Hope in the Afterlife

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It's been centuries wandering the ancient ruins of a kingdom long forgotten. No one thought the battle would end with everyone dying. Least of all, me. But here I am, a necromantic ghost stuck in the same place, with not another soul to keep me company.

You would think a battle fought on a castle's ground would leave tons of ghosts, but every person felt so convinced of their reason for fighting that dying was an honor to the cause. No unfinished business here.

Except for me.

They needed healers, but what can I do with necromancy? I did not want to help kill those around me. Everyone already slighted me and looked down on my magic, afraid I would one day turn into an evil man who would rain down chaos, death, and destruction. But that was never me. Instead of focusing on destruction, I spent all my life bringing all kinds of things back from the dead—plants, trees, animals, and finally humans.

Yes, some of my learning led to exceedingly strange and grotesque results, but I had gotten so good with my timing that I could bring back anything within a certain window. They would be exactly as they were, with no ill side effects.

When the slaughter inevitably ensued, I made myself useful in a way no one expected. I saved those slain on the battlefield. Just as their hearts stopped and their souls started to gently slip away, I brought them back. With the help of a healer, she would heal their body, and I would bring their soul back so they could keep fighting. That was until they realized what we were doing. Then I became enemy number one.

It didn't take long before they cut me down. The woman who helped me, Ester, was a wonderful woman; she saw what I was doing and, without a word, was by my side until the end. She tried to heal me, but the wounds were too grievous to heal while my soul clung to my body. My soul would need to leave and come back, but without me, it was impossible.

Now, here I sit, alone. Animating the bones of long-lost warriors, healers, and all those in between. They aren't alive, though. Their souls are all long gone and crossed over.

I move my hands with a flourish as I've done for centuries, and the bones move from the crumbling stone floor and form a perfect human skeleton, if it were missing a rib or two, but otherwise very accurate. I make it walk back and forth as a soldier would. I drop my head onto my fist, completely bored while I sit cross-legged. I sigh and let the bones clatter to the floor.

"Why is the afterlife so boring?" I moan out to no one. There is never anyone. I've expected at this point for some other civilization of people to find this place and make it theirs. Nothing. Utterly alone.

I replay the last days that led me to this and wonder if I should've done something else. Maybe I should've been the evil man they all expected of me. Hell, I fit the bill. I was tall, brooding, and dark. My hair was atramentous, and the sun absolutely hated me. I steered clear of it, leaving my skin pale and ghostlike. Plus, what necromancers do should be done in the dark, obviously.

I kept to myself more often than not, but not by choice. I tried reaching out and making friends, but most didn't want an outcast with magic hanging around, let alone one that brought back the dead.

As the past comes back, inevitably, all the things I'd never have the chance to do follow. I would never travel. I would never spend late nights hunched over books, trying to learn everything I could about my magic and the world around me. I would never find love. Never find a woman I could lavish with affection and one day raise a family with.

Nope. Not in the cards for me. I heave another sigh at the eternal disappointment I face. Sure, I saved people, but they ultimately went back out to fight and likely died all over again. The work I did was all for naught.

I'm stuck here. Then a random thought occurs. What if I'm not stuck here? What if I can leave? I've never actually tried to leave before. I've wandered this castle endlessly, watching nature retake everything, and the things inside it slowly rot or wither away into dust. I look out to the forest that has reclaimed a lot of the castle and the town that was once there.

I move off the stone floor and toward the forest. Nothing seems to stop me. No ethereal tether tugs me back to the place I died. I go further and further, seeing unrecognizable remnants of old homes. I know it's a home because I've watched it deteriorate over time, but to the layperson, it's just a heap of dirt, sticks, and tall grass.

Nothing snaps me back like I thought would happen. I keep going. Nothing but forest surrounds me, and I come to the Silver Rock River. It looks pristine and untouched. The water runs clear now that people aren't using it. A deer runs past on the other side with a smaller doe beside it.

I laugh. That's the first living creature I've seen in ages. I've seen birds from a distance, but they often leave me well enough alone. As usual.

I travel for miles until the sun begins to set. I'm still in the thick of the forest when, through the trees off in the distance, it looks hazy.

