The Haunting Of You

     He stands over his own funeral ceremony. He resides on a balcony overseeing the audience. He watches the crowd, calm and demure.
     While Isaac feels physical, it's an undesirable hallucination. He watches people come and go from his casket. The audience shuffle their feet with lowered heads. One behind another, they reach his casket. For a few moment the grievers stand, placing a hand on Issac's body. They wait, then step down, only to have the next hand in its replacement. Witnessing one's own death is disruptive enough, however to behold one's own funeral is fantastic.
     The cathedral is astounding: spacious, holy, Gothic. The stain glass windows illuminate a resonating portrait of saints and angels. Its interior is alluring, with velvet carpets and hardwood pews. A brass crucifix reminds everyone this is a place of God. Grand walls shield the warmth of the sun. Hovering overhead are chandeliers, align with the pews. Widely lit, there are no shadows upon the crowd. It gets quite.
     The ceremony starts. He listens to the priest, but a voice breaks his concentration, "Hello, Mr. Enders."
     Isaac turns his curious head.
     "I am here to help you," says the voice.
     Isaac fully rotates, "Help me?"
     When
Isaac sees who is speaking, he becomes wary. The figure is tall, lean; draped in a gray cloak that covers the body and a hood blankets an offset-white mask. Eloquent eye-holes stare back.
     "Yes, I am here to help you. Call me Phantom, Mr. Enders.”
     "Hello..."
     Phantom comes closer, small steps at a time. He speaks with stern sincerity, "I am your guide to eternal slumber. And, Mr. Enders, you have unfinished business."
     Isaac's eyes shorten, "How could I possibly have unfinished business? I'm dead." He straightens himself.
     Phantom does the same.
     "Yes, you have things to do. Just because you are dead does not mean you are free from responsibility. The dead have obligations, too."
     "Like what? Haunting people?" Isaac says insolently.
     Kindness exits, "Don't mock the dead. They are just as meaningful as the living." Phantom takes a few more steps forward, appearing even taller.
     Isaac leans away, "Fine, fine. I'm sorry. So, why am I here, anyway?"
     "Mr. Enders, you left something behind of certain importance," Phantom says.
     "What do you mean?" Isaac replies with perked eyebrows.
     "It's about your secret fortune," Phantom explains. "You dying left a deal of unbalance to life. Money is an object that has meaning in the living, and in the spirit world. Death has a price, and when it is not paid it causes instability. You dying without having an heir to that fortune is something that has to corrected. Death does not like things to be unresolved.”
     Isaac is smeared with a grim expression, "You mean my money is the reason why I'm a ghost? My money? Something that I cannot control, is the reason I am a ghost? You have got to be kidding
me."
     "Yes, Mr. Enders. It is how the rules are in this world. Death wants balance." Phantom's voice is callous.
     Isaac's reaction is equally sour, "Balance? What the hell can I do? I'm dead. What could I possibly do to give my money away?"
     Phantom becomes quiet. He stands with staid foundation, "If you want rest you must listen carefully."   
     Isaac tilts back again. Phantom's mask digs; the unsteady severity of his tone becomes apparent. He swallows frustration, "Well, I guess I have no other option?"
     "You, Mr. Enders, must find an heir for your secret fortune. It is simple. You have to make sure that the person you give the money to will restore balance. I cannot tell you who that person is, however. This power does not allow you to make a decision with haste."
     "So I assume it has to be someone I know?"
     Phantom's voice lifted, "Correct. There has to be a connection between you and the suitor."          Isaac scratches the back of his head as he shifts back and forth, "Well there is only one person who comes to mind, but she isn't here yet."

     Phantom slumps, his shoulders lowering but perched his mask
toward Issac, "There is something I must show you before we see your
suitor."

     "Right now? Can't we wait till she gets here? It is my funeral," Isaac pleaded. He turned to the crowd with wincing eyes.

     "No, it cannot." Phantom turns to leave. Isaac follows.
     Phantom
leads his companion to the cathedral's back garden, where the
tombstones of previous priests and clergymen sleep. Walking through the
gravesite is uneasy. Isaac tours around the grounds that house the dead.
Out of the back garden, they come to a vast field. The only visual on
the hills are grave markers, plaques or headstones. They are ordered and
organized; row by row, column by column, the deceased are in
single-file lines. Phantom walks without a sound, continuing a queer
silence. Isaac wants to say something but is interrupted when Phantom
stops. In front of him is an empty grave ready for burial. He steps
aside to reveal a tombstone. The brazen jade colored granite reads a
short monologue:

                Here lies Isaac Enders. Son, brother, friend.
                 With the kindest of hearts, he will never be forgotten.
                 In his death, we learn of life.
                 You will be missed and forever loved.

