Richard Matheson - What Dreams May Come

I wasn’t in that body, I realized then. I only observed it. Staring, I moved closer. The figure of myself looked corpselike. There was no expression on its face. It might have been a figure of me in a wax museum. Except that it was moving slowly like a winding down automaton.

I tore my gaze from it and looked around the living room. Ann was there, Richard, Ian and Marie; Perry, talking to the figure. Was it visible to all of them? I wondered, sickened. It was such a hideous sight.

“Where are you?” Perry was asking.

I looked at the cadaverous form. Its lips stirred feebly. When it spoke, its voice was not my own but a hollow, lifeless muttering as it said, “Beyond.”

Perry told my family. He addressed the figure once again. “Can you describe where you are?”

The figure didn’t speak. It shifted on its feet, eyes blinking sluggishly. At last it spoke. “Cold,” it said.

“He says it’s cold,” Perry told them.

“You said we’d be able to see him,” Marie said in a tight voice.

I looked at Ann. She was on the sofa, sitting between Ian and Marie, her body looking collapsed. Her face was white and masklike, she was staring at her hands.

“Please make yourself visible to everyone,” Perry said to the figure. Even now, his tone was arbitrary.

The figure shook its head. It answered, “No.”

I don’t know how I knew it but I did. The figure wasn’t speaking of its own accord. It merely parroted what Perry’s mind was feeding it. It wasn’t me in any way. It was a puppet he’d constructed with the power of his will.

I moved to Perry angrily and stood in front of him, blocking off his view of the figure. “Stop this,” I told him.

“Why can’t you manifest yourself?” he asked.

I stared at him. He couldn’t see me anymore . He was looking through me, at my waxlike effigy. Just as Ann had looked through me.

I reached out and tried to grab his shoulder. “What have you done?” I demanded.

He had no awareness of my presence. He kept speaking to the figure as I turned to Ann. She was bending forward now, shaking, both palms pressed across her lower face, eyes haunted, staring sightlessly. Oh, God , I thought in anguish. Now she’ll never know .

The figure had responded with its witless voice. I looked at it, revolted by the sight.

“Are you happy where you are?” Perry asked.

The figure answered, “Happy.”

“Have you a message for your wife?” Perry asked.

“Be happy,” mumbled the figure.

“He says be happy,” Perry said to Ann.

With a gagging sound, she struggled to her feet and ran from the room. “Mom!” Ian hurried after her. “Don’t break the circle!” Perry cried.

Marie stood up, incensed. “ Break the circle? You . . . ass! ” She ran after Ian.

I looked at the figure standing in our living room like a faded mannequin. Its eyes were those of a catatonic. “Damn you,” I muttered. I walked to it suddenly.

To my astonished loathing, I could feel its flesh as I grabbed for it. It was dead and cold.

Revulsion seized me as it grabbed my arms, its icy fingers clutching at me. I cried out, harrowed, and began to struggle with it. I was wrestling with my own corpse, Robert, my dead face inches from me, my dead eyes staring at me. “Get away!” I shouted. “Away,” it repeated dully. “Damn you!” I screamed. It muttered, “Damn you.” Horrified, my stomach wrenched by nausea, I jerked free of its numbing touch.

“Look out, he’s falling!” Perry cried. Suddenly, he fell back on the cushion of the chair he sat on. “He’s gone,” he murmured.

It was. As I’d pulled free, the figure had started toppling toward me, then, before my eyes, dissolved in midair.

“Something pushed him,” Perry said.

“For Christ’s sake, Perry.” Richard’s voice was trembling.

“Could I have a drink of water?” Perry asked.

“You said we’d see him,” Richard said.

“A drink of water, Richard?” Perry asked.

I looked at him closely as Richard stood and moved toward the kitchen. What was wrong with him? How could he have been so right, then so completely wrong?

I turned toward the kitchen, hearing the gurgle of the Sparklett’s bottle being tapped. Why had Richard become involved with Perry in the first place? I wondered. I knew he’d only meant to help but now things were worse than ever.

Turning back, I sat beside Perry. “Listen,” I said. He didn’t move, hunched over, looking ill. I reached out and touched his arm but he didn’t react.

“Perry, what’s the matter with you?” I demanded. He stirred uncomfortably. An idea struck me and I repeated the question in my mind.

He frowned. “Get away from me,” he muttered. “It’s over.”

“Over?” If I could have throttled him, I would have. “What about my wife? Is it over for her? ” Remembering, I repeated my words in thought.

“It’s over,” he said through clenching teeth. “That’s it .”

I started to think of a further message but, the instant I began, I stopped. He had shut himself off, enclosing his awareness in a carapace of will.

I looked around as Richard returned and handed Perry a glass of water. Perry drank it in a long, continuous swallow, then sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what happened.”

Richard gazed at him bleakly. “What about my mother?” he asked.

“We can try again,” Perry told him. “I’m sure-”

Richard stopped him with an angry sound. “She’ll never try again,” he said. “No matter what you tell her now, she won’t believe you.”

I rose and walked away from them. I had to leave; abruptly, that was clear to me. There was nothing more I could do. The thought came overwhelmingly:

From this moment on, my presence is invalid .

I TRIED TO MOVE AWAY FROM THE HOUSE, TO GO ON; SOMEWHERE, anywhere. Yet, even though the heaviness was gone, even though I felt immeasurably stronger, I was still unable to break free. There was no way I could leave: Ann’s despair held me in a vise. I had to stay.

In the instant of my thinking that, I found myself inside the house again. The living room was empty. Time had passed. I couldn’t tell how long though; chronology was beyond my grasp.

I walked into the family room. Ginger was lying on the sofa in front of the fireplace. I sat beside her. She didn’t even stir. I tried to stroke her head in vain. She slept on heavily. The contact had been broken and I didn’t know how.

Standing with a defeated sigh, I walked to our bedroom. The door was open and I went inside.

Ann was lying on the bed, Richard sitting next to her.

“Mom, why won’t you, at least, allow for the possibility that it might have been Dad?” he was asking her. “Perry swears he was there.”

“Let’s not talk about it anymore,” she said. I saw that she’d been crying again, her eyes red, the flesh around them swollen.

“Is it so impossible?” Richard asked.

“I don’t believe it, Richard,” she told him. “That’s all there is to it.”

Seeing the look on his face, she added, “Perry may have certain powers; I’m not denying that. But he hasn’t convinced me that there’s anything after death. I know there isn’t, Richard. I know your father’s gone and we have to-”

She couldn’t finish, her voice breaking off with a sob. “Please let’s not talk about it anymore,” she murmured.

“I’m sorry, Mom.” Richard lowered his head. “I was only trying to help.”