The Hungry Dead

My father died of esophageal cancer.

For the final two years of his life, he could barely swallow anything. By the time he passed, he was nothing but skin and bones.

The first New Year after his death, he came to my mother in a dream.

"I'm starving," he said. "I just want to taste the thick-cut steak you used to make."

My mother believed it without question. That very day, she pan-seared a large platter of steak and carried it to his grave.

The next morning, she suffered a sudden heart attack and died on the spot.

Devastated, I handled my mother's funeral together with my husband.

That same night, my husband dreamed of my father as well.

"Chester," he said, "I haven't eaten in so long. I want your pâté, served with some strong liquor."

When my husband woke up, he bought the finest liver pâté, opened a bottle of single-malt whiskey, and went straight to the grave.

However, not long after returning home, he collapsed from acute liver failure. He was rushed to the ICU and died three days later.

I was on the brink of collapse myself. I left my daughter in the care of a close friend while I tried to handle the endless wave of tragedy.

That evening, my daughter never came home from school.

I searched everywhere, and finally, on the road to the cemetery, I found her.

She was clutching a bowl of spicy stew, several grilled sausages floating in the broth.

"Mom," she said, "Grandpa and I used to eat this all the time. I dreamed he said he was hungry."

I finally lost it. I knocked the bowl from her hands and carried her home.

That night, my father appeared in my dream once more.

"I suffered so much while alive," he said. "Have some pity on me.

"New Year's is coming. I want to come home for a meal. Make sure you cook fish."

I woke in terror. Holding my daughter, I sat before the three framed portraits for two full days without eating or drinking.

On New Year's morning, I realized she was no longer breathing.

Clutched tightly in her hand was a packet of spicy dried salmon.

I could not believe it.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my mother, her eyes red with worry, said she was going out to buy steak.

My dad lost his battle with esophageal cancer.

In the two years leading up to his death, he barely ate, withering away to just a skeleton.

The first year after he passed, he visited my mom in a dream.

"Honey, I'm starving. I'm craving the thick-cut steak you cook so well."

Mom took it to heart and cooked up a big plate of steak that day, setting it by his headstone.

However, come sunrise, she was struck by a heart attack and died right then and there.

My husband Chester and I, devastated by the loss, handled her funeral.

That same night, Chester dreamt of Dad too.

"Chester, it's been ages since I've had a bite to eat. I'm longing for your liver pâté and a shot of strong whiskey."

He woke up, bought the best liver pâté he could find, popped open a bottle of single-malt whisky, and dashed to the graveyard.

However, shortly after he got back, he was rushed to the ICU with liver failure and died three days later.

Near breaking point, I left my daughter with a friend and dealt with the endless goodbyes on my own.

That evening, my daughter did not come home from school.

I looked everywhere, and finally, near the cemetery, I found her.

She was holding a bowl of spicy stew with grilled sausages bobbing on top.

"Mom, Grandpa, and I loved this spicy soup. He told me in a dream he was hungry."

I lost it, spilled the soup, and took her home in tears.

That night, Dad came to me in a dream.

"Sweetie, I went through so much. Please, have mercy on me.

"New Year's is the day after tomorrow. I'll come home for dinner, make sure there's fish."

I woke up in a panic, clutching my daughter, sitting in front of three framed photos for two days straight, not drinking a drop.

Only on New Year's morning did I realize my daughter was not breathing anymore.

Her hand was still gripping a pack of spicy salmon jerky.

I could not understand it. After holding my daughter and breaking down in tears, the night ended in tragedy.

When I blinked my eyes open, I was back to the day my mom, her eyes brimming with tears, said she was heading out to buy steak.

...

Packing up a plate of steak just like before, my mom made for the door.

I let out a piercing cry: "Mom! We can't have steak today!"

The shock made her hands shake, her eyes welling up again. "Silvia, it's not for me, it's for your dad.

"He's been dreaming of it, starving for a taste of steak.

"Your dad's cravings are so strong, can't we honor his memory?"

I grabbed the steak from her under her stunned gaze, chopped it to bits, and flushed it down the sink.

"No steak for anyone today!"

"What's gotten into you? Your dad adored you!"

I sighed.

Kneeling before my mom, I clung to her legs, sobbing.

"Mom, I'm begging you, let's visit Dad on another day!"

Her heart was already weak, and losing Dad only made it weaker.

She could not stand up to my pleading and let me drag her to the hospital for a full check-up.

I found my best friend, Jane Harris at the hospital, and she got my mom the best heart meds available.

Jane took the day off to be with us through the exams.

"Mrs. Douglas has high blood pressure and an irregular heartbeat. She needs to stick to a light diet for a while.

"No high-cholesterol food, absolutely."

Mom always took the doctor's advice to heart.

Watching her shaken up like that, I could finally relax.

Once we were home safe, I made her promise not to go out and to ask me for anything she needed.

I still did not understand what caused the previous life's tragedy.

However, this time around, I was determined to keep my family off that tragic path!

It was not until the time of mom's accident in my previous life passed, and she was still sleeping peacefully, that I felt the weight lift from my chest.

My tension melted away, and exhaustion hit me like a wave.

I slumped onto the couch and slipped into a deep sleep.

The following day, I was jolted awake by a call from the hospital.

"Is this Mrs. Douglas's family? She had a sudden heart attack, and I'm sorry, we couldn't save her."

That could not be right!

Mom did not touch the steak, and she did not go near Dad's grave.

I raced to the hospital, only to find a body shrouded in white.

It was not until I spoke with the neighbor who shopped with Mom daily that I learned the truth.

May Wallace, the butcher who was usually so tightfisted, was unusually eager today, coaxing Mom to sample her home-cooked steak.

"Just try a bite, what harm could it do? If you like it, you can buy some!"

Mom mentioned her blood pressure was high lately and that she needed to cut back on meat.

However, she gave in to May's insistence and ate a piece of steak.

In just minutes, she had a heart attack and fell right there in the market.

Tears streamed down my face unchecked.

Why could I have stopped that? I wondered.

I stormed over to the butcher's stall for answers.

However, May and her family chased me off with a cleaver in hand.

"It's just a tasting, what's it to you? It was simply your mother's time!"

"They say your dad starved because of you, and now you play the grieving child!"

I was inconsolable until Chester came and led me away.

He took care of everything for the funeral.

However, haunted by memories of a previous life, I grabbed his arm, my voice shaking:

"Promise me, no matter what you dream about my dad, you won't follow his words."

Chester reassured me, thinking I was just overwhelmed with grief, and promised over and over.

"Don't worry, love, I never dream."

His words soothed me, and I finally felt a bit of calm.

Back home, I collapsed into sleep.

Waking up the next day, I found Chester bustling in the kitchen.

He looked out with a worried expression and asked, "Feeling hungry? Dinner's almost ready."

I gave a small nod and drifted over to the dining table, my feet barely touching the ground.

However, when I saw what was on the plate, it was like my blood turned to ice.

Liver pâté. Of all things.