‘Easton,’ he
says. ‘I was just talking about you.’
I bite my tongue as the words ‘Only good things I hope’ poise themselves on my lips, ready to
be pushed over the top. Is this what middle age feels like? Have I become old
before my years.
I begin to consider how much
years matter anymore, I’m not exactly going to look any different as they roll
past.
‘This is Orson, Samad and Brady,’
he explains. ‘They died in a fire together.’
‘Oh god, I’m sorry,’ I say
before I can stop myself.
‘No use troubling yourself
there,’ says the man Yates indicated was Orson. He’s tall, with a long, pale
face. If I were someone who believed in such things, I would have said he was a
vampire. ‘I can’t even remember how long ago it was now.’
‘We here you’re venturing back to
the mortal coil, so to speak.’ Brady speaks with a thick Texas accent. He’s
rotund to the point of popping the buttons on his shirt. I wonder why his mind
didn’t shed a few pounds when he died?
‘Yes, after the singing,’ I
reply. ‘Why?’
‘We’d like to come with you,’
Brady continues. ‘There are quite a few of us here who would like to see some
real places again, if you know what I mean.’
‘Why didn’t you go before now?’
I ask.
Samad pipes up. He’s the youngest
of the three, but still older than Yates or I. I know so as his dark hair is
the only one not streaked with grey.
‘You’ll understand that people
are afraid,’ he says. ‘We’ve never had a mass exodus before. Safety in numbers
and all that. I suppose people think that if we’re all together, there’s less
chance of losing each other along the way. You’ve caused quite a stir.’
I’m
beginning to wonder why we seem to cause a stir wherever we go? I wonder what
would have happened if I’d just decided to stay put, find an old manor house on
a moor somewhere and decided to haunt it until I was run out or exorcised or something
similar.
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