if to wipe it off on the table.
“Wait, wait, wait…" the creature quickly added. “That is very good, exactly what we wanted. But now you must form it. You must close your eyes and imagine it becoming solid, maybe a small cube of energy. You must control it now. It is raw.”
Bobby complied with the request and closed his eyes again. He imagined the slime forming into a little cube. He imagined it becoming solid in his mind, and in an instant, he felt it solidify in his hand, clean and perfectly square, surrounded by a nimbus of faint crimson light. He opened his eyes, and it sat there on his hand exactly as it had been in his mind.
“Very, very good," chimed the daeva. “You see now, all of this is controlled in your mind. You ARE your thought, you see. Mental energy is given a form here. You can control everything using this power, but it will take time to master. This is only the very beginning!"
Bobby placed the dimly glowing cube on the counter. He felt tired, as though he had just run several miles, and for the first time since arriving in this place, he felt almost as though he was hungry.
“You have exerted yourself in manipulating the ether, and now you feel the effect of its loss. It is very important that you do not try to take too much too soon, or you will go into torpor until the balance is restored.”
Bobby looked puzzled.
“You will pass out. You will lose consciousness,” he immediately said, frowning sorrowfully. “Now take the ether back into your hand. Imagine yourself absorbing its energy back into your veins.”
He turned the cube in his hand; it felt quite solid. He focused and imagined the cube becoming fluid again, and it immediately responded by turning into a handful of goo. As his mind pictured it being reabsorbed, it was, and he watched it sink back into his hand like water being lapped up by a sponge. He felt normal again, the fatigue gone. He looked up and smiled at the creature in the booth, which applauded its congratulations almost as a child would. Bobby touched his arm, checking to see if there was any change to it.
The daeva raised its hand up in front of Bobby’s face with fingers outstretched and then slowly brought its unnaturally smooth index finger and thumb together. As it did, a softly glowing cube appeared from nowhere between the fingers and increased in size until it stabilized at roughly the same size as the one Bobby had just made. It reached out and deposited the cube in Bobby’s hand. The cube was cooler to the touch than Bobby’s own had been, and it glowed in a soft blue light, but it was much heavier.
“This is a small amount of my own ether. It is different from yours, of course, but you will come across many kinds in this world, if you travel far enough. Try absorbing it as well! You will understand why this material is so valuable to your kind.”
He looked down at the cube. It was tiny but as heavy as lead in his hand. He focused his mind as before, and the cube immediately became like water. He had to bring his hands together in a bowl to keep the stuff from falling on the floor.
The creature smiled absently, watching him. “It is different, as I said,” it cooed.
Bobby willed himself to try to soak up the liquefied ether before it leaked through his hands. It absorbed quickly, even faster than his own, and he felt a strange sensation of power and vitality flowing through his arms and into his whole body. He looked at his arm and could perceive the blue energy mixing with the light of the ether that flowed in it already, as though his arm was transparent. He felt almost high—wide awake and strong.
“Your body can absorb energy as well as release it. As you grow, your capacity for it will increase. You will become stronger, much stronger. You will discover uses for it that are unique to yourself, as your soul is itself unique. Take your time, know yourself. The oldest souls are powerful indeed, but do not try to absorb too much too fast, or you will become ill as well. You must find a balance." It pulled a small book out of a drawer hidden behind the shelf somewhere and tried to hand it to Bobby.
At this point, Bobby was hardly listening to the advice or noticing the offered book, but instead contemplated jumping to see how high he could go. His body felt incredible, as though it were stronger, faster, and lighter. Boomer looked at him with his head cocked, puzzled.
“Have you come to a decision on your other quandary?" the daeva asked softly.
“Uh, what? Oh. I guess. Can you send me anywhere?” he said, taking the book and flipping through some of the pages. Its title was "Ether and You: A Beginners Guide” Bobby stuck the book in his pocket.
“Most certainly! Where would you like to go?”
“I would like to go to my parents' house. Where I used to live," Bobby added lamely.
“Hmm.” The daeva frowned for the first time. “Your request is not an uncommon one. The recently passed always want to return to their old lives, but it is dangerous!” It nodded solemnly. "You should not hang on to your old life too closely. You must grow. To live in your old life is to stagnate. Some go insane because of it and never let go." It shook its head back and forth almost comically. “It would be better to go somewhere else. Did you know there are great communities of human spirits like yourself? I could send you to one immediately!"
It pulled out a huge map of what appeared to be North America, with all kinds of markings on it like an old-style road guide. "Look at all these destinations that you could visit. Adventures beyond your imagination!" It was beginning to sound like a salesman again, trying to sell a tacky vacation package.
