Above the Vaulted Sky - Page 37

            Loud noises have always made me jump and apparently nothing changes in death.

A few seconds after the book’s pages leave the display case, the loudest alarm I have every heard erupts all around me. It’s the sort of loudness that takes over everything to such a great extent that you forget where you are for a second, and even what you’re doing.

            I come to my senses halfway down the hallway. Clutching the precious, stolen book in hand, I steal across the carpet, taking a deep breath as I plunge into the door, emerging on the doorstep.

            Dogs bark outside and as I look to my left I see one, behind the bars of the front gate of the house next door. I’ll never know for sure, but I’m certain he’s looking at me.

            The alarm still behind me, I don’t stop to consider. My human instincts still ruling my spirit ones, I tear across the roads, passing through a gate of one of those parks that sit before squares of houses all over London.

I feel the easier sensation of passing through matter that already has large gaps in it, almost like I’m not squeezed quite so much.

The fence and the canopy of trees high above appear to shut off the sound of the alarm a little. I duck into a thick bush and crouch down on the cold earth. It is only then that I fully remember that I’m invisible to everyone. Everyone except the dog.

I shake my head, clutching the book to my chest. The dog couldn’t see me, it was just a coincidence. He was looking at the source of the street-wakingly loud sound.

I wonder if he could he see the book though. Logic dictates that since I was able to pass the book through the glass, the book has taken on the same structure as me, simply through touch. Does this mean that I’ve taken on some sort of conductive property? Everything I touch seems to react in some way; solid matter I can pass through, equally solid objects I can take through anything. Even when I touch humans they involuntarily shudder. Is that what they’re feeling? What would even happen if I touched them for longer? The scientist in me wants to find out, but it would be difficult in my current form. Test subjects don’t really throw themselves at the feet of ghosts.

I’ve regained my breath. I know I have to go back. I promise myself I’ll return within the night. I pray I don’t cause too much distress in the time the book is gone.
I close my eyes and count to ten, imagining the feeling of the dewy grass and the smell of hay, the pinpricks of light in the distance reaching through the darkness.