Richard Matheson - What Dreams May Come

He embraced me warmly, then drew back, still smiling. I looked at him. “Are you . . . Albert? ” I asked.

“That’s right.” He nodded.

It was our cousin, Robert; we always called him Buddy. He looked marvelous; as I recalled him appearing when I was fourteen. Amend that. He looked far more vigorous.

“You look so young,” I said. “No more than twenty-five.”

“The optimum age,” he replied. I didn’t understand that.

As he leaned over to stroke Katie’s head and say hello to her-I wondered how he knew her-I stared at something I haven’t mentioned about him. Surrounding his entire form was a shimmering blue radiation shot through with white, sparkling lights.

“Hello, Katie, glad to see him, are you?” he asked. He stroked her head again, then straightened up with a smile.

“You’re wondering about my aura,” he said.

I started, smiling. “Yes.”

“Everybody has them,” he told me. “Even Katie.” He pointed at her. “Haven’t you noticed?”

I looked at Katie in surprise. I hadn’t noticed-though, now that Albert had mentioned it, it was obvious. Not as vivid as his but perfectly clear.

“They identify us,” Albert said.

I looked down at myself. “Where’s mine?” I asked.

“No one sees his own,” he said. “It would be inhibiting.”

I didn’t understand that either but had another question more demanding at the moment. “Why didn’t I recognize you after I died?” I asked.

“You were confused,” he answered. “Half awake, half sleeping; in a kind of twilight state.”

“It was you in the hospital who told me not to fight it, wasn’t it?”

He nodded. “You were fighting too hard to hear me though,” he said. “Struggling for life. You remember a vague form standing by your bed? You saw it even though your eyes were closed.”

“That was not?”

“I was trying to break through,” he told me. “Make your transition less painful.”

“I guess I didn’t help you much.”

“You couldn’t help yourself.” He patted my back. “It was too traumatic for you. A pity it wasn’t easier though. Usually, people are met immediately afterward.”

“Why wasn’t I?”

“There was no way of getting to you,” he said. “You were so intent on reaching your wife.”

“I felt I had to,” I told him. “She was so frightened.”

He nodded. “It was very loving of you but it trapped you in the borderland.”

“That was horrible.”

“I know it was.” He gripped my shoulder reassuringly. “It could have been far worse though. You might have lingered there for months or years-centuries even. It’s not uncommon. If you hadn’t called for help-”

“You mean, until I called for help, there was nothing you could do?”

“I tried but you kept rejecting me,” he said. “It was only when the vibration of your call came through that I could hope to convince you.”

It struck me then; I don’t know why it took so long. I looked around in awe. “Then . . . this is heaven? ”

“Heaven. Homeland. Harvest. Summerland,” he said. “Take your choice.”

I felt foolish for asking but had to know. “Is it a-country? A state?”

He smiled. “A state of mind.”

I looked at the sky. “No angels,” I said, conscious of only half joking.

Albert laughed. “Can you conceive of anything more cumbersome than wings attached to shoulder blades?” he asked.

“Then there are no such things?” Again, I felt naive for asking but was too curious to repress the question.

“There are if one believes in them,” he said, confusing me again. “As I said, this is a state of mind. What does that motto on the wall of your office say? That which you believe becomes your world .”

I was startled. “You know about that?” I asked.

He nodded.

“How?”

“I’ll explain it all in time,” he said. “For now I only want to make the point that what you think does become your world. You thought it only applied to earth but it applies here even more since death is a refocusing of consciousness from physical reality to mental-a tuning into higher fields of vibration.”

I had an idea what he meant but wasn’t sure. I guess it showed in my expression for he smiled and asked, “Was that obscure? Put it this way then. Does a man’s existence change in any way when he removes his overcoat? Neither does it change when death removes the overcoat of his body. He’s still the same person. No wiser. No happier. No better off. Exactly the same.

“Death is merely continuation at another level.”

THE IDEA ONLY STRUCK ME THEN. I CAN’T CONCEIVE WHY IT TOOK so long except, perhaps, that there had been so many new amazing things to adjust to that my mind simply hadn’t found time for it until that moment.

“My father.” I said, “Your parents. Our uncles and aunts. Are they all here?”

“ ‘Here’ is a big place, Chris,” he answered with a smile. “If you mean did they all survive, of course.”

“Where are they?”

“I’d have to check,” he told me. “The only ones I know about for sure are my mother and Uncle Sven.”

I felt a glow of pleasure at the mention of Uncle’s name. The image of him sprang to mind: his bald, shiny head, his bright eyes twinkling behind horn rim glasses, his cheery expression and voice, his unfailing sense of humor. “Where is he?” I asked. “What does he do?”

“He works with music,” Albert said.

“Of course.” I had to smile again. “He always loved music. Can I see him?”

“Certainly.” Albert returned my smile. “I’ll arrange it as soon as you’ve become more acclimated.”

“And your mother too,” I said. “I never knew her very well but I’d certainly like to see her again.”

“I’ll arrange it,” Albert said.

“What did you mean about having to check?” I asked. “Don’t families stay together?”

“Not necessarily,” he told me. “Earth ties have less meaning here. Relationships of thought, not blood, are what count.”

That sense of awe again. “I have to tell Ann about this,” I said. “Let her know where I am-that everything’s all right. I want that more than anything.”

“There’s really no way, Chris,” Albert said. “You can’t get through.”

“But I almost did .” I told him how I’d gotten Marie to write my message.

“The two of you must have a great affinity,” he said. “Did she show it to your wife?”

“No,” I shook my head. “But I could try again.”

“You’re beyond that now,” he said.

“But I have to let her know .”

He put a hand on my shoulder. “She’ll be with you soon enough,” he told me gently.

I had no idea what else to say. The thought that there was no way left to let Ann know I was all right was terribly depressing. “What about someone like Perry?” I asked, remembering suddenly. I told Albert about him.

“Remember that you and he were on the same level then,” Albert said. “He wouldn’t be aware of you now.”

Seeing my expression, Albert put an arm around my shoulder. “She’ll be here, Chris,” he said. “I guarantee it.” He smiled. “I can understand your feeling. She’s a lovely person.”

“You know about her?” I asked, surprised.

“About her, your children, Katie, your office, everything,” he said. “I’ve been with you for more than twenty years. Earth time, that is.”

“ Been with me?”