     Isaac perusals the words. Isaac's dead. Isaac Enders is dead. A
shattering chill creeps onto him, like a paralyzing out-of-body
experience where he wants to wake up but can't because his helpless body
is being buried. He drops to his knees and the weight of the situation
tumbles, nearly pushing him into the marked rectangular hole where his
mortal body will forever soon rot and decay. Though a ghost, he can
sense the pressure squeezing his intangible mind. A crushing sting bites
from all sides, collapsing any disposition to find comfort. All he has
left is the itch and sting of the Earth, a blanket of nominal soil and
dirt. He speaks to himself,
     "I'm really dead."
     In grieving, Isaac forgot about Phantom, "Yes. You are dead."

     Isaac becomes vacant and lurid. He takes in the reminder. It's
calm, eerie. Time has stopped ticking, but Isaac can see it in the
things around him. He can touch the grass, but cannot feel the
individual blades. He can see the wind blowing, but the air does not
cool his skin. His memory of experiences decided to come with him when
he died. However, his body is a

     "The dead must realize they are dead, Mr. Enders. Do you now understand the situation you are in?"

     An obsequious Isaac nods.
     Phantom turns and retreats
toward the cathedral. Isaac follows. The collect of the dead still is
not welcomed. Elation sneaks into him. He catches some of the
gravestones that read similar to his: "Beloved", "full of heart", and
one reads "selfishly loved"; the phrases and words clog his head with
improper thoughts of suffering and the families and the friends. Isaac
sees flowers that lay in front. Pink camellias, purple hyacinth, even
cattails and arbutus. Nothing more than personified grief. I wonder what, or who, will place their sorrow on my grave. As they reach the end of the graveyard, Isaac looks back. Nothing but numbness invades him. He doesn't like feeling this numb.
     Once
to the front of the cathedral, Isaac sees his coffin being carried into
the hearse. He is soon to be put into the ground. He looks at Phantom,
who is facing the gathering. The parade of death trots around the street
corner. They watch as the line of cars leave a trail of misery. A knell
chants from above.
     There is an emotion, or perhaps a thought,
that calms the mind. It already has a notion of what the experience will
be; regardless of how it came to that conclusion, it will be there,
resting in the depth of the untouchable subconscious. That feeling or
thought came forward as Isaac saw his fleeing body. He had no control
over it; it wasn't his anymore. The dead revolve around the living.

     As the cars left one by one, there was lone person standing in
the parking lot. She holds her head down in her cupped hands. Phantom
and Isaac watch intently.

     "That's her," Isaac said.

     "We shall follow her home."

     Between the cathedral and their next destination, Isaac could
only shuffle along. His mind wants  to escape the damage. He now feels
with the subtle pressure nest. It feeds on the worry. Isaac must believe
in her; she is the only caravel to rest. A harsh distant reality is
where he is, but not included. Walking with Phantom is walking alone.

     "This is her place," Isaac said.

     Phantom only replied with a gentle nod, opening his cloak. Isaac entered.

