The instant Berthe held out the blacksmith’s nail to the moving shapes in the burial ground, a profound shift occurred. It passed through her like a wave, bringing wonder and dread in equal measure.

The shift, Berthe then came to see, was the Master liberating Itself from her skin.

For the Master suddenly stepped out from the shadowy trees. He spoke to her in a voice as plain as any man’s she’d ever heard.

As to the exact nature of their exchange, Berthe could only remember faint traces. She was too fixated on trying to convince herself of what she was seeing. The Master was a protean thing, shifting in amazing ways whenever Berthe’s analytical mind attempted to pinpoint just exactly what this apparition looked like. One moment the Master was a fit young man dressed in finery, the next, a stooped vagrant propped up by a pair of crutch-style sticks. Always though, a luminous sty gleamed in one of his eyes, like an ember in a stove.

The only aspect that remained fixed was his masculinity. He was a male soul, a counterpoint to her feminine flesh. When he spoke, his voice raised the hackles on the back of Berthe’s neck and warmed between her legs. The Master told her that he had much more to teach her and that this was only the beginning. He promised her that this entire day, from her freeing of the nail to the gravehands to his whispered counsel, would be sewn up for her in a soft pouch of dreaming. This, the Master assured her, was the safest way, for it would place the truth at a necessary distance, enabling her to return to the ordinary world, where she must hide until she was ready to experience their full union.

II.

The Master fulfilled his promise. Berthe awoke to find herself in her own bed. It was late afternoon, and the day had grown blustery and grey. She rose and rushed to the barn where she found her bicycle resting against its pillar, both tires in perfect condition. The only indication that the encounter had been anything more than a midday dream was the blacksmith’s nail, which remained in the pocket of her trousers. Though Berthe found this article of clothing clean and folded crisply inside her dresser drawer, as if new.

This was all the proof she required to purge doubt from her soul. Not once would she regret the oath sworn that day to the Master, in the watchful presence of the gravehands, while she stood on that nameless path.

As a reward for her allegiance, Berthe had been granted fulfillment of a desire she’d harboured for as long as she’d known about haunted places: to move without her body, to experience the world as a ghost does. She was told that such a feat would require a trio of tasks, which Berthe was only too eager to execute.