A living ghost…
… or a lucid dream?
It’s either one or the other, Andrew figures while staring into his resting body—a body he would have otherwise thought dead.
Knowing—or strongly suspecting—that he is now an astral projection, this formerly blind young man decides to inspect himself… as in his current phantom self. His hands, like the rest of his body, appear solid until he raises them in front of his bedroom window—the pale moonlight passes through his palms where the insides appear hollow and wax-like with not a single bone inside.
When he attempts then to ‘feel’ his hands, they phase right through each other, as do his wrists, forearms, and so on—they phase even through his own head.
Just what kind of ‘body’… or avatar… is this…??
He feels weightless… like he’s made almost entirely out of air now; he can’t even feel the wooden tiles beneath his feet, even while shuffling them and wiggling his toes on the flat surface. There isn’t a click or squeak that can be heard from his movements either—it’s all artificial. For Andrew, calling this surreal would be an understatement.
On the other hand, there’s this strange relief that he can’t yet describe… this feeling of being unburdened and boundless. Is this what it means to be a free spirit? Because from here, outside of himself, his problems look impossibly small now.
Glancing at the embers outside his window again, the boy decides that there is more he wants to see. Turning away from his bed, he approaches his closed door. Regarding each step he takes, it doesn’t feel any more like he’s walking… rather, it feels like he is gliding. When he reaches for the doorknob, his fingers melt through the round metal as anticipated. He seeps through the door like a wall of mist to find himself in the night-shaded corridor.
From here, he has a clear view of the stairs leading below, as well as the neighbouring door to his dad’s bedroom; he decides to check on the latter first. The way he enters, it feels like he’s violating someone’s privacy… but he advances anyway.
Inside, Andrew finds his dad resting peacefully on his king-sized bed, his head facing away from his own window. The man looks exactly as he remembers from his widow’s peak, his long bushy beard, and his sturdy, working-class build—come to think of it, this is actually his first time seeing him since that fateful incident, because again, his features are too detailed and accurate for any of this to be a dream.
Despite knowing how futile his efforts may be, he tries whatever method he can to wake him up. Since he can’t use his hands, he tries using his voice… but nothing comes out.
’… dad… dad!’
He tries again, a little louder… still nothing. His ‘mouth’ moves while the words scream in his head… but there’s no hint that they’re being received.
’Dad, come on… you really need to see this!’
But of course, his dad remains comfortably still… not even a slight stir.
Giving up shortly, Andrew exits the room to head downstairs.
As he descends, he begins wondering if this avatar is really just a visualized construct designed to accommodate his mind as he measures each step towards the foot of these stairs where the living room is.
When he reaches the bottom, he makes a hard turn for the kitchen where more of these embers can be seen through their generous windows, which his dad forgot to blind oddly enough.
As he walks through their dining table, he pauses in the middle to see the lower part of his body cut off, and without his shadow, he looks like a floating torso— it makes for an admittedly funny visual, albeit twisted too.
Continuing on, he approaches the windows. With the shimmering moonlight gleaming from their lake, he should be able to see his own reflection in the glass, yet all he gets is a pale, mirrored view of the kitchen—it’s like he doesn’t exist nor belong here. Then again, it makes sense since his astral form isn’t casting a shadow either.
Ultimately, this curious young man passes through these same windows to the outside. Looking down, he immediately notices his feet floating a few metres above the earthly ground, the same height as their home’s foundation, before settling on the forested soil thereafter.
So, there is some gravity while I’m in this state… good to know.
Andrew is more relieved that he didn’t sink through the earth like quicksand, because what a situation that would be. It’s one of those strange fears, he reckons.
Regardless, he returns his attention to the mysterious embers—if he can even call them that—surrounding his house. It boggles his mind where they came from and how they ended up here of all places. He can’t feel the wind, but he knows from the reactive trajectory of the trees that they’re acting somewhat independently...
… because what else can explain their orbiting motion?
What’s more, it’s the shape that they’ve formed together… it resembles a planetary belt like the one seen around Saturn. This, combined with the serene nightly backdrop, makes for an ethereal spectacle… a sight that he can’t behold with his own eyes, nor anyone else for that matter perhaps. He feels almost privileged.
Next, a handful of embers stray from their designated path towards him, drifting closely in front of his ‘face’. It’s this kind of randomness that feels weirdly deliberate, yet he can’t quite deduce why.
