The Gargoyle

But are people who hallucinate rational enough to realize it? Aren’t hallucinations supposed to be, by definition, irrational? I didn’t feel as if I’d lost touch with reality; in fact, this felt too much like reality. Do hallucinating people note air quality? Do they think about how long it takes before the wood of a coffin gives out, or how long before the worms find their way in? If I was really in withdrawal, why was I not craving my drug? So although I knew this experience couldn’t be real, I had to wonder why I was asking such logical questions.

It was not long before I discovered that withdrawing addicts lose their composure in exactly the same ma

Although there was clearly no room for leverage, I threw my fists around frantically, pounding at the wood weighted down with six feet of dirt. I clawed until my fingernails peeled back and screamed until my throat was emptied of all hope. I had believed, in the hospital, waiting for the next dйbridement session, that I knew fear. But that was bullshit; I’d known nothing. To wake alive in a coffin and know you’re waiting for the end? That’s fear.

My hysterical little rebellion proved useless, of course. So I stopped. Even if I somehow managed to break through the wood, it would not change the fact of my death, only the means: rather than be killed by lack of oxygen, I’d be suffocated by the dirt that stormed the coffin. As hungry as I was for air, the earth is always more ravenous. And so, a hush fell on my box like a cadaver’s blanket. With nothing to do but wait, I made the decision to be dignified.

My breath echoed, as if the coffin were a shabby little concert hall. I decided I would listen until I could listen no more, and then the very last, soft note of my final breath would trail out into the dark. I’d go gently, I promised myself, because I’d already-given the severity of my accident-managed to live much longer than I should have.

Then I realized how incredibly foolish this was, all this thinking about dying in a hallucination. No problem. Steady. What had I taught Maria

And then. I felt. Something. And this something can only be described by a word I don’t want to use: a new-age, stupid word that I must bring into play because, unfortunately, it is the only correct word. I felt a presence. And it was right beside me. A woman. I don’t know how I knew it was a woman, but it was. It was not Maria

But no, it was a human body calmly lying beside me. Which was ridiculous, because there was no room in the coffin-the imaginary coffin-for anyone else. Still, just in case, I snuggled against the wall on my side. Her breathing was relaxed, which somehow made it even more frightening.

A hand touched mine. I jerked away. I was surprised that I could feel her flesh; I had assumed this entity was immaterial. Her fingers were tiny but she was still able to force her hand into mine.

I tried to sound courageous while demanding to know who she was, but my voice broke. No answer. There was only the continuation of her breathing. Again: “Who are you?”

Her fingers gripped a bit tighter, intertwining with mine. I asked another question. “What are you doing here?”

There was still only the sound of her soft, relaxed breath. With every question she did not answer, I became a little less afraid. The way she clutched my hand was no longer menacing, but comforting, and soon I could feel myself lifting, almost-no, not almost: definitely-floating. My back began to lift away from the wood on which I lay.

I felt like a levitating assistant whose hand was being held by the magician. I felt us moving through the lid of the coffin, and then we were traveling up through the soil. An orange glow spread across the insides of my eyelids as we got closer to the surface, and I was not even sure whether I was still breathing.

I felt the tug of earth as I broke into the sunlight, and the color exploded. I was lifted upwards, a few inches above the surface of the ground. Soil trailed off my chest and I could feel it trickle down my ribs, falling from my sides. I was floating in the air unsupported; the woman did not break the grave’s surface with me. Only her hand came through, co

My body settled onto the mound of dirt. My eyes adjusted to the light. I was on a mountain and I could hear a river nearby. It was peaceful, just for a moment, until the ground beneath me started to move once more. For a panicked instant, I was worried that the silent woman had decided to pull me back down, but this was not what was happening. On all sides of me a hundred little eruptions began, like burrowing animals clawing their way out of the soil.

There were, at first, only glints in the light. But then shapes began to emerge: flowers, with colorless petals. When I looked closer, I could see that they were made of glass. Lilies. Blooming everywhere were a thousand glass lilies, glowing with pulses of light that seemed to come from within.

I reached out to pluck one. As soon as I touched it, it froze under my finger. Turning from glass into ice, all the thousands of flowers-as if they were co

The bursting lilies raced down the mountain like dominoes detonating their way to the horizon. Underneath the joyous blanket of Aishiteru in the sky, the mountain itself shook and trembled and fell, flattening itself into tundra that unfolded everywhere. Just moments after it began, all around me the frozen shards of flower had become a field of ice that extended as far as my eyes could see.

I stared into this vast icy wilderness and it stared mercilessly right back at me. The arctic wind whipped hard against my shaking body. I was now completely aware that I was naked, save for the angel coin necklace that never left my neck.

The grave was gone-naturally, now that the entire mountain had disappeared-but there was a simple robe lying where it had been. When I picked up the garment to measure it against my body, flecks of dirt fell from it and were carried away by the powdery ballet of the blowing wind. The robe was much too small but because it was all I had, I put it on. I looked as ridiculous as you might imagine a burnt man in a tiny woman’s garment would look, but when you’re freezing there’s little profit in worrying about fashion sense.

The robe was the same one that I had seen on the Japanese woman at the Halloween party. Without a doubt it, and the grave it had come out of, had belonged to Sei.