Richard Matheson - What Dreams May Come

There is more .

I OPENED MY EYES AND LOOKED UP. OVERHEAD, I SAW GREEN FOLIAGE and, through it, blue sky. There was no sign of mist; the air was clear. I took a breath of it. It had a cool, invigorating smell. I felt a gentle breeze against my face.

Sitting up, I looked around. I’d been lying on a patch of grass. The trunk of the tree I sat beneath was close by. I reached out and felt its bark. And something more-a kind of energy flowing from it.

I reached down and touched the grass. It looked immaculately cared for. I pushed aside a clump of it and examined the soil. Its color was complementary to the shade of the grass. There were no weeds of any kind.

Pulling out a blade of grass, I held it against my cheek. I could feel a minuscule flow of energy from it as well. I sniffed its delicate fragrance, then put it in my mouth and chewed as I used to do when I was a boy. I never tasted grass like that when I was a boy.

I noticed, then, there were no shadows on the ground. I sat beneath a tree yet not in shade. I didn’t understand that and looked for the sun.

There wasn’t any, Robert. There was light without a sun. I looked around in confusion. As my eyes grew more accustomed to the light, I saw further into the countryside. I had never seen such scenery: a stunning vista of green-clad meadows, flowers and trees. Ann would love this, I thought.

I remembered then. Ann was still alive. And I? I stood and pressed both palms against the solid tree trunk. Stamped on solid ground with my shoe. I was dead; there could be no question about it any longer. Yet here I was, possessed of a body that felt the same and looked the same, was even dressed the same. Standing on this very real ground in this most tangible of landscapes.

This is death? I thought.

I looked at my hands; the details of their lines and ridges, all the varied folds of skin. I examined the palms. I studied a book on palmistry once; for fun, to be able to do it at parties. I’d studied my palms and knew them well.

They were still the same. The life line was as long as ever, I remembered showing it to Ann and telling her not to worry, I was going to be around a long time. We could laugh about that now if only we were together.

I turned my hands over and noticed that their skin and nails were pink. There was blood inside me. I had to shake myself to make certain I wasn’t dreaming. I held my right hand over my nose and mouth and felt breath pulsing warmly from my lungs. I pressed two fingers to my chest until I found the right spot.

Heartbeat , Robert. Just as always.

I looked around abruptly at a flash of movement. An exquisite, silver-plumaged bird had landed on the tree. It seemed completely unafraid of me, perching close by. This place is magic, I thought. I felt dazed. If this is a dream, I told myself, I hope I never wake from it.

I started as I saw an animal running toward me; a dog, I realized. For several moments, it didn’t register. Then, suddenly, it all rushed over me. “Katie!” I cried.

She ran toward me as fast as she could, making those frantic little whimpers of joy I hadn’t heard in years. “Katie,” I whispered. I fell to my knees, tears starting in my eyes. “Old Kate.”

Abruptly, she was with me, bouncing with excitement, licking my hands. I put my arms around her. “Kate, old Kate.” I could barely speak. She wriggled against me, whimpering with happiness. “Kate, is it really you? ” I murmured.

I took a closer look. The last time I had seen her was in an open cage at the vet’s; sedated, lying on her left side, eyes staring sightlessly, limbs twitching with convulsions they could not control. Ann and I had gone to see her when the doctor had called. We’d stood beside the cage a while, stroking her, feeling stunned and helpless. Katie had been our good companion almost sixteen years.

Now she was the Katie I remembered from the years when Ian was growing up-vibrant, full of energy, eyes bright, with that funny mouth that, open, made her look as though she were laughing. I hugged her with delight, thinking how happy Ann would be to see her, how happy the children would be, especially Ian. The afternoon she’d died, he’d been at school. That evening, I had found him sitting on his bed, cheeks wet with tears. They’d grown up together and he hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye to her.

“If only he could see you now,” I said, hugging her, overjoyed by our reunion. “Katie, Katie.” I stroked her head and body, scratched her wonderful floppy ears. And felt a rush of gratitude toward whatever power had brought her to me.

Now I knew this was a lovely place.

It’s hard to say how long we stayed there, visiting. Katie lay beside me, warm head on my lap, occasionally stretching, sighing with contentment. I kept stroking her head, unable to get over the pleasure of seeing her. Wishing again and again that Ann were there.

It was only after a long time that I noticed the house.

I wondered how I could have missed it; it was only a hundred yards away. The sort of house Ann and I had always planned to build some day: timber and stone with enormous windows and a huge deck overlooking the countryside.

I felt immediately drawn to it; I didn’t know why. Standing, I began to move toward it, Katie jumping up to walk beside me.

The house stood in a clearing ringed by beautiful trees-pines, maples and birches. There were no outside walls or fences. To my surprise, I noticed that there was no door at the entrance either and that what I’d taken for windows were only openings. I noticed, too, the lack of pipes and wires, fuse boxes, gutters and television aerials, the form of the house harmonious with its surroundings. Frank Lloyd Wright would have approved, the thought occurred. I smiled, amused. “He might actually have designed it, Katie,” I said. She looked at me and, for a fleeting moment, I got the impression that she understood me.

We walked into a garden near the house. In its center stood a fountain made of what appeared to be white stone. I approached it and dipped my hands into crystal water. It was cool and, like the tree trunk and grass blade, emitted a soothing flow of energy. I took a sip of it. I’d never tasted water so refreshing. “Want some, Kate?” I asked, looking at her.

She made no move but I received another impression: that water was no longer needed by her. Turning back to the fountain, I raised some water in the cupped palms of my hands and washed it over my face. Incredibly, the drops ran off my hands and face as though I’d been waterproofed.

Amazed by each new facet of this place, I walked, with Katie, to a bank of flowers and leaned over to smell them. The subtlety of their odor was enchanting. Too, their colors were as varied as the colors in a rainbow though more iridescent. I cupped my palms around a golden flower edged with yellow and felt a tingling of that energy running up my arms. I put my hands around one flower after another. Each gave off a stream of delicate force. To my added amazement, I began to realize that they were, also, generating soft, harmonious sounds.

“Chris!”

I turned quickly. A nimbus of light was entering the garden. I glanced at Katie as she started wagging her tail, then looked back at the light. My eyes adjusted and it began to fade. Approaching me was the man I’d seen-how many times? I couldn’t recall. I’d never noticed his clothes before; a white, short-sleeved shirt, white slacks and sandals. He walked up to me, smiling, arms outstretched. “I felt your nearness to my home and came immediately,” he said. “You made it, Chris.”