For whatever reason, another thought possesses Andrew to wave at these particles with his phantom arms—to his shock and awe, they react to his motion, spiralling rapidly before dispersing altogether. He promptly inspects his hands to see that they are still translucent…
‘H-How…??’ he mouths, baffled.
This shouldn’t be possible. His ghostly form should have no effect on the physical world whatsoever… so, how? Returning his gaze to the orbiting embers, he begins then to question their actuality, or more specifically, if he is actually ‘seeing’ what is in front of him at this very moment… and then he scoffs.
Of course, this was too good to be true...
… I really am just a dreamer.
Despite this realization, there’s little to no desire for him to be anywhere else; after all, who would want to dream up such a scenario and then leave? Or maybe he’s just an exception… an anomaly for all he knows. Then again, who else is going to care? He may as well enjoy it before he inevitably—
Something else, right then and there, yanks his attention—a sudden movement that causes him to flinch. He sees it higher above, a feathered creature circling his house in the opposite direction of the embers like a vulture. But this is obviously no vulture. What he sees from its smaller frame, angelically kempt wings, sharply defined tufts, and glowering red irises… is yet another bloody owl.
But wait… why are its irises red? Wouldn’t an owl’s eyes be typically golden yellow or black as beads? He knows for a fact that there are ones with orange-reddish eyes too, but those aren’t as common either. But never—not once—has he ever seen an owl with eyes as crimson as the devil… to him, it looks dangerously wrong, even in these otherworldly circumstances.
Sometimes, it worries the boy what his imagination is capable of producing—then again, what the hell does he know about fiction and reality anymore?
When the owl unexpectedly lands in front of a bedroom window, which Andrew recognizes as his own, it begins tapping its beak on the glass, as if trying to wake the person inside rather persistently.
’What can it possibly want with me?’ he wonders loudly.
Presently, a loud tapping noise rings in his left ear—it matches the rhythm exactly. Except it sounds closer than it should be… unnervingly close. But it doesn’t make sense. This racket should be coming distantly from above where the owl is perched in relation to him, not right beside him. Unless…
All of a sudden, there’s this flickering sensation—he feels it through his entire being, like a power cable had been kicked loose. He feels his consciousness slipping, his grip on this ‘reality’ hanging by its last thread. But it’s also here that the realization hits him—the sound he is hearing isn’t being received by his projected form at all…
Just like that… Andrew snaps awake, his real eyes shooting open—but also wide shut —as they are once again gaping into nothingness with every blink.
As he sits up, there’s this residual vibration purring through him—it’s everywhere. Massaging his temples where it’s most prominent, he quickly realizes that he can touch his own skin again, along with the entire rest of his body from head to toe, the bedcovers hugging his legs snugly. As well as that, he can feel the mattress wrinkle and deform under his shuffling weight once more. With his heart doing a drumroll against his chest, there’s no doubt in his mind that he is back—something akin to a hypnic jerk.
But before he can process anything further… the tapping noise persists, again from his left. Gradually, he veers to his window with a bewildered scowl.
“The fuck…?” moans Andrew, having regained his voice too.
Not only does the tapping persist, but it grows louder and more desperate with each passing second, almost like whatever is outside—which he can already deduce from the sound of its grazing feathers and incessant screeching—is trying to break in.
In response, he palms the window in an attempt to scare it off. The owl flinches but doesn’t relent—rather, it doubles down, as if challenging him to a confrontation.
This, in turn, fuels the boy’s agitation. “What do you WANT from me!?” he shouts while banging the glass harder. “Just leave me the fuck alone!”
But again, the owl refuses—it just wants trouble.
Knowing better than to engage with such an animal, Andrew backs away from the window until one of his supporting hands misses the edge of his mattress, causing him to topple off, his back hitting the floor with a rumbling thud.
The owl’s knocking ceases. Confused at first, he then hears footsteps thundering towards his room. With a loud click, the door whooshes open, and his dad, James, barges in to aid his son, despite his own glaring fatigue from being rudely awakened.
“Son… are you okay??” He scoops Andrew off the floor. “What happened??”
Luckily, the fall didn’t hurt him too much. “I’m okay, dad,” he clarifies, rubbing the slight soreness, before pointing the old man to his window. “Just a noisy… b-bird.”
