The Road From Death

by Tobias Wade

“We have to go back for Mrs. Robinson!” Claire cried.

  “Not safe,” Noah grunted, invisible on Samantha’s blinded right side.

  “That’s why we can’t leave her!” Claire insisted. “If that old man attacked Samantha, then we can’t let him have Mrs. Robinson!”

  “He’s not the one who attacked her. It was the clawed thing. And I don’t think you have to worry about Mrs. Robinson, because the thing is still following us.”

  The red streetlight glared malevolently overhead, as comforting as an umbrella full of holes in a storm.

  “Where is it?” Samantha hissed.

  “Behind us. No—don’t turn around. They don’t usually bother people unless they think they’ve been noticed. It must have thought Samantha could see it because she kept looking through it without noticing. Keep staring ahead. It will lose interest if we don’t acknowledge it.”

  “So we’re supposed to just stand here and pretend the thing that attacked me isn’t standing behind us right now?” Samantha questioned in disbelief.

  “Uh huh,” Noah mumbled, meeting her eyes. “How are you feeling? Your right eye is all…”

  “Cloudy,” Claire replied from the other side. “It’s going to be fine, really.” She did not sound very confident.

  The musty scent engulfed them once more like a heavy blanket, weighing them down. The streetlight seemed to burn redder out of pure spite. “Seriously,” Noah warned. “Don’t look back.”

  “Well, screw waiting here then,” Samantha said defiantly. She looked both ways down the intersection before darting across the street toward the patch of grass and trees which separated the traffic lanes.

  “Wait for us!” Claire called, breaking after her. Noah was close behind, muttering curses to himself as he hurried beneath the halo of red light. They caught up with Samantha where she crouched beside a bush, ready to sprint again. In the near-distance another traffic light turned green and headlights began to rush past. The party was tense and ready to run as soon when a space opened between the cars.

  “Is it still there?” Samantha asked. She already knew the answer because the smell was as strong as ever, but any words were more reassuring than the oppressive silence.

  “Don’t look,” Noah repeated softly. He seemed to be listening to something only he could hear.

  “Is my eye going to be okay?” she continued.

  “The old man is talking about it, but—”

  “Tell me!”

  Noah sighed sharply, looking hopelessly from side to side at the impenetrable wall of rush-hour traffic.

  “He says your eye ‘might shrivel up to a prune and drop out, or spring a leak that drains all the liquid out and leaves only a sad empty pouch.’ I said don’t look!”

  Samantha’s head was beginning to turn, but she quickly snapped it back.

  “Will I go blind?” Samantha murmured.

  “No. Samantha this really isn’t the time—”

  “Tell me exactly what he’s saying!”

  “He says ‘If the eye stays in, it’ll start to see again. But it won’t be seeing what’s in your world.’ He says ‘The things you’ll see will take your breath away.’”

  Just as Noah said ‘breath away’, the words were accompanied by a hot, dry breath on the back of Samantha’s neck. Something inside her became unhinged after feeling such a thing. It wasn’t a physical pain; it was more of an intrusive thought which wormed its way into her head. It told her that she was a scared, helpless little girl in a great, big world that had no possible need for her. That no one would notice much less care whether she lived or died. It didn’t feel like a passing opinion either, but rather a law of the universe that she had just stumbled upon, such as the law of gravity, that once noticed could not be overturned. Since she couldn’t escape a thought, she did the best she could using her legs instead.

  Samantha was halfway into the oncoming traffic before anyone could stop her. A yellow jeep appeared suddenly, roaring across the asphalt directly toward her. The events of the next few moments couldn’t agree on which would happen first, so they all crammed through the proverbial doorway and happened at exactly the same time.

  Noah followed Samantha into the street. He didn’t think of it as risking his life to save her. He only felt an instinctual responsibility for her, and he had to quiet that voice in his head that said it was his fault for leading the children here at all.

  Claire jumped up and waved her arms to get the driver’s attention. It must have worked too, because the jeep slammed its breaks.

  If he hadn’t hit his breaks, then Noah wouldn’t have had enough time to catch Samantha by the flying end of her long skirt and swing her back toward the island of grass.

  The vehicle slammed to a stop exactly 1.2 seconds after the front bumper connected with Noah’s right shoulder. The jarring impact buckled his neck and body, allowing the vehicle to make a second point of contact on his temple. His thin frame was lifted by the force and thrown carelessly into the air like a rag-doll.

  Noah was aware of his flight, though he wasn’t in any pain. He felt the massive wall of pressure from the collision, but this caused more numbness than discomfort. His whole body felt like static, all pins and needles, like a foot that had just taken its first step after being asleep. It didn’t seem so bad, except for the inner voice which told him in no uncertain terms that he shouldn’t be in the air this long and that either he would continue to float away indefinitely, which seemed unlikely, or he was about to make a close acquaintance with the hard, unsympathetic ground.

  Qari Olandesca Illustrations

  Waking Up Again

  Noah must have landed on the asphalt eventually, but he was quite oblivious to the impact. He only knew he was on the ground because he found himself staring into the pool of blood spreading from his temple along the road. It seemed interesting that people in the reflection were running toward him with open mouths that weren’t making any sounds. It was ridiculous that they would make such a fuss when he wasn’t hurt at all, and he looked forward to their excited relief when he stood up at any moment.