Maybe I've come across a larger water source and its mist? But that can't be right. The sea should still be far off. I keep going until I'm close enough to see it's not water at all but a fire. I watch as the flames flicker and flare in the breeze. I get closer until I'm directly next to it.

I was so engrossed in the flames I never took notice of the small cottage not too far off until a small woman holding a large pot stepped outside.

I freeze. She stops in her tracks and looks around.

"Is someone there?" she asks. Her eyes squint to see into the dark.

I'm so afraid I don't dare move or make a sound. Well, if I can make a sound. I'm not entirely sure I could. I open my mouth but snap it shut. I don't want to scare the poor woman.

After no one answers her, she busies herself with setting her pot over the fire and adding a number of ingredients. Once she's done, she wipes the sweat from her brow and sits on a piece of fallen log. She wipes her hands on her apron and stares out into the surrounding forest. This time, she looks more at ease and less suspicious of something lurking nearby.

She heaves a sigh before standing again and stirring the contents. Then she turns and walks back inside her cottage.

If I could breathe, I know I would have just taken my first full breath after seeing her. Her hair was as light as gold. It wasn't unheard of when I was alive, but it was far less common, and her eyes reflected the flames, making the hazel color come to life. She wasn't exactly small for a woman. She was average height with a rounder build that spoke of hard work rather than laziness.

She walked out of the cabin again, this time holding a bowl and spoon with a piece of crusty bread. I had forgotten the taste of food. I suddenly missed bread. I can imagine whatever soup or stew she's cooking must be delicious, but I can't smell anything. Realizing I had forgotten so much about being alive, I try to remember. I forgot what food feels like on the tongue and the heat of a good stew. The sensation of holding a wooden bowl in my hand, or even the crumbs I would wipe away for being bothersome. I miss it all.

She stirs her pot again after setting aside her bowl. With the way the fire is raging, it didn't take long for everything inside her pot to come to a rolling boil.

She scoops out a ladleful and sits down. I watch her curiously as she blows on the food and takes a bite.

She hums in delight. "You've done it again, Bernadette."

Bernadette. What a unique name. I sit on the ground and watch her eat. The urge to say something strikes, but again, I don't know if I can or if she will see me.

Once she finishes eating and cleaning up, she heads inside. I want to follow, but that seems like an invasion of privacy I'm not willing to cross. So I head off. If someone lives in the forest this far out, a town must be close by. I keep going on until I've found the outskirts of a small town that has gone quiet. There is one building that still seems to buzz with activity. As I walk closer, a man is thrown through the doors and out onto the street right in front of my feet.

"Go home, Arthur! You're causing a ruckus."

The man, who I assume is Arthur, stands and points his finger at the other man in the doorway. "I'm not going anywhere. That bastard cheated me, and I will not be made a fool."

"Arthur, you're drunk, and you've already made yourself the fool. Leave now, or I'll send word to your wife."

Arthur stiffens. "You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, I would. Now go on. Get!"

Arthur turns and kicks at the dirt of the road. Intrigued, I follow him as he walks, muttering angrily to himself and occasionally yelling obscenities behind him, cursing the man who cheated him.

His head hangs low as he approaches a small cottage. The door swings open, and I expect to find an angry woman ready to berate her husband. But she looks at him with quiet disappointment.

"Word travels fast," he mumbles.

"It does." It's all she says as she steps aside to allow him entry.

Apparently, the man had gambled what little money they had in hopes of getting more for them. But the woman wasn't angry and didn't even raise her voice; he felt the sting of her disapproving looks and sullen mood.

I haven't seen interactions like this in my entire life... or afterlife. I can be a fly on the wall and watch so many interactions and situations unfold. Knowing now that I can move about the world opens up so many more opportunities and adventures. Sure, I can't interact with the world around me the way I used to, but I can certainly try. My mood lifts as I move on from Arthur and his wife with a new sense of hope I haven't had in a long time.

Maybe I will find more ghosts along the way and find someone to commiserate with. Now the real adventure begins: finding other spirits stuck between worlds, so we won't have to be so alone anymore.