The weather wasn't exactly encouraging that day. The late Gothic Church of St. Michael the Archangel in Goserting was shrouded in fog. Delicate raindrops bounced off the baroque gables of the building's facade to the rhythm of a Viennese waltz. The harmony of this charming place was somewhat disturbed by the numerous cars parked nearby. Michael Trent was very nervous that day. He wasn't entirely sure what he was doing there. His wife, Kate, whom he'd passed that morning at the door of their apartment, had mentioned a funeral, but Michael himself was too distraught by recent events to ask who had died. Just remembering his problems made Michael feel ill. Things weren't going well at work; the deadline for the project for Hibrid was fast approaching, and he was still far from finished. Because of this, he'd been pulling late nights the past few nights, and the numerous overtime hours he'd been putting in, which often left him a guest at home, had clearly shaken his married life. Admittedly, things weren't working out for him lately; frustrated with his work, he had less and less time for her. To make matters worse, Kate began to suspect he was having an affair. And rightly so. A young girl from the marketing department had effectively turned his head for a short time. It was more of an adventure than a passionate affair, a way to relieve his numerous stresses and breakdowns. However, it had provoked Kate's justifiable fury. A single forgotten, undeleted text message from his mistress had sparked a heated argument, forcing Michael to sleep at work for several days. After much effort and courtship, he managed to placate his wife, but things weren't working out between them, which only deepened his feeling of the futility of his existence.
He stood outside in the pouring rain, moodily finishing his cigarette. "Damn it," he cleared his throat, and threw the smoldering butt onto the wet ground. Instinctively, he smothered it with the sole of his shoe and headed toward the church. When he opened the door, his eyes met pointed windows with stained glass, starry crystal vaults, and numerous tombstones. The unmistakable scent of incense filled the air. Fascinated by the sight, he savored it silently for a moment. He was particularly captivated by the large crystal cross attached to the church's vault. A magical aura of mystery surrounded him. When he finished examining the church, his attention was drawn to the people gathered inside. He was furious when he noticed that the seat next to Kate and his daughter, Diana, was occupied. God only knows what Michael's parents were doing there. He decided to remain where he was, to endure what he considered a dull ceremony in relative peace. After a moment, however, curiosity got the better of him. Looking around, he noticed a multitude of friends and family. For a moment, he froze in horror. "Who the hell had died?" He'd been working hard for the past few days, keeping his head down. But could his drug and alcohol addiction have caused him to forget the death of someone close to him?
The priest began his sermon. A load of nonsense, blah this, blah that. He wasn't interested. He decided to move on and ask someone who the deceased was. The unknown gentleman with a fancy mustache and a refined black suit, however, didn't deign to respond to his question. "The devil with you," Michael thought, and headed toward Kate. When he saw her face, his body froze. The sight was horrific; the usually beautiful face was incredibly tortured and streaked with tears. Kate was leaning on the shoulder of a tall man, whom Michael after a moment recognized as his best friend, Greg. At that moment, his terror reached its peak. Greg was a tough guy, one who would even pull teeth without anesthesia to avoid being accused of effeminacy, yet his hard-edged yet noble face was also streaked with tiny tears. "What's going on here!? Who died!?" he exclaimed. His words, however, had no effect on his loved ones. For a moment, he thought his little daughter was smiling at him, but it was only an illusion. Putting this on stress, he instinctively ran toward the coffin to see what unfortunate person lay within. To his surprise, this hysterical reaction met with no response from those gathered. As he ran, Michael managed to catch a glimpse of his boss, Max Fryga, and numerous colleagues. His heart began to beat at the speed of light. When he reached the closed coffin, he realized with horror that he couldn't open it. His hands literally shone through it like flour through a fine sieve. He howled in terror, again without reaction. He was helpless and stressed. After a moment, he fell to the ground, writhing in pain and helplessness, wondering what nightmare he was in and when he would finally wake up. Suddenly, the entire church glowed with a bright, incredibly reassuring light. He heard words. "Calm down, Michael," a warm, melodic voice took over his entire mind. He froze in terror. A large gathering of relatives appeared before his eyes. It wouldn't have been surprising, if it weren't for the fact that they were all long dead. They were now standing a few meters away from him, smiling benevolently. "What the hell is going on here!?" Michael shouted again. He was definitely on the verge of a nervous breakdown. "Calm down, boy, it's time to move on," the melodic voice filled his consciousness again. He no longer had the strength to protest. He involuntarily submitted to its will, following the light that had such an incredibly soothing effect. Suddenly, all the recent events flashed before his eyes. Working late on a project over a bottle of Johnny Walker, driving in a terrible downpour, and the headlights and loud horn of a truck he'd cut off. These were the last things he remembered. Then came the emptiness from which he only awoke this morning. And it was at that moment that he realized what a ghastly spectacle he was taking part in. – Yes, Michael,"You're dead," the melodic voice once again entered his interior. "Calm down and follow me; you'll soon be with your loved ones." Intoxicated by the warm voice and soothing light, Michael submitted to its will. When he found himself among his loved ones, the light vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. Michael vanished with it.
Meanwhile, the priest continued his sermon: "We are gathered here to say goodbye to our beloved brother, husband, and father, the tragically deceased Michael Trent, may he rest in peace. Amen."
The rain intensified, simultaneously changing the repertoire; this was definitely no longer a Viennese waltz, but a funeral march dedicated to the tormented souls of the afterlife.
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