     Eisley rests comfortably on the couch. She's silent. Her eyes
are sincere; a diamond blue hue softens her dark, long eyelashes. Her
skin is sweet and smooth. She is cut from marble but held together by
sentimental bones. Her curly amber hair lofts over her neck.
     Isaac
emerges from the furthest corner of the living room. Phantom does the
same. The apartment is in solidarity. The air is enticing; the
atmosphere is entrancing. In being invisible to the living, he absorbs
the abstract. Phantom's glare hovers over his shoulder.
     Isaac sighs, "It was not too long ago that I was in this very room. Strange how that all changed."
     Phantom
traces Isaac's steps, "Not entirely true. You are always here. As long
as you are remembered, then you have presence."
     Isaac picks up
on Eisley. Her laugh is subtle, but genuine. It takes a lot to make her
laugh, and he used to it all of the time. He misses the dimple that came
out from hiding after her wide smile.
     She flops the book down:
Chamber Music. She knows his taste. When she gets up she is hidden in
black. A sleek, tasteful dress that reveals her welcoming curves. She
goes into the bathroom, for only a minute, coming out with her shoes and
jewelry off.
     “So, we wait, correct?”
     “Yes.”
     She
dresses into her sleeping attire: plaid pajama bottoms and a t-shirt of
Barrow. He grins. She didn't listen to them before, but it was a shirt
he gave her.
     Eisley drops into bed, and is quick to close her
eyes. She releases a shaky sigh. Isaac knows she will soon be asleep
because he has felt that big exhale of air many times. One exhale and
she is out.
     She is a beautiful creature. He stands as still as
her. He doesn't want to disrupt the silence. Though, it's more than
silence; he can taste it. It's sincerely organic. And with the rotten
teeth of lovers, he devours it.
     “Lovely, isn't she?” a soft voice asks.
     Phantom and Isaac turn to see another cloaked figure, smaller though. This one's mask is a deep, metallic violet.
     “Hello, been awhile,” the mask says.
     “Likewise,”
Phantom replies with a bow. Phantom turns to Isaac, and with a shaded
gesture, says, “Mr. Enders, this is Sleep.”
     “Hello,” he squeezes from his tightening throat.
     Isaac
stands, amazed by these two souls. One is lean, assertive, housed in
storm-gray and a bone colored mask; the other is petite, welcomed by a
midnight blue coat and that immersed purple mask. The two compliment and
complement each other. A team of spirits become Isaac's only company.
Seems he does belong here.
     “Is she ready?”

     “Not quite.”
     The moonlight hugs her sheets and blankets.
Sleep then whips her cloak over her. The cover floats; like the night
sky in rhythmic waves, the ocean meets the shore. The room pauses.
     “Okay, she's ready,” Sleep remarks.
     “Please,
Mr. Enders,” Phantom extends his cloak toward the side of her bed.
“Just as we discussed; when you are ready, lay your hand on her
forehead.”
     Isaac's hand hovers indolently above her. While closing his eyes, a stirred hand lowers. Isaac takes in a loud breath.

***

     The train station is magnificent this time of year. The snow
falling, cold breezes, and the air brittle and thin. Isaac's warm breath
distantly travels. He doesn't want to feel this numb.
     “Eisley,” he says, “there is something I have for you. I don't have much time, so listen carefully.”
     “What is it, Isaac?”
     “In
my room, there is a safe behind my headboard. Enter your name in the
keypad and it will open. Take the papers to your lawyer.”
     “What?
What papers?” she asks as her grip gets tighter, drawing him close.
“Why to me? Why not your brother or your family? Why me?”
     “The
papers are for securities I made after I proposed to you. I put a large
amount of inheritance in them. It was meant for our retirement."
     Her eyes start to shine.
     “I'm
sorry I died young. And I'm sorry we didn't get to do what we wanted. I
told you I would take care of you, though, any way I could. This is the
least I can do.”
     She crumples into his chest, firmly holding the waist. He rests his head against the side of hers.
     
She is the embodiment of so many vast things. I am a victim of her
smile. In my damaged hands is her foregoing heart. An invited body of
charm curved against my rigid chest. She is the scar I enjoy, a reminder
that I'm alive. Time means nothing now; the harsh sands of time laced
in your fingerprints. The manifestation of my body will evaporate; pull
me in and kiss my lips.      “I'll be here for you, just like I said I would.”
     “Don't go.”
     “I'll see you again.”
     “I miss you.”
     “I miss you, too, darling.”
     “You'll always be alive to me.”
     “Even in death, you've given me life.”
     We
hold steady at the others fingertips, reaching out as the other begins
to slip. Collisions of restoration and bliss bring us together under
cotton coffins.

***

     “She knows,” Isaac says.
     Phantom and Sleep nod to one
another. Sleep backs away, fading into a shadowy corner,  “Mr. Enders, I
will look after her. She hasn't seen much of me, but I'm certain she
soon will. And please, be kind to Death when you meet. Death isn't as
bad as he seems.” Sleep unites with the darkness.
     “Mr. Enders,” Phantom whispers to Isaac, “we may go.”
     Phantom's
cloak wraps around Isaac. They drift, and drift. Isaac closes his eyes.
She has so much life left, and he has only death. He'll always feel
this numb.