 Are your grandparents still alive? If they died today, would you miss them? My own grandfather died four days ago, it most likely being the biggest surprise in my life. Yes, people die, but I hadn't even known of his existence until that Monday evening phone call. John Walker? Yeah? I'm afraid I have some bad news. The caller, my grandfather's lawyer, went on to inform me of multiple family details I had known. First, I had a grandfather named William. Second, he had died by suicide, a self-inflicted gunshot wound. And third, I was to be the sole beneficiary in his will, contingent on only one fulfillment. Which is, I asked. There was a slight hesitation on the other end before she continued. It would be better if I explained in person. Could you come by tomorrow? I hung up the phone and tried to get some rest before my drive through the mountains. The strange new information swirling around in my mind like glitter in a snow globe before finally falling gently to the ground below. Having been adopted as a child, I had never known any of my real family. It's better that way. Despite finding out about the life and death of a man I had never known, I slept well that night. The next morning after checking the weather forecast, I quickly replaced the front windshield wipers and headed north. While he had lived surprisingly close, all things considered, the drive would still take nearly six hours and the upper part of the stay was due for the first snowstorm of the year. Part of me was looking forward to seeing the area again, my last experience with a white substance being 15 or more years ago, growing up with a family that had taken me in. The drive started with rain at first, a slow plop for five or so minutes, and then a steady plastering of the windshield. Two hours or so later after that, the snow began to fall. By the time I reached the lawyer's office, there was nearly six inches on the ground already, and I was in a bit of a rush to try and make it back downstate before getting snowed in completely. Hello? You must be John. I'm Cindy. She would have been stunningly beautiful under any other circumstance, her dark hair falling perfectly across her face, and a pair of the darkest green eyes I had ever seen staring back at me as she extended her hand forward. Hello, Cindy. I use the phrase under any other circumstance because, well, not only did the untimely death of a family member, if you could call him that, spoil the moment, the woman seemed completely devoid of any emotion, almost like a doll. It's hard to describe, and I fear I cannot do Cindy justice. Perhaps all you need to know is that there was something not quite right about my grandfather's lawyer. She was too perfect, if there is such a thing. After going over the finer details of his estate, Cindy quickly got to the caveat. It is all to be yours, the mansion in Grand Hills, his collection of old automobiles valued at half a million, and a large property in upstate New York. It is all to be yours based on one condition. The woman paused for a moment, pretending to sort through a small stack of papers while she eyed me over. You have to send his ashes into space. Uh, can you repeat that? Yes, he wished for you to release his remains into space. Don't worry. The details have been meticulously arranged. The woman smiled for the first time, a painfully transparent act. Physically, her smile should have been beautiful, yet that same word seemed to jump up in my mind, unnatural. We discussed the meticulous details for a few minutes, at the end of which she handed me a single key. It unlocks every door in his home, save for one, she said. Curious now, I asked. Which door doesn't it unlock? Her eyes met mine, and then drifted down towards the expensive tile underneath our feet. All but one, she repeated. Did I think that was odd? Yes, but part of me just wanted to get this whole thing over with. I didn't give a damn about the grandfather I never knew, the man that hadn't cared enough to ever contact me while he was alive, and I was planning on selling the property in possessions as quickly as possible. The subsequent drive was an hour or so north through a mix of country roads, mountains, and forests as far as the eye could see. It was evening when I finally passed over the bridge, a small sign to the right of it, graying hills. At the bridge's end, the road began to slant steeply upwards, so much so, in fact, that I could see the very tip of a mountain that stood in the very center of town. As I worked my way around the twisting roads, the snow began to fall thicker than it had been before. The weather was odd in itself, and I couldn't remember ever seeing snow fade for a few moments, and then become a violent storm the next. It was almost as if graying hills was its own world apart from the one I'd known, but that was silly. Surely, the odd series of twisting roads and foreboding hills were to blame for the rare weather conditions that