From Beyond
Based off of La Morte, by Guy de Maupassant.
He did not have to die the way he did. He did not deserve it.
I don't have to tell you how it started, you probably have an idea of what love is. I will tell you that Matthew first started out as an awesome friend, and slowly became an awesome partner. We did things that every-most couples did: go on dinner dates, argued, post photos of each other on Facebook until our friends got annoyed with our happiness, go on trips to awesome places, and… other stuff. Never once had we ever lied or kept secrets from one another. We'd only been together for a year and a half, and I thought that I already knew Matthew inside out. I was wrong. So, so very wrong.
We both left for work at nine, only Matthew worked in a bookstore not far from our flat, and I worked out of town. That day, my boss asked me if I could stay 'just one extra hour' because there was a ton of documents that had to be archived by the following morning. He's a nice guy and doesn't usually ask me to do this kind of thing, so I said yes. I called Mattie to tell him that I would be home late. He replied that it wasn't a problem and that he'd leave dinner for me. So I archived all the documents, packed my bag and headed off for the train.
Only, the train arrived twenty minutes late, and when it finally arrived I was told that it only stopped at the station just before my town. I tried to call Matthew again, but my phone's battery chose that specific moment to run out. And you know what? It started to rain. Heavily. However, instead blowing a fuse (the late-night archiving having completely sucked up my energy, hence I was in no mood to deal with this scheiss) I did what Matthew would have done. Sighed, got on the train, got off at the station just before mine, and hailed a taxi.
…
When- at last -I got home, into the house and onto the couch, I realized that something was wrong. Mattie would've greeted me by now, right? He always got home earlier than I did. I got off the couch and headed for the kitchen.
"Mattie?"
There was no "Hi, Gil!" or, "Sweetheart! How did work go?" The only sound I heard was the impact of raindrops against the pavement outside. The table lay in the center of the room and, aside from a tin box that had sitting on the corner and collecting dust since last week, it was bare. I frowned. If there wasn't any dinner on the table, it meant Matthew hadn't arrived home yet. But his shift ended around the same time I usually left work! What if something happ-
Stop. I took a deep breath and let it out, slowly. "The awesome me doesn't panic like that," I told myself, "Birdie's fine! He can take care of himself. Remember that time he got into a drunken fight with that Skips guy? And won? Matthew's fine."
Only, two days later, Matthew still hadn't come home.
I had gotten worried on the first night, so I called the police and they decided to investigate.
Then, on the third day, the phone rang.
"Hallo, this is the Awesome Gilbert Beildschmidt speaking!"
"Mister Beildschmidt? This is the Police Department."
"The police? Have you found my partner?! Is Matthew okay?"
Silence greeted me from the other end of the line.
"What's wrong?" I asked, trying not to sound like a squeaky mouse as I spoke.
"Well sir, when we found Matthew Williams-"
"What. Is. Wrong?"
"Your partner was dead when we found him. He didn't have enough warm clothing on him and died from the cold. On Tuesday night, in the rain."
"… Was?"
The officer repeated her sentence again, this time slower. Partner. Dead. Tuesday night. Cold. Rain. Matthew. Rain. Dead. Matthew. Dead.
"Mister Beildschmidt? Sir, are you-"
I never heard the rest of what that woman said, because I dropped the phone and it shattered to pieces on the floor.
There are so many little snippets of memories stuck in my mind. I remember the dull ache in my chest though, and how every day when the morning rays peeked through the curtains of the room we once shared I felt like the sun was mocking my pain. I remember friends of mine coming to visit me. Francis, Antonio, Feliciano, Roderich and Elizveta… even my brother Ludwig canceled an important business meeting and stayed at my house for a while. Getting me to eat, getting me to climb out of bed in the morning, making sure I was fine.
I remember Matthew's brother and father –Alfred and Arthur- came over. I went with them to the hospital, where Matthew's body was. When I saw him in that hospital, I thought that he was just asleep. That if I just gave him a little push, he'd open his eyes. I did just that. It didn't work. I remember bottling up my emotions. Through the meeting with the police and when my brother and friends asked me if I wanted to talk. I faked smiles for my neighbors and work friends.
And I remember the funeral.
I remember Alfred and Arthur trying to hold back tears, Matthew's niece who bowed her head so that nobody could see her crying. How the suit Matthew wore made him look so much older, and not like kind and sweet person he was when he was alive. I remember when they buried him. I stayed even after the others the others had left, telling Ludwig that I wanted to be alone for a while. That was when I finally read the words carved into the plaque that the little marble angel was holding.
