Eternal Unrest

I screamed as I fell through the floor of paradise for the 5th time that week. Once again, I landed in my old office, to see my replacement standing next to my old desk holding a candle that dripped bright red wax onto the floor. You'd think that by attempt number 5 she'd have thought of a candle holder that caught the wax, but she kept re-assuring me this would be the last time. Maybe at that point she actually believed it.

"What is it THIS time, Dolores?"

"Okay, no need to take that tone. You're dead, it's not like you have anything better to do."

I opened my mouth to tell her that being in paradise by definition meant I did - in fact - have better things to do: but no sound came out. I mentally cursed the universe for not letting souls speak of the afterlife to those in our old world.

"Just- tell me what you want from me."

"What's the password for your hard drive? I need the Callima file, and not all of it seems to have saved to the cloud."

I just about blew out the stupid candle and ended the call right then and there. But I knew from the third time that she'd only re-light the damn thing and I'd fall through the floor again. I gritted my teeth. Strange, to really feel teeth, and tension in my jaw again.

"It is written in the folder the company gave you when you got here."

"Well if it is it's too small, I can't see it."

I walked to the desk and, with a monumental effort, opened the file. I'd only been dead a month, according to the desk calendar, and interacting with the real world took time to learn. Except, apparently, talking to people who pulled you out of paradise whenever they were too lazy to read something.

"Right here. Under the section labelled 'HARD DRIVE' in capital letters."

"Well how am I supposed to search that whole file every time I need something?"

My anger was seething. I almost felt alive.

"You're not. You're meant to look at the contents page, and-"

I stopped, silent for a moment, then threw whole file into the floor.

"You know what?! I swear, if you call me back for one more unnecessary thing, I will figure out how to haunt you for the rest of your life."

Huh, I'd assumed until now that threatening to haunt someone would count as telling them how the afterlife worked. But I guess "figure out how" was vague enough to imply it might not be possible.

She snorted. "Ghosts aren't real. Go back to sleep."

She blew out the candle before I could point out the irony of that statement. A world where the dead could be talked to by lighting the right kind of candle and apparently "ghosts aren't real". Sure we're not.

Back in paradise, I breathed in the comforting and familiar scent of my library, my fireplace, and my favourite tea, and the memory of the interaction began to fade. That's the thing about paradise, you only have to want to relax and you will. The problem with that is it would make following through on my threat to Dolores rather difficult. Because I had meant it: but up here, it didn't feel like it could bother me in the same way. Not enough to motivate me not to want to-

I fell through the floor again. Eternal resting place my ass.

"Dolores I SWEAR-"

I looked around. This wasn't my old office. This was... my old home. And there, standing in front of me, was my wife. She looked older than when I saw her last. I guess, even when you can talk to them from time to time, grief over a loved one hits hard.

"Hi honey."

"Hi - sorry for the greeting: my replacement at work keeps calling me. I thought it was her again."

My wife shook her head..

"Want me to go in to your old work and have a chat to that boss of yours?"

"Actually, yes."

"Good. Too many like her and this gift will disappear."

My wife was of the school that the "gift" of speaking to the dead had been given to humanity by a loving higher power, and if they abused it, it could be taken away. In reality, no-one out there knew where the breach between the non-world and the real one was, or how to fix it. Still: I didn't mind if the Delores' of the world got blamed when it did get fixed. Plus, rules of the universe, I couldn't tell her even if I tried. So I changed the subject.

"So how's our granddaughter?"

My wife and I caught up for...several hours I think, I'm not sure. Time doesn't flow the same way when you're dead. It could have only been a few seconds for all I knew. Either way, I told her I loved her, she blew out the candle, and I was at home in paradise once more. I smiled. Visits like that almost made me wish they wouldn't close the breach. Even though I knew I wouldn't miss them really: time functions differently in paradise. She was here too. And so was my granddaughter, and my father, and even Dolores must have been around somewhere. Perhaps tracking her down out there would have been the better solution.

There was, I think, a break in being asked stupid questions by Dolores after my wife spoke to my old boss. But you can never keep her kind in line forever, and so she called, and called, and called, pulling me out of paradise into a world that felt wrong over, and over, and over, until finally I had had enough for the feeling of rage to slowly seep in and stay with me inside the bliss of paradise.

It's a strange feeling, being rageful in paradise. Everything is perfect yet nothing is right. Never enjoying the perfection around me, I seethed every moment. That was my first sign I didn't truly belong there anymore: feeling time actually pass again. I walked in circles for days, plagued by the knowledge that I could fall through the ground at any moment, pulled to the wrong world by some lazy corporate assistant who couldn't be bothered to do her job. Then I sat, and I waited. When she called again, I didn't fall so much as I jumped. And when she asked me her stupid question, I smiled sweetly, and answered politely. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously before she blew out the candle.

"What, no threat to haunt me this time?" she mocked.

"What do you mean? I thought there was no such thing as ghosts."

For the first time, I saw a flicker of fear in her eyes. But there was nothing she could do.

"There's no such thing as ghosts," she said, and blew out the candle.

But when she blew out the candle, a tiny ember still burned.

"We'll see," I replied, a second too late for comfort. She repeated the phrase to herself, checking the candle and seeing only smoke.

"There's no such thing as ghosts."

But though she blew out the candle, this time, I stayed.