Bobby picked up the map and studied it for a few moments. He looked up at the daeva again and stated clearly, "I want to go home.”
It frowned again momentarily but then sighed and held out both its hands, palms up. "Place your hands in mine.”
Bobby put down the map and did as instructed. The creature held his hands firmly and gazed right into his eyes for an awkwardly long time. Bobby felt very uncomfortable, as if he was being sized up and exposed in an embarrassing way, like he was missing his clothes.
The creature relaxed its grip and released his hands. “You may be safe to travel back to your home, and I will send you there.” It smiled gently. “But do not tarry too long. You may find what you seek, or you may not. But always remember your future lies ahead of you, for you to create. Do not become trapped in your past. That way always leads to sorrow.”
“I understand," said Bobby, somewhat doubtfully.
“Before I send you, know this: If you perceive yourself to be in great danger, call my name, Merton, as I have told you, and I will come to lead you on to safety if I can. You and I are connected, whether you know it or not, and I will answer your call when you are truly in need. But only in an emergency! I am very busy with my duties here. Many spirits need guidance. Keep the map. It may help you find your path." It was already folding up the map and putting it in Bobby’s coat pocket, which was getting quite full.
“I'm ready to go, I suppose," said Bobby.
“As you wish.” The creature held its hands together a moment, and its eyes suddenly burst into a blazing orange flame. It reached out with one hand, which it placed firmly on Bobby’s head, and Bobby suddenly felt his whole body buzz with a strange harmonic sound.
The background faded away into darkness, and he found himself lying on his back in a patch of dewy grass. He looked up and saw he had arrived at the backyard of his parent’s house, the kitchen lights shining welcomingly through the back patio door.
The first thing he noticed was the cool air. The weather had been hot, even balmy, the day he had stepped into his car for the last time. Now, there was a chill in the air, like late October. Not as cold as the bizarre place he had just come from, but the season had definitely changed. The insistent green of summer in the trees above had also faded away, and now the leaves were all beginning to turn red and orange as a bright pale moon shone in the clear sky overhead. The grass in the yard was cold and damp, and though he couldn’t seem to actually touch individual blades of grass, he was able by some agency to feel it as he passed his hand over the wet lawn. He stood up and walked to the window, peering in. His father sat at the dining room table, reading a magazine as he ate a late dinner. Bobby could see the TV was on in the other room, a football game playing. His dad looked back toward the other room periodically to check the score and then would return to his slow eating and reading routine. He had been doing this on Monday nights for years. Things seemed pretty normal here. His mother walked into the kitchen and started putting the soup from the range in a smaller pot.
“Where’s Kim?” His father looked around for Bobby's younger sister, cocking his eyes above his oval glasses. Bobby could hear him through the glass, muffled but understandable.
“I don’t know, Bill. I guess she went out with her friends.” His mother seemed tired, exasperated.
“I wish she would tell us where she is going before she does it.” His father looked annoyed. He looked at the television again and then went back to reading.
Bobby pushed against the glass and found that, with some effort, he could move through it. It was like pushing on a mold of gelatin, but instead of the window, it was his hand that seemed to liquefy and pass through. It felt incredibly weird, and he spent a few minutes just experimenting with moving his body through the door and back out. Finally, he pushed himself totally through the glass pane and basked in the warm embrace of the kitchen, an aura of heat coming off the stove. He found that his sense of things such as hot and cold, wet and dry, were for some reason greatly increased. Even the minor heat of the kitchen seemed like a furnace to him, soothing and comforting after the chilly wetness of the grass outside.
He walked about the house looking at familiar sights. There was a clay sculpture of a canoe he made when he was in kindergarten sitting on the shelf. A photo album filled with photographs of his childhood lay close by on the cocktail table. He looked at the far wall. Where there used to be a bunch of pictures of his cousins, there was now only a picture of him in the tacky rented tuxedo he had worn to his high school prom.
He felt strange seeing it like it was some sort of painfully sad shrine to his own memory.
It was.
Bobby walked up the stairs to the hall that connected the bedrooms above. The wood-paneled walls were cool to the touch, which he found unusual. He had always remembered the walls feeling warm before. Undeterred, he continued to his old bedroom. He looked in and felt a familiar sense of comfort and serenity. Everything was as it had been when he had last seen it. The light, the smell, and the unique paint stains on the carpet (for which he was primarily responsible). The walls of his room still bore the old stains of crayons. He laid down on his old bed, also still the same as it had always been, and stared up at the ceiling.