forced their way against me as I drove upwards. Jesus, how long does it take to reach the top? I noted the time on the dash, 11.27, almost midnight. What happened next was, unlike me, to say the least, that as I finally reached the top of the mountain and noted that the clock read exactly midnight, I felt a feeling of dread. I was not religious, I was not superstitious, yet the feeling had been unmistakable. I turned the ignition off with a click, opened the door, and set my feet onto the cold ground. It felt almost familiar, but that was impossible. It was hard to see anything in such darkness, but the top of the mountain seemed far larger than it had looked from afar, a mile in diameter, maybe more. I would explore in the morning, for now I just wanted to get some rest. Walking up to the old two-story home, I found the old key my grandfather's lawyer had given me and turned it clockwise until hearing a click. The door opened easily, creaking softly and showing nothing at first glance. I flicked down the phone's flashlight and stepped into the entryway. A chandelier hung far above me as I scanned the home. It seemed pristine, almost untouched. There was a large stairway leading upwards, where I had been informed there were two guest bedrooms and directly ahead of me sat a long hallway, to which I seemed unable to see its ending. I placed my hand on the banister and climbed upwards for the last time that evening. Opening the blue and gold door handle to the first room, I was pleased to find a comfortable enough looking bed. The room connected to an old antique bathroom as well, with an artfully tiled floor and a cast-iron bathtub that looked as if it could survive a nuclear blast. I was too tired to explore any farther. I slept. I'm not sure how much time passed when something warm brushed up against the side of my face. I let out a scream that could have woken the dead. Luckily for me, it didn't. The dead stayed that way. For now, at least. Whatever the hell it was, I swatted it quickly away from my face and jumped out the opposite side of the bed. Fumbling desperately to find the switch to the lamp, I finally flicked it on and saw it to my surprise. In relief, a jovial orange cat, Jesus, you scared the shit out of me. The cat's soft green eyes stared back into mine as if to say, that scared you. You ain't seen nothing yet. Walking over, I gently stroked the top of his head to which a soft purr was my reply. After that, I got back into bed and tried to drift back to sleep. I did finally do just that, and this time I dreamt. I dreamt of a lake so still and calm that it seemed you could almost walk across it. I dreamt of the orange cat, and the balloon my grandfather had demanded I do my part in sending into space. In the dream, I walked past the water and towards the bright object. In the dream, the balloon wasn't red or blue or green. It didn't have the normal happy-enough design you might expect on such an object. My hand reached out towards a single silver post the balloon had been attached to by a rope. Without thinking, I untied it. Without hesitation, the object floated happily up towards a sky filled with clouds. It was then that I finally realized what had been painted on the outside of the thing. It wasn't painted exactly, was it? There was a face of an old man, his bright blue eyes staring across the distance between us. The man grinned widely as if pleased as the balloon lifted farther and farther into the sky. A soft melody began to play in my mind, and then I awoke, this time to sunlight. It was morning, a beam of light passing through the foggy window on onto my face. Looking around the room groggily, the cat that had scared the life out of me earlier was nowhere to be seen. Checking the alarm clock on my phone, I was relieved to see there was still plenty of time. I got dressed, brushed my teeth, and headed downstairs. Part of me wanted to explore the house farther, but the directions had been specific. At exactly ten o'clock I was to untie the balloon. Heading out the front door, I was surprised to see the vast body of water before me. It was strikingly similar to what I had seen in the dream. A chill went through me as I walked around its edges. I saw it then from a distance, the bright red balloon she had spoken of. I was relieved to see that it at least was different from the dream. Heading closer, I saw that it was already floating at eye level, the only thing stopping its ascension being a white rope that was tied neatly to a stake below. It suddenly struck me just how odd of a request this in fact was, a man I had never known dying by suicide and then leaving me his entire fortune, which seemed formidable. In trade for doing one small favor after his death, releasing what I imagined was a very expensive red balloon that would carry his ashes up into the ether, and perhaps beyond. And how odd also that his investment was held so haphazardly to the ground below. I figured that