Here lies Matthew Williams
A loyal brother,
A caring son
And faithful lover
Whose life ended too soon
I sat down in front of the grave and -I don't know if someone else has done this before- started talking. Talking to Mattie.
Hey, what were you planning to make that night?
Did you meet that mother with five hyperactive kids? Was she a nervous wreck as usual?
Where were you before you died? When the police found you, you only had your wallet, keys and Samsung, so you didn't go to buy anything, right?
Why?
I miss you, you know.
The house has gotten colder since you left.
Why?
You didn't deserve it.
I wish it never happened.
Could I have prevented you from dying?
Why?
I wish I could've spent one more night with you.
Why?
Why?
WHY?
WHY?
The word banged on the insides of my skull like some monster trying to get out of a cage. It got louder and louder and louder, until I realized that I was shouting it. My vision blurred and a huge lump formed in my throat. How could someone as dear and faithful as Matthew die so suddenly? Why the actual hell did he have to die completely alone? Why did I take up that extra hour? If I'd said no, Matthew wouldn't be rotting in a wooden box in a hole in the ground!
I fell on my hands and knees, pleading to the sky to tell me that this was all a dream, that Mattie would shake me awake and I'd tell him it was just a bad dream and it'll all go back to normal. We'd go back to being the awesome couple who'd annoy people with how happy they were.
Bitte, I just want my Birdie back.
Birdie.
"Birdie!"
It took a long time for me to calm down and stop crying. I got up from my pathetic position and stared blankly at the white marble angel holding the gravestone with Matthew's name on it. I sighed and walked across the cemetery path towards the exit. But before I could set one foot outside the graveyard, I had a sudden thought.
It wouldn't hurt to spend just one more night with Mattie, would it?
I looked around and spotted an old weeping willow with thick, green branches swaying in the breeze. It was the perfect hiding place. No-one would think of looking up there. If I stayed up there until nightfall, I could climb back down when the groundskeeper (or whoever guarded the cemetery) left and all I had to do was find Matthew's grave. For the first time since Mattie's death, a small, genuine smile formed on my lips, and I sprinted in the direction of the willow tree. I scaled the branches until I was sure I was completely hidden. There, clinging to a branch like a koala, and exhausted because of all the gloomy thoughts in my head, I fell asleep.
When I woke up, it was pitch black, moonless night. The groundskeeper should have gone home by now, right? Only, I couldn't see a thing. It was as if I'd been blindfolded. Slowly, I peeled myself off my perch and found another branch. But as soon as I put my other foot down and stabilized myself, the branch cracked and I fell out of the tree and onto the short grass below. Ouch, that hurt.
I stood up, rubbing my shoulder that had taken the brunt of the fall. The darkness was almost suffocating, and I stuck out my hands to feel my way around. I then begin my search. I bumped into tombs with my palms, my feet, my hips and knees. I grasped small pots of incense, dead flowers, traced my fingers over the words engraved in stone, but didn't feel the shape of a marble angel within my hands. I don't know how long I went around like that, but at some point, I grew tired of walking around the cemetery. Somehow, I managed to find a bench, and sat down. Somewhere inside my mind an ugly, disgusting little voice kept telling me over and over that I'd never find Matthew's grave. I squeezed my eyes shut and muttered to the voice to leave me alone.
Only to open them when I heard a horrifying sound.
It sounded like someone had tried to mix the screams of a town being slaughtered, the crying of a child, dying gurgles of a murder victim, a high pitched laugh and the howl of a wolf. And it was coming from right in front of me. Lieber Gott, I'm going to die.
Just then, a tombstone not far from where I sat started glowing. No, I'm not lying, it glowed a sickly green color, and the earth beneath it started moving. Maybe, if I had ran away from the graveyard at that moment, it could have saved me some mental scars. Instead, I stayed, gawking, as a man-no, the ghost of a man- dug himself out of the soil.
The dead man didn't seem to notice me (which, I later convinced myself, was probably a good thing). In fact he seemed more focused on the words on his tombstone, which was still glowing. Although quite tall, he was translucent, and I could read, engraved in the rock:
Here lies Ivan Braginsky,
A beautiful heart
But a troubled mind
Who deserved a second chance
The ghost frowned, and muttered something under his breath. He knelt down and read the words again. Then, he raised his hands to the stone and began to scratch at it. I watched, my mouth still hanging open. After a while, the dead man rose to his feet, smiling at his work. As quietly as I could, I crept behind him to get a better look. The tombstone now read:
Here lies Ivan Braginsky
Loyal, strong and kind
To my sisters: I coUld've swUm up
But cHose nOt to.
I'M sorRy.