  There was something about the puddle of blood that concerned Noah, although his thoughts weren’t clear enough to understand what was wrong with this situation. He could see Claire and Samantha leaning over him: Claire with tears flowing down her face while Samantha looked as though she’d been turned to stone except for her wide quivering eyes, one of which was now pure marble-white.

  A bearded man had exited the jeep, yet he hadn’t approached. His breathing was ragged as he held a cell phone to his ear, yet still there was no sound coming from him either. A thought floated through Noah’s head that perhaps it shouldn’t be so quiet if everything really was fine. He kept staring at the puddle of blood, trying to focus his fuzzy thoughts on exactly what was wrong with everyone.

  “You noticed, didn’t you?” uttered an aged voice, the first sound Noah heard since he’d been hit.

  “We’re on the wrong side of the reflection,” Noah replied, not turning away from the puddle. Had his voice always sounded so thin and high?

  “There isn’t a wrong-side. No before-side, no after-side, no upside or downside. There’s just the other side, the side you're now on.”

  Noah sat up at last. His body stubbornly refused to rise with him. He looked down to see himself still lying face down in the blood, which by now looked more like a lake than a puddle, complete with little streams that gushed through the cracks in the road to cascade down toward the gutter.

  “That’s disgusting,” Noah remarked, scowling.

  The old timer removed his striped hat and held it to his chest, closing his eyes in an apparent gesture of reverence. His head was bald underneath, and his thick wrinkled skin made him appear more turtle than man. “Beats going in your sleep. Dying is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that’s not to be missed."

  Noah began to stand to completely remove himself from his old body. He ceased abruptly when he realized his new body tha
t was emerging was completely naked. Besides that, his skin was smooth and hairless. The scar on his chest from a heart surgery a few years ago was completely gone. He pulled himself entirely free from the carnage to stand over the pool of blood and saw himself as the child he could barely remember ever being, no older than the two girls who were still in shock about the mangled corpse he’d left behind.

  Suddenly self-conscious, Noah sank back into the ground, blushing as the old man began to laugh.

  “Shut up, will you? This is your fault,” Noah huffed.

  “If it’s anyone’s fault, blame the gargoyle. Anyway the girls can’t see you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Here, try this on.”

  The man began to sketch in the air, and wherever one of his fingers went there remained a bit of soft fire which continued to smolder. The fire seemed to be spilling from a thick white ring Noah hadn’t noticed before which traced the outline of a pair of trousers. As he went, the fire began to spread, knitting itself together to populate the space between the lines. The pants proceeded to burn in mid-air as a shirt was conjured beside them. The fires burned out into a bleak gray color before the clothing dropped to a heap on the ground.

  Noah hastily scooped them up and self-consciously donned them while facing away from the old man. The clothes had fallen directly into the puddle of blood, but even so are soft and dry against Noah’s new skin.

  “Don’t I get any shoes?” Noah inquired.

  “Most spirit bodies don’t bother with them. It’s hard to find your balance walking up things like stairs when you can’t feel them, but going barefoot helps grip the air better, if you know what I mean.”

  “No,” Noah was now feeling flustered and obstinate. “I don’t at all.”

  An ambulance had arrived on the scene. One of the paramedics was dragging Claire away from the body, and she kicked and swung her elbows at them as she was forcibly removed. Samantha walked willingly when she was asked, her face stiff and frozen. The silence of the scene made it even more unsettling.

  “Isn’t there some way for me to let them know I’m okay?” Noah asked.

  “Sure there is. We’ll need another jeep though.”

  Noah, now fully dressed, turned to scowl at him. The old timer grinned and placed his hat back on his head.

  “Where’s the thing that attacked Samantha?”

  “The gargoyle didn’t stick around. Took off when you got hit. Cowardly creatures, I’ll never understand why the department puts so much faith in them. I’ve never seen one go after a human like that though, most curious indeed.”

  Noah watched as his body was covered in a white sheet and carried into the back of the ambulance. Part of him still hoped that it would stand up and shake it off, but that seemed to be growing less likely by the moment. He really was dead. Why did those words sound so strange to him?

  “Mandy will still be able to see me though,” Noah said. “I should go and tell her what’s happened.”

  The old man shook his head. “Wouldn’t recommend it. The T.D.D. is very particular about spirits communicating with unregistered mediums.”

  “The T.D.D.?” Noah asked, distracted by the progress of his body.

  “The Trans Dimensional Department,” the old man said. “You’ll get that on your permanent record, then fat chance getting into a good school then.”

  “What would I want to go to school for?” Noah turned to face him. “It’s not like I need to earn a living.”

  “You don’t want to spend your next life sweeping graveyards, do you?”

  “No, of course not. Why would I—”

  “That’s what will happen, you know. Or maybe haunting a teddy bear because that’s all you’ll manage, not having taken your possession work seriously. See all those children passing you by? They’re headed for The Mortuary. Brilliant demonology course they’ve got, real cutting-edge summoning program. Not to mention one of the best necromancy curriculums you’ll find this side of the ocean. They’ve got second year students already raising their own ghouls. Can you believe it?”