even only a moderate amount of wind would have caused the state to pull free from the ground and the balloon would have been released far before I had the chance to do it myself. And why was it so important that I be the one to release his ashes anyway? I guess it didn't matter. People were crazy, and if one odd job was all I need to do in return for such a fortune then I would do it. The balloon itself was secured only a few feet from the rocky lake. As I placed my hand on its smooth edges, a cool breeze fell across water and it began to snow for the first time that morning. Light snowflakes filled the air around me, their company seeming to silence the water in top of the mountain. I knelt down, untied the rope that it only contained a single knot, and felt the balloons weight in my hand for the first time. It was really heavy. How could it be so heavy? It wasn't large by any means, and only contained my grandfather's ashes for God's sake. Oh God, the clock! I forgot to check the time I realized as the balloon pulled up violently towards the sky above. Shit, shit! And why is the pull of this thing so fucking strong? I tried to force it back down using my body weight, acting like a dog or cat that suddenly became dead weight to avoid a bath or visit to the vet, but it was no use. A gust of wind struck the thing again, and I fell forwards into the water just ahead. I watched the red colors float quickly up through the falling snow, higher and higher. Checking my watch, I saw that the time was 9.44. Close enough. It was just about the time of me losing sight of the balloon, that I noticed a drop of blood on my left hand. I must have cut it on the rope. And then there was a drop on my right hand, and then one on my forearm, plop plop. I looked back up towards the sky, plop plop plop. At first I thought, no I was sure that I was dreaming, or my eyes were just playing tricks on me. They were telling me that what was once only moments ago, a fog of white falling gently from the sky, was now replaced by a steady drip of dark red. It covered my arms now completely, and my vision seemed to be quickly becoming a mix of that color. This way, a familiar voice said, as I pulled my eyes from what I was sure was blood covering my entire body, and up towards her voice. It was the woman from yesterday, her once dark hair now transformed into a flowing sea of red. Without saying a word, I followed her, around the home and through an iron gate behind. Patente, she whispered. The gate opened slowly before her. Yes, I was surely dreaming. The woman I followed through the gate, was now completely cloaked in red. The sight of her was magical and terrifying all at once, yet there was something else that drew my attention away. We were in a graveyard, I realized, yet that was not what pulled me so. It was the names on the graves. Stephen A. Walker, born September 3rd, 1840, died February 6th, 1907. Linda J. Walker, born January 9th, 1781, died December 21st, 1809. They're all here, the woman added, pausing for a moment and looking back. The entire family I had never met was buried on this mountain. We walked for a few moments more before coming to the first fresh grave I had seen. Sure enough, William F. Walker, my grandfather, what the hell is going on? The beautiful woman replied nothing, only turning to the grave and speaking one word. She knelt lower and kissed the tombstone sweetly. I watched in horror as the red liquid of which I was sure was blood began to fall more rapidly from the sky. Though terrified, I wasn't even all that surprised by that point when a strong hand reached out from the stained grave and towards the sky above. And then another hand, the red woman extended her arms downwards and towards them. No, I shouted, stop! But it was too late, the cold hands clutching on and pulling strongly. She braced her feet against the tombstone as not to be dragged downwards into the earth herself. And that's when I saw him for the first time, William F. Walker, his stained red face popping out of the ground first and then his torso and then his legs. When he finally stepped up onto the ground before me, I watched as he took a deep breath and stared up at the sky. You've done well, he said, paying no attention to the woman and instead staring at me. I fell backwards in fear, my body trembling now and my mind coming dangerously close to snapping. The red rain fell so hard now that I began to sink down into the earth myself. I began to scream as the ghastly figure walked closer and knelt down beside me. It had to be a walker, he said, his head drifting up towards the sky and his mouth opening wide to drink. The last thing I remember was seeing my dead family claw their way up and out of the now red mud and my grandfather's hand reaching down and taking mine. His eyes glowed a bright yellow that filled my heart with fear yet I was mesmerized. I stared back into them as he spoke five words. We have the work to do.