Whispers from the Beyond

"Would you like a slice of ham, Dr. Rifaat?" Mrs. Cummings asked me gently as we sat around the breakfast table. I shook my head no, so she poured more coffee into my cup, saying I looked exhausted.

"It was a dreadful night, ma'am. Someone visited me, and..."

Here, a sharp glance from Dr. Richard silenced me, preventing me from elaborating. Strange... In the morning sunlight, what had happened the previous night seemed foggy and absurd... What had occurred was nothing more than a prank, or at most, a bizarre hallucination resulting from my reading of Bram Stoker's horrifying tale.

After breakfast, we entered Dr. Richard's study and gathered around him as he lit a cigarette and said with a smile:

"Last night, Dr. Rifaat received a pleasant visit..."

He recounted the previous night's events to Dr. Lovarsky, who listened intently, eyeing me with the sharp gaze of a hawk. When the story ended, silence fell. After a few minutes, Dr. Lovarsky said in a monotone voice, like a judge:

"I believe everything hinges on Dr. Rifaat."

I asked him in surprise:

"What do you mean?"

He said confidently:

"There's no issue with Dr. Richard's story... but yours is debatable!"

The blood rushed to my face:

"Are you implying I'm lying?"

"No, my friend... I mean you're deluded."

I shook my head... The truth is, I—myself—was no longer sure of anything. Everything I had seen was tangible and real to a terrifying extent... but I had never hallucinated before. Perhaps all hallucinations were this convincing...

Then... I remembered something. What a fool I was!

"Come with me to my room..."

In my room, the bed was as I had left it, since I never made it after waking up.

"Do you see what I mean?"

I pointed to the open copy of Bram Stoker's novel and the small Quran on the nightstand—topics of my conversation with the night visitor.

Dr. Richard said:

"This means nothing... It's natural that you incorporated some real objects from your room into your hallucination."

"And this?"

They looked at what I was pointing to—the smoking gun proving my sanity. There, on the linoleum floor, was a burnt cigarette butt, the kind only Dr. Richard smoked.

Dr. Lovarsky said:

"A simple matter, young man... Dr. Richard must have offered you one of his cigarettes."

"He's never offered me a cigarette in his life!"

"Listen, my friend... Life is full of complexities and can't handle more. Why are you making such a fuss over... a cigarette butt?"

I shouted in frustration:

"I'm telling you, I'm certain that someone—or something—entered my room last night and invited me to the basement. This cigarette butt is proof of my honesty."

Then I looked at Dr. Richard, pleading:

"Dr. Richard... Why don't you just say you were joking and spare us this sophistry?"

"Watch your tone, young man! I don't lie. But the only scientific explanation is that you're lying."

"I won't allow... I demand you show more respect to a man of your father's age."

The argument heated up. I think I was on the verge of hitting him, or he was about to throw me out, when Dr. Lovarsky intervened with his portly frame, calming us down:

"Gentlemen, please! We've forgotten something."

We stopped arguing to hear what the Jew had to say:

"What was Dr. Rifaat supposed to do in the basement?"

"I don't know..."

"Neither do I..."

"Then let's go down to the basement and take a look."

We went down to the basement... the large, ornate coffin, the musty smell... Nothing new or noteworthy, nothing that indicated anything...

How strange our situation was!

Two days remained until the fated night, and each of us held to our opinion, but the questions multiplied around everything. Who would have the last laugh on Wednesday night?