With one last look his words the ghost of Ivan Braginsky seemingly flickered out of existence. Before I could run like a madman towards the cemetery entrance, the horrible sound from before started up again. Only this time it was much, much louder. Aside from Ivan Braginsky's, every other tombstone started glowing green lighting up one by one. Slowly, the dead rose from the graves, rotting and see-through, and scratched away at the granite and marble. None of them seemed to acknowledge me, their dull eyes fixed on the truth they were writing.
Then it hit me. Mattie must have come out too! I know what he looks like, I should be able to spot him. I started by looking at the tombstones around me.
Mikaela and Daniel Simpson
Our sweet little angels
MIKI pUshed mE
Toris Laurinaitis
Went to paradise before his came
To FelIks: My illneSs was tErmiNal.
I'm sorRy, I told my faMily to kEep it a secRet.
THere waS nothIng yOu coUld do
Ellen Mason
She will always be loved
HYPOCRITES!
THEY LEFT ME TO DIE
Tombstone after tombstone. Truth after truth. Did all these people die with such terrible secrets inside them? Despite the creepy feel to the entire place, I could not help but think, "not awesome". What even worse, was that the confessions seemed to get sadder or creepier as I continued my search. There were murder victims, schizophrenics, lonely children and violent fathers. There were those who smiled to hide their pain, those inflicted it upon others. All around me I could see liars, thieves, insecurities, alcoholics, greed and anger. All confessed in scratchy handwriting.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a head of blond, wavy hair, with a long curl sticking out of it. Despite having his back turned to me, I sure as hell knew who that guy was. I forgot my still throbbing shoulder and sprinted in Matthew's direction.
Skidding to a halt behind him, I stared. He had his back turned to me and, like all the other ghosts, was carving something onto the little plaque that had his name on it. He didn't seem to know that I was there.
"Mattie?"
My voice was a squeaky, and absolutely pathetic. I tried a little louder.
"Mattie? Birdie?"
"Birdie?"
Only then did Matthew hear me. He jumped and slowly turned around, I noticed his eyes were full of what looked like sadness or regret. "Gilbert? Is that you?"
I wrapped my arms around him, and I found that he felt almost solid. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes, I must've looked utterly pathetic, but to hellwith that! "Ja, it's me, Birdie. Gott, I missed you."
"Oh, Gil…" I could tell from his voice that Mattie was crying too, "I'm so, so sorry…"
"What do you mean?" I pushed back to look at him, I immediately felt a stab of pain. I felt terrible seeing him cry. "You never did anything wrong."
"I love you, Gilbert, but… I don't know if you still will if-'' he bit his lip. He's done this before, when he thinks he's said to much.
"Matthew," I frowned, "what did you carve into the tombstone?"
Matthew's eyes widened, "No, you can't look at it!"
"Why?"
"Because… I'm not done yet."
"Do I look like I care right now? You've never lied to me, so what are you hiding?" I tried to go around him, but Mattie grabbed my arm and flung me to the ground.
"You. Can't. Look."
I stared at him in shock, then in horror as a dark shadow rose behind him. It had glowing red eyes and a set of long, sharp fangs. Before I could scream at Mattie to run, the thing had jumped over him and lunged at me with a loud snarl, whacking me in the side of my head, and I collided with a stone cross behind me . The pain was even worse than when I fell from the tree earlier and everything around me started to blur. As my vision grew black, I could make out Matthew standing above me, still crying and whispering the same words over and over again like a broken record player.
"I'm sorry, darling. I love you. Ich liebe dich."
The birds were singing when I came to the next morning. The pain in my head and shoulder was gone, and I could sit up without wincing. My vision was still blurry though, even as I got up to my feet. I could see, though, that my clothes were filthy, covered in dirt. Ludwig was not going to like this. Little by little, my vision cleared. The sky was clear with not a single cloud in sight, and the sun shone on my face relentlessly.
Why was I here again? In a graveyard? Why had some un-awesome person vandalized the tombst-
Oh, right.
The last few weeks' events came back to me like a huge tidal wave. The call, the days where I had to drag myself out of bed, the times where my brother had to drag me out of bed, the funeral, the undead, the monster, and Matthew crying.
Now I can see what Matthew had written on his tombstone. It couldn't be that bad, right? Slowly, I took a step towards Mattie's grave. Then another, and soon I was right in front of the marble angel holding up a golden plaque. What I read made my stomach drop.
Here lies Matthew Williams
A loyal son
A caring son
And faithful lover
Whose life ended too soon
Fell in love lust with another
Gilbert, the day I was hit by a car
I was dating someone behind your back.