  “Um, not entirely,” Noah replied quite honestly. “Why did you say today was an excellent day to die? Are you the grim reaper or something?”

  “George Hampton, a pleasure to meet you,” the old man said, shaking Noah by the hand. Noah was surprised to feel how real and solid the other’s hand felt. “And no, I’m not going to harvest you, whatever that means. You do have good timing though, because the bus leaves in…” he checked his watch, then the stars, then his watch once more, “about an hour. Little less.”

  “I don’t want to go anywhere. I have to take care of my daughter and her son. Her husband isn’t around anymore, and I know she tries her best but she hasn’t had a real job since the baby—what are you doing now?”

  George Hampton’s tongue was out of his mouth and he seemed to be tasting the air like a serpent. He turned suddenly upon being addressed as though he forgot Noah was even there.

  “Your daughter and her son are already dead,” George said. The words felt like a punch in the stomach.

  “What?! How—”

  “Well, not exactly, but they are to you,” the old man corrected. “There isn’t such a thing as dead really. There’s either this side or the other side. When you aren’t in one, you’re in the other. Now if you do as you’re supposed to, you study very hard in all of your classes, then in a few years you’ll have graduated and will be ready to go back to the other side. In your words, pass the final test and you’ll be back alive again.”

  That didn’t sound quite so bad anymore. Noah reflexively breathed a sigh of relief, surprised to find his lungs still making the motion out of habit despite not feeling any air enter his body. A siren illuminated the scene in flashes of harsh red and blue, and the sound was beginning to trickle back as though someone had turned the TV volume up from mute to low.

  Noah watched as a policeman wrote down the statement of the bearded man in the jeep. Claire’s mother was there, and Claire had buried against her mother’s side. Samantha was sitting on the sidewalk beside them, her arms clutched around her drawn knees.

  “They don’t seem dead. But I don’t feel dead either, so I suppose it doesn’t matter either way. How far is the bus?”

  “That’s the spirit!” the old man chuckled to himself. “Not far at all, we just need to follow all the other children.”

  George Hampton placed a gentle arm behind Noah’s shoulders and steered him away from the bloody street. Away from his body that was already passing him in the ambulance. Away from every mistake he’d ever made, every place he’d ever been, and every person he’d ever loved. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry, or perhaps both at the same time.

  The volume in the living world never turned all the way back on; all the rush and commotion of the street kept buzzing away barely above a whisper. Likewise, it all had a certain translucence to it in the same way that spirits had once appeared to him when he was alive. And while he had only ever seen the occasional spirit before, now they were everywhere, as real and solid and true as his brand-new body.

  Owls—herds of deer—prowling wolves—all right in the middle of the city, in the middle of the street, heedless to the ceaseless traffic. Flights of birds swooped straight through the pellucid towers, and other strange creatures unseen in the living world strut their impossibility brazenly before all to see. One by one they came sparkling into existence before his eyes like the blossoming of a starry night. It immediately became very clear to Noah that all his life he had only seen the faintest edge of the other world which lay hidden over the one he knew.

  George Hampton and Noah walked through buildings that couldn’t possibly belong to this city. Tucked between a grocery store and a gas station rose a high tower which looked to be entirely built from jagged black glass, more real now than the familiar commercial buildings on either side. There on the other end of the street sat a fat round building whose brown walls rippled like a chocolate waterfall. A fe
w hundred yards ahead, Noah could clearly see where part of the street was abruptly blocked by a marble mountain with a Grecian shrine like a miniature Pantheon carved directly into its mass.

  “Some people of faith prefer to pursue resurrection at a temple rather than a school, but they aren’t as popular on this side,” George Hampton rambled, noticing Noah’s fascination in the structure. “It’s hard to convince people that you follow the one true God when he never shows his face, and right next door is another faith offering a different variety of resurrections at half the price. Of course none of them can guarantee it—all souls find their way back in their own ways—but The Mortuary will teach you all the essentials and give you your very best shot.”

  Noah suddenly became aware that humans have been dying for almost exactly as long as they’d been living. That he could run into Napoleon, or Caesar, or a Neanderthal which died before two sticks were rubbed to make fire. As long as their spirit didn’t return to the other side, they must have stayed here.

  “Why are you old?” Noah inquired.

  The old man tapped the side of his nose and his eye twinkled. “Excellent question! Everyone who comes here begins their journey young. There is only one currency on this side: the years of your life. It’s the only thing of value on the other side too, though you all hardly seem to notice it being spent. The more someone decides to spend, the older they get, until one day they spend themselves completely and disappear, never to be seen again.”

  “You must have bought a lot of things,” Noah said.

  “They sneak up on you,” the old man replied. “One day here, a week there—you don’t even notice until they’re gone, nor how precious they were until it’s too late.”

  “That’s rubbish,” Noah said. “After you realized that you were getting older you should have stopped right away.”

  “So you never wasted time again after realizing that it wouldn’t come back?” he asked, rather smugly.

  “But it does come back though? You can pass the test and come back as many times as you want?”