Grandfather’s Tenth Letter
Evelyn,
What could shock a spirit? What could leave it stunned and fumbling for comprehension? Nothing, you say, for what could amaze the astonishing? Surely a fairy could never be befuddled and a ghost can never be frightened.
Resurrection, my dear, that is renders all petrified, man and spirit alike, for neither expect Death to be undone. That sight, though a miracle in every other tale, is offensive.
Do not misunderstand me; seeing William alive lifted my heart, yet the relief of my heart was overwhelmed by my mind’s shudder. Though much of what it thought could be had been cast aside due to the Grand Tour, deep in my mind’s recesses it still knew what should be. To see such a gross violation of fundamental truth was repulsive to it.
So as the raging light sputtered and poor William returned, at first I only stared, slack-jawed and afraid. It was a terrible sight, Evelyn, the way he gasped as if he had been drowning, the frantic way he groped for the vanished deathblow. Worse of all, though, was his fear at not finding it.
I am strangely grateful for that terror of his, awful though it was, for William’s fear and flight into the forest fully chased away my dread. Had he not been afraid, had he returned jovial and laughing, I would to this day live in terror of him, a freakish being for whom Death holds no weight. What I saw that night, however, was a friend in need of my help.
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