Highway of Eternity by Clifford D. Simak

time since he had gone for a walk in any countryside, and the walk had brought back memories of other walks in other years and in other lands. He had come upon a flock of complacent sheep that stood and watched him with mild question in their eyes, then trotted off a ways, but stopped and stood to watch him as he ambled past them. He had stepped across small, swiftly flowing brooks with water that had a crystal look; he had walked through small, neat groves of trees; he had noted with deep satisfaction the autumn wild flowers that grew along the brooks, nodding above the mirror of the water and along the hedges.
    And now he sat upon the low stone wall, not far from where he had clambered over it to begin the walk. Behind him was the road that ran up, between the rows of dying poplars, to reach the house; the sweep of stubbled field before him. And sitting, he thought with muted wonder of what he and Corcoran had been told by the people of the house. It was so fantastic and so beyond all imagination that he had found much difficulty in bringing it to grips. He could find no starting point to begin a logical consideration of it. Far down the field, at the edge of a grove of trees, he caught the flicker of something moving. Watching it, he finally made out that it was a man, and a short time later recognized Corcoran. As he watched, Corcoran came striding up the slope toward him.
    He waited on the wall until Corcoran finally came up to him.
    Boone patted the wall beside him. “Sit down, Jay,” he said. “Tell me what you found.”
    For Corcoran, he knew, had not gone walking without purpose; he had been seeking something.
    â€œI found the edge of the bubble,” Corcoran told him. “I am sure I did, although it was very hazy, and I would not take an oath on it.”
    â€œI hunted for it myself,” said Boone. “I walked a straight line and ended up where I had started out. I did not find the wall, but you have different eyes.”
    â€œThat’s it, I suppose. I do have different eyes. But also I have a witness. Henry, go ahead and tell him.”
    â€œHenry? Jay, you’re stark raving. There is no one with you. You came up the slope alone.”
    â€œI met a friend along the way. I forgot that you can’t see him in the sun. Henry, move over into the shadow of that tree so my friend can see you.”
    He made a thumb toward a small tree growing beside the wall. “You can see him in the shade.”
    Boone looked at the tree. There was nothing there—and then he saw a hazy flickering, dancing in the air like dust motes dancing in a narrow sunbeam coming through the slats of a window blind.
    A soundless voice addressed him out of the shadow of the tree, the unspoken words impinging on his brain.
    I am glad to meet you, sir. I am Henry, although at times Horace calls me Ghost, much to the uneasiness and wrath of other members of the family. Ghost I do not mind at all. Ghost might even be the proper name for such as I. For, after all, who is there to say what is and what is not a ghost. Although, if I am a ghost, I am not a ghost out of the past, as I suspect most other ghosts would be, but a ghost from the future.
    â€œWell, I’ll be damned,” said Boone, “And yet, in light of other things, you’re almost commonplace. Earlier in the day there was mention of you by the family. By the way, I’m Boone. Tom Boone. Jay and I are friends from long ago.”
    What your friend told you of his seeing of the time wall is true, Henry said in Boone’s mind. I know he saw it, although imperfectly. Your friend is most unusual. So far as I know, no other human actually can see it, although there are ways of detecting time. I tried to show him a sniffler. There are a number of snifflers, trying to sniff out the bubble. They know there’s something strange, but don’t know what it is.
    â€œDid you see the sniffler?” Boone asked Corcoran.
    â€œI saw