Like the unnerved finger-tapping of a death row inmate, drops of water fell against the window. Gilbert wrestled with his bedsheets to find a position that might let him get to sleep—as if to solve the real problem, he should avoid it. Nature's faint noises had become blaring sirens calling him to wakefulness; the manor bell rang three times. Consciousness mounted his sorrows and drove him to pull on his eyebrow; a nervous twitch. Eyes wide open, he practiced his ritual... once, twice, three times. At the moment of his third pull, he heard a voice. It was smooth and clear and it made his body straightened and tense.
“Gilbert, face me.” the voice urged. Eyes clamped shut, Gilbert attempted to ignore the impossible voice, or at least hope to wake up.
“You will face me.” the voice said, and suddenly Gilbert was involuntarily moving to an upright sitting position and viewing the being who interrupted his sleeplessness with fear. What he saw before him appeared to be the product of a haunted looking glass. Instantly, he recognized himself in the figure, though the being's eyes were hollow and its skin glowed like a low-burning candle.
Gilbert had many questions, the first of which being, “Who are you?”
“I am you.” said the being, “And I have come to rescue you.”
“You can't be me...” Gilbert replied, “I'm me.”
“Hahaha! I appreciate your sense of identity.” the being paused for a moment, then said dryly, “I am the ghost of Christmas past and I am here on a mission from Santa Claus.”
Gilbert was speechless. Humor held little meaning to him at this point.
The being sighed, and then went on, “You might find my appearance, and even my very existence explicable only as 'supernatural'. In fact, I'd wager that there are two possible ways that you're taking this right now. One, you think this is a dream. Two; I must be some kind of 'supernatural' being. Perhaps you haven't exactly decided, but I'm confident you're weighing those two possibilities.”
Gilbert nodded silently.
The being continued, “Nothing to add, I suppose?” it paused, “Right, well let me at least explain one thing about my existence. If you were thinking that I am merely a dream, you'd be partially correct in that dreams actually exist. The idea of my being a 'supernatural' being is absurd because of the term itself. 'Supernatural'. What meaning does a word like this have? In its simplest sense, it describes something that is not part of the natural order. What the 'natural order' constitutes is oft debated by philosophers, theologians and armchair thinkers the world over, but what is usually placed within this concept is all existence. So the supernatural, as you call it, is that which is outside of existence, therefore that which does not practically exist. What further irks me about this term is the prefix. Why are things and concepts that do not exist—these supernatural concepts—thought of as superior or higher than all of us schmucks and our ideas who and which actually exist? Our concepts of God and Devil, Heaven and Hell—what can they do? These are not concepts which make the leap from mind to matter. They are not blueprints or plans, but mere fancy! They are, in this way, not supernatural, but subnatural. To get to the point, I am unlike a subnatural concept in that I do exist, though the nature of my existence need not burden you this morning.”
“What do you expect from me?” Gilbert asked.
“You are coming with me.” The being replied.
“Do I have a choice?”
The being was silent at first, but for the first time looked directly into Gilbert's eyes. “You've had a choice your whole life but have refused to exercise it. If you perceived time in the way that I do, you would have made your choice already, and in a way you have...” the being seemed to seethe with anger, “You have proven that options must be shown to you before you can choose between them. That's what I am here to do.”
“Where are you taking me?” Gilbert became resolute.
The being was quick to respond, “To your beginning.”
BROADCASTCOMPLETEENDDREAMWAKEUP
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