The well-trodden floor beneath
my feet does not creak as I step on it, but I imagine it would if I were alive.
The wall is lined with pictures of the man whose memory inhabits these walls. He
enjoys life with his family, sits writing at an old roll-top desk, Robin Thacker
looks content in life. A full life that emerges in his writing, in characters
that feel like they can step from the page.
I walk the hall, scared that I’ll
set off an alarm. I smile, knowing that haunting a house didn’t really achieve
such things. It is as though I’m not here. I can sit and read the hundred year
old pages for as long as I wish, and no one will disturb me. As much as I want
to, I know I can’t, I came here to complete a mission.
As I pass what I assume used to
be Thacker’s living room, converted into a small café for customers, I make a
promise to come back here. Maybe in the daytime to share the experience with
people. An experience shared improves it tenfold.
It doesn’t take me long to find
manuscripts. There is a whole room towards the back of the house with a series
of long glass cases. I imagine it being dim during daylight to preserve the
yellowing pages. Even at this hour of the night, the heating is turned up. I
feel myself begin to sweat, but when I raise my hand to my brow, no moisture
comes away with my hand. I remember what
Yates said about the tea. This is the memory of sweating. My mind knows I
should, so I feel like I am.
I walk through the room slowly,
the carpet caressing the soles of my shoes. I wish I could spend more time
here. Snippets of lines I recognize from his books leap out of the cases. I see
that each page appears almost black, like it has been scribbled all over.
For a moment I’m offended. Who
would do such a thing? On closer inspection, nose pressed up against the glass
without the hint of a breath, I see a spidery handwriting that can only be
Thacker’s. He annotated all his books. I’m dying to read them, and explore
beyond the pages on display.
Quickly, I find what I’m looking
for. The Alchemist. It has been at
the back of my mind, following me through my introduction to the afterlife. As
I read the lines at the top of the page opened, I know why and it seems far too
obvious and more than a little unsettling.
It is the story of a ghost.
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