"Fellow heels," he commenced, unblushingly, then paused to see what uproar would follow. There was none. His insult had quieted the tumult like oil on ruffled waters. He cleared his throat and went on.
"We are gathered here to form the ghost of Jerome Chester Chisholm, deceased, erstwhile sales manager of the Pinnacle Office & Household Appliance Corp. We have all eternity, to be sure, but why waste it? Coalesce, please, as rapidly as possible. For purposes of comparison, your prototype is standing here beside me. Take it or leave it. That's your affair."
There were howls of "Chuck him out," "chiseler," "heel," "stuffed shirt," and many, many less elegant epithets. Then an ominous silence descended. The demon quietly pointed to a spot on the stage and the procession started. One by one the specters mounted the stage, marched to the spot and stood on it. Succeeding ones came on, each melting imperceptibly into the one that had been there before. Gradually the resultant figure took on more definite shape and looked far more solid than any single shade in the hall. For many of them were so tenuous as to be hardly visible.
"Would you mind, sir," asked Mr. Chisholm, not knowing any better way to address a demon, "telling me what this is all about? And after this monkey business is over, when do I get my trial?"
"Trial?" The demon laughed. "In one sense you have had your trial. This is the result. In another sense, this is your trial. In either case, the verdict is already found and the sentence fixed."
"I don't get you," said Mr. Chisholm. "Who are all these ... er ... spooks? And what have they got to do with me? They look like a flock of comic Valentines."
"They have plenty to do with you. They are you."
"Me! You're crazy. I'm me." He struck himself on the chest.
"No. You are only one aspect of you," corrected the demon. "You are a ghost now, and nothing more. Ghosts are intangible, immaterial things—made of dream stuff, as your poets say. What you call you is your own estimate of you. These creatures flocking up onto the stage are other people's estimates of you. You—the you that we recognize—is the composite of them all. Stick around. You are going to learn something."