were a pile of writhing snakes. Lewis had wrapped his other arm around Helen and now he smiled triumphantly.
A storm struck the garden. Wind howled; lightning arced so close that Scottâs hair stood on end.
âMeet the Wide,â Lewis said. âShe is here with me, and if you want her back . . . the Chord of Souls.â He shouted a final few words and the world split apart.
Reality ruptured. Scott was still at the back door of his house staring out over his garden, but his perception of things changed. The world grew. The garden expanded to make room for the hundreds of wraiths there, and he knew their individual stories, their lives and hopes, deaths and fears. He felt the pain of limbo, but beneath that the vicious jealousy withwhich they beheld the living. He could have dipped into any ghostly mind he wanted, but he held back because he did not wish to understand an echo. They continued to stare at him, and some of them tried to speak. He could hear them, he could answer, but he closed his ears and mouth to that impossibility.
The dark sky was larger than ever before. He could see the stars and the spaces in between, the scattered splash of the Milky Way bearing the potential of a billion new worlds, and all of them were touched by what he saw, what he felt. It was shattering. Scott tried to close his eyes, but when he did he saw and felt even more. For the first time ever he saw the spaces within his own mind, the vast gaps in his understanding surrounding the specks of knowledge that floated there, lonely and minuscule. He knew so little in an existence so vast. He opened his eyes again, but the pain of realization remained.
Time parted around him and closed in beyond, bypassing him like a rock in a stream. The past and future flowed both ways, clashing in thunderous impacts that made the greatest lightning storm look like the flare of a match.
Around him was the present, and in realizing this, he at last saw where Helen and Lewis were. Papaâs dead friend was dragging Scottâs wife away, hauling her across the garden. Her feet left a gleaming trail on the damp grass, and as she screamed her voice matched the volume of clashing aeons.
Scott could only watch as Lewis moved fartheraway. He flowed through ghosts, brushing them aside like wisps of cigarette smoke. They tumbled about the garden, elongating as a flow of time sucked them in, spinning where they crossed the paths left by Helenâs trailing feet, and though they tried to scream they had no voice.
He went to shout, but the noise of the Wide meant that he could not hear himself.
Helen was fading into a false distance. She seemed to be miles away, becoming undefined as mists closed around her, though Lewis was as clear as ever.
The book
, the old ghost said, and the words made Scottâs head ring.
He moved forward at last, his step uncertain, his balance thrown. He swayed on his feet but kept moving. The feel of wet grass seemed to root him in reality, and glancing down he saw the ground as it should be, untouched by hallucination.
This isnât just illusion
.
He went on, aiming for Helen, only her scream drawing him onward now because he had finally lost sight of her. And even her scream was fading.
No hallucination
, he thought.
Itâs the Wide, the truth of things; Iâm seeing beyond the veil andâ
Helen was gone. No more screams, no more cries, no more strange words uttered or sung by Lewis.
âHelen!â he tried to shout loudly, but it seemed to arrive as a whisper. Ghosts milled before him and he moved to the side, stumbling over his own feet and falling to the ground. Wet grass welcomed him, startlinghim with cold. He gasped, looked up, and the Wide was narrowing.
For a moment he felt panicked more than ever before. He was being crushed, his senses compressed, his eyes squeezed so tightly that they felt as if they would implode. He shouted for Helen, and his voice was far too loud, so he shouted
A storm struck the garden. Wind howled; lightning arced so close that Scottâs hair stood on end.
âMeet the Wide,â Lewis said. âShe is here with me, and if you want her back . . . the Chord of Souls.â He shouted a final few words and the world split apart.
Reality ruptured. Scott was still at the back door of his house staring out over his garden, but his perception of things changed. The world grew. The garden expanded to make room for the hundreds of wraiths there, and he knew their individual stories, their lives and hopes, deaths and fears. He felt the pain of limbo, but beneath that the vicious jealousy withwhich they beheld the living. He could have dipped into any ghostly mind he wanted, but he held back because he did not wish to understand an echo. They continued to stare at him, and some of them tried to speak. He could hear them, he could answer, but he closed his ears and mouth to that impossibility.
The dark sky was larger than ever before. He could see the stars and the spaces in between, the scattered splash of the Milky Way bearing the potential of a billion new worlds, and all of them were touched by what he saw, what he felt. It was shattering. Scott tried to close his eyes, but when he did he saw and felt even more. For the first time ever he saw the spaces within his own mind, the vast gaps in his understanding surrounding the specks of knowledge that floated there, lonely and minuscule. He knew so little in an existence so vast. He opened his eyes again, but the pain of realization remained.
Time parted around him and closed in beyond, bypassing him like a rock in a stream. The past and future flowed both ways, clashing in thunderous impacts that made the greatest lightning storm look like the flare of a match.
Around him was the present, and in realizing this, he at last saw where Helen and Lewis were. Papaâs dead friend was dragging Scottâs wife away, hauling her across the garden. Her feet left a gleaming trail on the damp grass, and as she screamed her voice matched the volume of clashing aeons.
Scott could only watch as Lewis moved fartheraway. He flowed through ghosts, brushing them aside like wisps of cigarette smoke. They tumbled about the garden, elongating as a flow of time sucked them in, spinning where they crossed the paths left by Helenâs trailing feet, and though they tried to scream they had no voice.
He went to shout, but the noise of the Wide meant that he could not hear himself.
Helen was fading into a false distance. She seemed to be miles away, becoming undefined as mists closed around her, though Lewis was as clear as ever.
The book
, the old ghost said, and the words made Scottâs head ring.
He moved forward at last, his step uncertain, his balance thrown. He swayed on his feet but kept moving. The feel of wet grass seemed to root him in reality, and glancing down he saw the ground as it should be, untouched by hallucination.
This isnât just illusion
.
He went on, aiming for Helen, only her scream drawing him onward now because he had finally lost sight of her. And even her scream was fading.
No hallucination
, he thought.
Itâs the Wide, the truth of things; Iâm seeing beyond the veil andâ
Helen was gone. No more screams, no more cries, no more strange words uttered or sung by Lewis.
âHelen!â he tried to shout loudly, but it seemed to arrive as a whisper. Ghosts milled before him and he moved to the side, stumbling over his own feet and falling to the ground. Wet grass welcomed him, startlinghim with cold. He gasped, looked up, and the Wide was narrowing.
For a moment he felt panicked more than ever before. He was being crushed, his senses compressed, his eyes squeezed so tightly that they felt as if they would implode. He shouted for Helen, and his voice was far too loud, so he shouted