Richard Matheson - What Dreams May Come

I saw a pale white column of light take form in front of me, a figure inside it. “You wish my help?” it asked. My mind was not perceptive enough to tell if it was male or female.

I tried to speak, then, from a distance, heard Ann call my name again and looked around.

“You could be here for a long time,” said the figure. “Take my hand.”

I looked back at it. “Do I know you?” I asked. I could hardly speak, my voice sounding lifeless.

“That’s not important now,” the figure said. “Just take my hand.”

I stared at it with vacant eyes. Ann called my name again, and I shook my head. The figure was trying to take me from her. I wouldn’t let it do that. “Get away,” I said. “I’m going to my wife.”

I was alone in fog once more. “Ann?” I called. I felt cold and fearful. “Ann, where are you?” My voice was dead. “I can’t see you.”

Something began to draw me through the mist. Something else attempted to restrain me but I willed it off; it wasn’t Ann, I knew that, and I had to be with Ann. She was all that mattered to me.

The fog began to thin and I found myself able to advance. There was something familiar about the landscape in front of me: broad, green lawns with rows of metal plaques flush with the surface, bouquets of flowers here and there, some dead, some dying, some fresh. I had been here before.

I walked toward a distant figure sitting on the grass. Where had I seen this place? I wondered, trying hard to recollect. At last, like a bubble forced up through a sea of ooze, memory rose. Vaughn. Somebody’s son. We’d known him. He was buried here. How long ago? the question came. I couldn’t answer it. Time seemed an enigma beyond solution.

I saw, now, that the figure was Ann and moved toward her as quickly as I could, my feelings a blend of joy and sorrow; I didn’t know why.

Reaching her, I spoke her name. She made no sign that she had seen or heard me and, for some inexplicable reason, I now found myself unsurprised by that. I sat beside her on the grass and put my arm around her. I felt nothing and she did not respond in any way, staring at the ground. I tried to understand what was happening but there was no way I could. “Ann, I love you,” I murmured. It was all my mind could summon. “I’ll always love you, Ann.” Despair began to blanket me. I gazed at the ground where she was looking. There were flowers and a metal plaque.

Christopher Nielsen/1927-1974 . I stared at the plaque, too shocked to react. Vaguely, I recalled some man addressing me, trying to convince me that I’d died. Had it been a dream? Was this a dream? I shook my head. For some reason I could not fathom, the concept that this was a dream was unacceptable. Which meant that I was dead.

Dead .

How could such a shattering revelation leave me so incredibly apathetic? I should have been screaming with terror. Instead, I could only stare at the plaque, at my name, at the year of my birth and the year of my death.

Slowly, an obsession started gathering in my mind. I was down there? Me? My body? Then I possessed the power to prove it all beyond a doubt. I could travel down there, see my corpse. Memory flickered. You can see inside it if you try . Where had I heard those words? I could see inside what?

Knowledge came. I could descend and look inside the casket. I could see myself and prove that I was dead. I felt my body easing forward, downward.

“Mom?”

I looked around in startlement. Richard was approaching with a thin, young man with dark hair. “Mom, this is Perry,” he said. “He’s the one I told you about.”

I stared incredulously at the young man.

He was looking at me .

“Your father is here, Richard,” he said, calmly. “Sitting near the plaque with his name on it.”

I struggled to my feet. “You can see me?” I asked. I was stunned by his words, his gaze directly on me.

“He’s saying something I can’t make out,” Perry said.

I looked at Ann, anxiety returning. I could communicate with her; let her know I still existed .

She was staring at the young man, her expression stricken. “Ann, believe him,” I said. “ Believe him.”

“He’s speaking again,” Perry told her. “To you now, Mrs. Nielsen.”

Ann shuddered and looked at Richard, speaking his name imploringly.

“Mom-” Richard looked uncomfortable and adamant at once. “-if Perry says that Dad is here, I believe him. I’ve told you how he-”

“Ann, I am here!” I cried.

“I know how you feel, Mrs. Nielsen,” Perry interrupted Richard, “but take my word for it. I see him right beside you. He’s wearing a dark blue shirt with short sleeves, blue checkered slacks and Wallaby shoes. He’s tall and blond with a husky build. He has green eyes and he’s looking at you anxiously. I’m sure he wants you to believe he’s really here.”

“Ann, please ,” I said. I looked at Perry again. “ Hear me,” I entreated him. “You’ve got to hear me.”

“He’s speaking again,” Perry said. “I think he’s saying- near me or something.”

I groaned and looked at Ann again. She was trying not to cry but couldn’t help herself. Her teeth were set on edge, her breathing forced and broken. “Please don’t do this,” she murmured.

“Mom, he’s trying to help ,” Richard told her.

“Don’t do this.” Ann struggled to her feet and walked away. “Ann, don’t go ,” I pleaded.

Richard started after her but Perry held him back. “Let her get used to the idea,” he said.

Richard looked around uneasily. “He’s here ?” he asked. “My father? ”

I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to be with Ann. Yet how could I leave the only person who could see me?

Perry had placed his hands on Richard’s shoulders and turned him until he faced me. “He’s in front of you,” he said. “About four feet away.”

“Oh, God.” Richard’s voice was thin and shaking.

“Richard,” I said. I stepped forward and tried to grasp his arms.

“He’s right in front of you now, trying to hold your arms,” Perry told him.

Richard’s face was pale. “Why can’t I see him then?” he demanded.

“You may be able to if you can talk your mother into a sitting.”

Despite the excitement Perry’s words created in me, I could stay with him no longer; I had to be with Ann. His voice faded quickly behind me as I started after her. “He’s moving after your mother,” he said. “He must want to-”

I could hear no more. Anxiously, I followed Ann, trying to overtake her. Whatever a sitting was-a seance?-Ann had to consent to it. I’d never believed in things like that, never even thought of them. I thought about them now. Perry had seen me, actually seen me. The thought that, with his help, Ann and the children might also see me, perhaps even hear me filled me with elation. There’d be no grief then!

I groaned with sudden dismay. A mist was gathering again, obscuring my view of Ann. I tried to run but my movements grew increasingly labored. I have to reach her! I thought. “Ann, wait! ” I called. “Don’t leave me!”

You have to move on , it seemed as though I heard a voice say in my mind. I wouldn’t listen to it, kept on moving, slower, slower, once more on the bottom of that murky lake. Awareness started failing. Please! I thought. There must be some way Ann can see me and be comforted to know I still exist!

I WAS WALKING UP THE HILL TO OUR HOUSE. ON EACH SIDE OF the driveway, pepper trees were stirring in the wind. I tried to smell them but I couldn’t. Overhead, the sky was overcast. It’s going to rain, I thought. I wondered why I was there.