In all my years as a professor at Sorbonne University, I have rarely found a person I didn't like. However, due to my distaste for the insufferable company of people, I often secluded myself. I found myself wandering in the dank of the French Catacombs, among the antique bones lain by the monks when the Plague condemned Paris. I felt pleased at the idea that I had no need to talk to the corpses; for what could the living say to the dead?

Many said that I was an old, senile man. I had never actually taught in the university, so why did they pay me? I was likely to carry the Plague from all that time in a tomb in which lay all those that had died of it. They weren't delighted at the idea that I walked around, possibly carrying a disease that could kill so many. It scared them even, I know. I heard them speaking of me, all the while thinking, Oh you sentimental, illeducated fools.

By and by, the long walks deep into the catacombs started to have effect on my person, in more than one way. First, I developed arthritis. My bones ached with every movement. I acquired a bad cough, and sometimes even had to remain in bed for days on end. As I walked I thought about things. I came up with horrific, irrepressible thoughts of how to rid the world of all who had made me miserable in my lifetime. But still, since I was agreeable to a point, I felt no great need to carry the plans out. My ambitions were merely the dreams that every man has once in their life span. And, eventually, the novelty of such unimaginable acts wore off.

However, one night I felt the icy hands of death touch me. I saw great, winged creatures at my window whispering, beckoning me to follow. Although I was tempted to join the flawless angels of heaven to the Creater, I didn't. They left before the first, precious rays of dawn spread over the rooftops of the city of light.

I told people of my encounter with Death. But they laughed, saying that I was dreaming. I insisted, and they became enraged. In particular, one rather jovial student, Pierre Porlain, pursued me.

"How dare you, you senile old man?" He said, his voice rising passionately. "You lie about seeing visions of God, not that of the old feary tales that we grew up with! If you have indeed seen such a thing, I expect sufficient proof."

"You want proof, you say," I responded. "Be what you will, I saw them. I am not so irreligious as to lie of such a thing."

Some continued their merriment at what I claimed, some scolded me. Still, however desperately I tried, I could not get the luminous vision out of my head. And I decided to rid the world of the student Pierre.

However, the manner of doing it seemed impossibly hard. Pierre was clever beyond that of his classmates, and it would take an extraordinary plan to do so. My brain went wild with ideas of how, and it vexed me to no end that I would not be able to make such plans come into use.

But still, I longed to see the vivid illusion wild creatures I had seen nights before, once again. But they did not return. I listened for them, but heard nor saw anything of the sort.

During the days, I returned to the catacombs, where I was inspired for such elaborate and hideous ideas before. But unexpectedly, I received none. I began to despair of ever realizing my plans.

One night, however, when I had wandered particularly far into the immense tomb, I came up with an idea. I, myself, could stroll through the ancient halls blindfolded. However, others avoided the place. If I brought Pierre in here... Yes, that would be the way.

The next morning I approached the man, who sat laughing with his friends. He turned when he saw me, and to my surprise, invited me over to share a drink.

"I must ask your forgiveness," he said. "I am not usually so forward. However, I am very protective of my religious beleifs."

"Do not think of it," I said, smiling back at him. "I spoke of it without thinking. However, I am able to prove my experience."

He looked up at me, suddenly interested. "You have?"

"Yes, but.." I paused. "No, you would not wish to follow me into such a dismal place."

"But I will. If it means enlightenment in the ways of God, I am more than willing," he said. "Where is it?"

"In the French Catacombs," I explained. "Like I said, a dreary, damp place. One might catch a cold there."

"Nevertheless, I shall follow you," he said. Then, raising his glass, "And to good health, that you should not be called again for a while yet!"

"That's correct, my health."

And that night, I followed my plan. I led him down, down. All the while, I sugested going back. He insisted on going on. I pretended to trip over a stone, and dropped my torch. I left him, sure of only my way home. I heard him feeling around, calling my name. I eventually heard his screams, as he realized in horror that he was separated from me.

I opened the door to the bright sunlight of Paris, and closed it behind me.

I feel now that I must commend Pierre on his blind faith in God. Now that I am on my deathbed. However, strangley enough, I haven't seen angels, the great, beautiful creatures I had seen that night.

Now the door opens. It is my niece. "Did you hear?" she said. "They found Peirre LeVon, who's been missing for a week now."

"Where?" I croak, weary with illness. "Is he alright?"

"He's dead, found in the catacombs. They say he probable went in, and his torch went out. He also went mad, dissoreinted. He was barely alive when they found him, and he looked insane," she tells me.

"Good," I whisper with the last of my breath.

"What?" she asks, eyes wide at my comment. But it's too late for me to answer. I slip into darkness, into the final sleep I could never achieve in earthly life.