“Ghostly,” I said.

“Right, Jack.”

“Well, whenever you get more proof of this than cracked glass, or a fleeting electromagnetic field, let me know, will you? Beers on me.”

“I figured for someone who’s had an out-of-body experience, you would be a little more open-minded to what may lie beyond this life.”

“Neurons firing, Peps. Hallucinations.”

“Look, Jack. We might not yet have the means to conclusively prove spirits exist, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist either.”

“What about clothes then?” I said. “If our energy gets converted to a different form after we die, why do our clothes, a manufactured convention, come with us? You know, the manifestation of the butler in the old British mansion. Why’s he always wearing a petticoat and bowtie?”

“Close your eyes and picture yourself. What are you wearing?”

“What I’m wearing now.”

“You’re not naked?”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

I opened my eyes. Pepper was smiling triumphantly at me.

“See, Jack,” he said. “When you see yourself, you see yourself clothed. The same could be said for ghosts. If they have any control over the energy which they’re comprised of, then it’s quite likely they would manifest themselves how they saw themselves as a living person, wearing clothes.”

I shook my head. “I don’t get it, Peps,” I said. “Why do you want to prove ghosts exist so badly?”

“Why? Because it would prove your life continues beyond this one, Jack! It would change the way we think about everything. It would be revolutionary.”

“But you’re presupposing that there being an afterlife would be a good thing.”

“How could life everlasting not be a good thing?”

I thought of my dream earlier. “Because what if that life everlasting was eternal suffering? Would you really want to know that’s what awaited you?”

“You mean hHHell?”

“Call it what you want. But, hell, fine, why not. Would you want to prove the existence of hell?”

“Well, sure, because if there’s hell, then there’s heaven.”

“Maybe not, Peps,” I said. “Maybe there’s only hell, and that’s why death is so mysterious, so unknown. Maybe it’s not supposed to be understood or unraveled. Maybe it’s so cloaked in secrecy because what lies beyond is so terrible that life would cease to be livable if we knew what awaited us after we died.”

“Damn, Jack!” he said. “How do you ever get out of bed in the mornings?”

“Because life is what it is. There’s either something waiting for us after we die, whether good or bad, or there isn’t anything. Overthinking, even proving, what might be or not be won’t change a thing.” I clapped him heartily on the back. “On that note, let’s go see what’s lurking inside this hut.”

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