“A bir—?” When his dad spares a glance while lifting his son to his feet, he stiffens at what he sees. “Holy M-Mother of God…” he whispers hauntingly.
“What?” Andrew’s head swivels between him and the window alarmingly. “What!? What is it!?” he demands. “Dad…” he asks one more time, calmer now, “… what are you seeing??”
There’s a lengthy pause before his dad finally answers, “They look like embers… or fireflies, even.”
His son frowns disbelievingly. “Firefl—?” It takes him a second to realize what his father actually means. “Embers?? You mean…” his voice trails off as a shiver runs down his spine, raising the hair on the back of his neck—he wasn’t dreaming them. “… you can see them too??”
“See them too??” James raises an eyebrow, questioning those exact words. “What do you mean by that?”
Andrew doesn’t answer, not knowing how to at the moment.
With a mix of concern, hope glimmers on the man’s face. “Are you telling me you can see again?”
“Not exactly,” the boy stammers. “It’s… hard to explain.”
He returns his gaze to the window, his father now seeing what he can’t anymore. Only now, does he notice the owl’s absence; it must have flown off when his dad entered. It’s a cruel trade—his sight in exchange for his body back.
“Try me,” his dad responds while taking Andrew’s shoulder.
After that strange event, Andrew found it impossible to go back to sleep. His dad took him downstairs to make him a hot cup of cocoa. Once they were seated at the kitchen table, James listened carefully without judgement as his son, in between sips, recounted the whole situation as simply and precisely as he could.
“Is any of this making sense to you?” questions Andrew upon finishing.
“Well…” his dad pauses while cocking his head, “… most of it.”
The boy sighs in annoyance. “Do you need me to run it back?”
“No need,” the man assures.
“Okay.” Andrew takes another sip before motioning him to their kitchen window, suddenly remembering, “You left those blinds open, by the way.”
“Oh, right.” Acknowledging the suggestion, the man gets up to close those blinds before looking back in further amazement. “And you discovered this too with your… third eye?”
Andrew nods while taking his next sip. “It gave me a nice view of our lake though, the moon reflection especially.”
“But the embers…” James sits back down while lacing his hands, “… where did they come from?”
“I don’t know, but…” Andrew trails off, thinking hard, until his lost friend comes to mind, “… wait, I think Edge mentioned seeing embers too.”
“You think?”
“No, I…” he jogs his memory harder, “… no, I remember!” It comes back to him now. “It was just after he found me. He told me about the embers. We were surrounded by them in the clearing.”
“What colour were they?”
“I don’t know,” he shakes, losing certainty again. “He didn’t say.”
“Embers are usually yellowish orange like fire,” James points out.
“I know, but the ones I— we saw—were bluish white… weren’t they?” Setting down his cup, Andrew slumps in his chair. “Guess I’ll never know if he saw the same embers we saw.”
“Speaking of which…” his dad, remaining seated, squints through a gap between the blinds one more time, “… they seem to all be gone now.”
Andrew shrugs while remarking bitterly, “The owl too, I hope.”
Having finished his drink soon after, he gets up to wash it in the sink. His dad follows suit, offering to help, but is waved off. “It’s alright, dad, I got this.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” the boy insists.
“Okay.”
Backing away, James allows his son to clean up after himself while leaning next to him on the counter. Despite his impairment, Andrew handles the task fine.
“Not bad,” he comments proudly.
“Did I miss a few spots?”
He inspects Andrew’s cup before shaking. “Spotless.”
“That’s a first.” With a smirk, Andrew sets it down on their drying rack. Gazing ahead, he sighs through his partly clogged nostrils when another question pops up. “What do you think this all means?”
His dad hesitates as expected. “I, uh… wish I could tell you.” He then adds, “But I don’t think you should worry about this anyhow. This stuff… it’s beyond our understanding.”
“If that’s the case…” Andrew counters, “… why did it come to us?”
“I don’t know…” his dad answers with an awkward wave, “… but like I said, you shouldn’t concern yourself with this stuff. Besides, aren’t you dealing with enough?”
Andrew nods mutely, deciding then to keep the rest of his thoughts to himself. As usual, his dad makes a valid point. Unfortunately, when a mind like his own fixates on something, it doesn’t let go… which is bound to drive him insane.
