Esther couldn’t see very far along the path. Though it looked straight, it disappeared into an impenetrable haze – not of smoke or of fog, but a haze it seemed of the distant unknown, or a dreamy forgetfulness. Other-worldly it felt, yet not sinister. Part of her old curiosity was rekindled, but more than that, she felt somehow that she could trust this trail, though it was of course completely unknown to her. In fact, it seemed so quiet and still and hazy and alone that she wondered at first if anyone had ever known this trail before. Yet, as she stared down it, she saw – or thought she saw – a few fleeting glimmers of light and moving shadows, and caught what might have been the whispers of half-words, and sensed there was a whole world full of life and activity down that path, as she felt herself drawn more and more strongly towards it.
She checked her watch, which, like the rest of her life, she always kept a couple of minutes too fast. 1:11. There was time. As she let her feet take a first step onto the path’s threshold, to the familiar crunch of dry leaves, she felt something snap inside of her. A breaking off, as if she was boldly forging a new path of her own. Perhaps also a snapping into place, as if she was connecting with a great number of others who also had known this path. It grew suddenly darker as she entered the wood. Not just shadowed. Veiled, almost, by a mist that couldn’t be felt. She looked back. The maple archway was still there, with the sunshine beyond, but it seemed distant, and was growing more distant with every moment.
It did not take her long to decide that there was, for sure, something very different about this path. The surroundings were always changing. Sometimes she was in thick woods that looked familiar. But a few minutes later she might be in a tall cornfield – which for some reason had not yet been harvested – or bordering a bog – which was strange because she had never seen or heard of there being any bogs around Harrisburg. The weather also seemed sporadic, and as temperamental as Scotland's skies. The clouds were constantly changing direction and color, and no sooner would it start raining than it would clear up. Regardless of what was around her, she had trouble seeing it, for everything still seemed misty and blurry, alive and ever-changing yet intangible, so near yet severely distant.
It was fascinating in its own way though. Why didn’t she go on walks like this more often? Sometimes she would see people at a distance, maybe a farmer in her tractor or some boys fishing on a lake, but they never noticed her, even when she waved. Maybe it was the mist. But it felt like more than that, that there was some sort of invisible barrier between her and the rest of the world. Every noise sounded muted as well. It reminded her of Lucy seeing the underwater people of the Narnian Worlds. Despite the fluidity of her surroundings, the path always took her straight and level. Though the dirt beneath her was soft; her chunky-heeled boots left no prints.
Esther came upon a cemetery where a number of cars were parked, and walked more cautiously. Curious, she ventured off the trail towards a group standing around a casket and hole. It was bitter cold, the winter sky a clear blue. She heard the somber drone of a reader, and as she got closer caught a glimpse of a few of the faces. She was surprised to recognize one of them, an uncle of hers. Then she saw a cousin. Fear crept into her heart. Was this funeral for someone she knew? Why hadn't they told her? She rushed forward, only to hit her shin on the top of a gravestone, crying out sharply in pain. Embarrassed, she got up hesitantly, but no one even looked over at her. Slowly, again, she approached. A number of her extended family were present. Then she saw her grandma, standing closest to the headstone. Weeping.
"Grandma!" Esther called to her, whether out of confusion or pity she wasn’t quite sure.
She had never pitied her grandma before, but she had also never seen her stoic face show any tears, except once at grandpa's burial. Nudging her way through the small crowd, Esther ran up to her grandma and gently took her hand, then offered a hug, not quite sure what to say.
"It's ok, Grandma, it'll be ok. But what happened?"
There was no response.
"Please tell me, what's happening?"
Her grandma looked down, but not at her, and grabbed a tissue from her purse with which to wipe her eyes.
"Grandma?!"
Esther looked around. No one was taking any notice of her, despite the interruption. She saw the coffin, plain and deep black just like her grandpa's had been. The fear crept back, but she tried to hold back the growing panic, the terrible knowledge that part of her already knew.
"Grandma!" she screamed.
The reader droned on. What was happening? She couldn't stand it, had to get away from all these people to think clearly, get away from this spectre of death... She forced her way back through the crowd, hardly noticing her parents on the opposite side of the coffin.
As she ran back across the cemetary, she found herself second-guessing whether she had just imagined seeing her parents, but then realized there had been someone else with them. A young girl in a sleek new black dress, standing right next to her mother and holding her hand. The girl had been staring at the ground, but had looked just like … but it couldn't be.
Esther ran on madly, at times wiping the intermittent rain and tears from her eyes to try to see better, or at least well enough to stay on the path. She didn’t know where she was going but the adrenaline kept her moving, kept her distracted. Everything and everyone around her still seemed distant, quiet, blurry. She wondered if she was dreaming. She had heard of things like this, lucid dreams you get stuck in. But her surroundings felt too detached to be part of her mind. They seemed very much external, all too real. In fact, the thought crossed her mind, what if everything around her, rather than being a dream, was more real than herself – what if she were the one that was silent and invisible, a ghost moving among the living.
