Brilliant Short Stories

by Stan Mason

  They realised they needed an alternative plan if they were to get home safely and Joe eventually came up with an idea. In their drunken state, they left the inn to go to the nearest public car park where they intended to steal a car. Staggering wildly, and hushing each other to keep quiet in between bouts of giggling, they came across a Ford motor car similar to the one owned by Joe, and he called out drunkenly to stop the other two in their tracks.

  ‘Hold it there, fellas!’ he slurred trying to focus his eyes on the lock of the car door. ‘This is the one we gotta pinch. I own one like this so I know how to drive it.’

  ‘We’re not pinching anything,’ said John unsteadily. ‘We’re just borrowing it for a little... a little while.’

  ‘That’s right,’ added Billy leaning against the vehicle to hold himself up. ‘We’re only borrowing it for a little while.’

  Joe fiddled around with the lock for a short time without success, his fingers fumbling all over the place. ‘It’s no good,’ he told the others reeling back against the door. ‘The lock is impenetr... imprenetr... it can’t be opened.’ He looked around and then ventured over to the waste bin to return with some stiff tape used to tie up a package. ‘This’ll do,’ he muttered. He pushed the tape through the rubber strip around the window and forced it inside. It took him nearly ten minutes to capture the handle in the loop but in due course he managed to pull it up. This operation helped to wind down the window, enough for him to get his hand inside to open the door. Once inside the vehicle, his mind cleared for a moment and he got the ignition started by joining some wires underneath the dashboard by the side of the steering column. ‘There you are,’ he slurred triumphantly as the engine started. ‘We’re all ready to go. Jump in everyone!’

  The other two scrambled unsteadily into the rear seat totally inebriated and sank back into the cushion.

  ‘I think I’m going to puke,’ rendered Billy unhelpfully.

  ‘Not in this car!’ cautioned Joe as firmly as he could. ‘It’s being borrowed and we mustn’t mess it up.’

  The vehicle moved forward swiftly as Joe pressed his foot on the accelerator. He knew all about Ford motor cars and was used to driving them. Sadly, on this occasion, under the influence of an excess of alcohol, his confidence was far greater than his judgement. He tried to keep the car on the straight and narrow but it kept swerving dangerously from one side of the road to the other and his speed soon shot up to sixty miles an hour. Suddenly, he came to a very sharp bend in the road and accelerated instead of braking. There was no hope of ever getting around the corner... not at that great speed. When the police arrived ten minutes later, they reckoned that the vehicle was probably racing at seventy miles an hour around an extremely sharp bend in the road. They maintained that even the most expert driver wouldn’t have been able to control it at that rate, let alone someone who had just left an inn after drinking there all evening and was way over the limit. The car had ploughed into a house on the opposite side of the road on the corner and the three occupants of the Ford motor car were instantly national statistics of those killed in road accidents. It was sad that the storm had changed their lives so dramatically... even worse for the three wives left without husbands in such an unreasonable manner. One minute the men were sozzled out of their minds and in a violent car crash; the next they found themselves standing outside the Pearly Gates of Heaven sober as judges with all their senses unimpaired.

  minutes!’ complained the anchor man.

  ‘Am I listening to a loser here?’ asked the American accusingly. ‘Or don’t you have the commitment any m ‘What the Hell happened there?’ demanded Billy uncertainly.

  A gong sounded loudly in the background as Joe and John shook their heads sadly. ‘You don’t mention that other place here,’ cautioned Joe quietly. ‘This is Heaven. You must never mention that other word here!’

  Billy shrugged his shoulders. ‘Okay,’ he went on. ‘What are we supposed to do now we’re standing outside the gates of Heaven? What are we supposed to do?’

  ‘Don’t ask me,’ commented John blandly. ‘I suppose we have to wait until someone comes out to deal with our case.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll give us another chance and let us go back to Lewisham?’ asked Billy hopefully. ‘I remember seeing a film once where a man is standing outside the gates of Heaven pleading his case while the surgeons work a miracle on him. Eventually, he recovers and goes back to lead a normal life.’

  ‘Fat chance!’ remarked Joe. ‘The only way you can go back to Earth is if you’re an angel. And, believe me, you’re no angel!’

  John stamped his feet impatiently. ‘I could do with a drink, you know,’ he muttered. ‘S’funny, I was stoned out of my mind just a minute ago, now I’m as sober as a judge.’

  ‘Me too,’ declared Joe. ‘It’s amazing what sudden death does to you. And what about our women? What are they gonna do?’

  ‘Find three other idiots to marry them, I assume,’ stated Billy carelessly. ‘Hey, I was listless and numb a minute ago. I’m just getting the feeling back in my arms.’

  They shuffled around with the clouds swirling at their feet. There was nothing to see except more clouds to the horizon. Suddenly, the door to the Pearly Gates opened slightly and a tall man with white hair and a majestic robe appeared, squeezing through before closing the gates behind him.

  ‘I suppose you’re St. Peter,’ greeted Joe amicably.

  ‘Indeed I am,’ declared the sacred saint with a haughty expression on his face. ‘I am St. Peter.’

  ‘I’ve told a lot of jokes about you up here,’ Billy told him unwisely, not fully realising the nature of his condition.

  ‘I didn’t know that there were any jokes about me,’ commented St. Peter, staring at the young man seriously.

  ‘Oh yes,’ continued Billy as though he were obliged to do so. ‘There’s the one about the man who stands outside the Pearly Gates with a chicken in his hand... ’

  ‘I don’t think St. Peter really wants to hear any jokes about himself and a chicken,’ interrupted John quickly as he saw the unamused look on the saint’s face.

  ‘Thank you!’ uttered the eminent man. ‘Now let me inform you that you’re standing outside the gates of Heaven and there are a few things I need to explain to you. Firstly, you’ll be allocated tasks during the initiation period here. They are mandatory and will include polishing clouds, painting the Archangels cloak and undertaking some harping.’

  ‘Harping?’ repeated Joe with a quizzical expression on his face. ‘What in heck is harping?’

  ‘Yeh, what’s harping?’ demanded Billy dourly.

  ‘You will sit on a cloud playing a harp. That’s what you have to do up here. It’s easy enough... a pleasant task... and you ought to enjoy it.’

  ‘But I can’t play the harp,’ retorted John. ‘I’m not a musical person in any way. Never was.’

  ‘Don’t concern yourself,’ returned the saint. ‘You’ll be trained. I assure you, there are no failures in Heaven.’

  ‘Well I’m okay for the polishing of clouds,’ said Billy boastfully. ‘You see, I’m a window cleaner.’

  ‘And I’m all right for painting the Archdeacon’s cloak because I’m a painter and decorator,’ stated John.

  ‘It doesn’t work quite like that here,’ retorted St. Peter, staring at them down his nose. ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ muttered Joe sagely. ‘It’s like the army, is it? They ask you what you’re good at and then give you jobs which are just the opposite.’

  ‘It is not like the army!’ defended the eminent man. ‘It’s just that things are done somewhat differently in Heaven.’

  ‘What happens after our initiation tasks?’ asked John becoming concerned about the future.

  ‘You’ll find out eventually,’ returned St. Peter calmly. ‘A lot will depend on your a
ttitude, your honesty, your integrity, your past life and whether you are selected for development. I’ll explain more about that to you shortly. However, before we go any further,’ he went on, ‘there’s something important I should tell you. When you get inside the Pearly Gates into Heaven, you will see a sight of magnificence. There are different coloured clouds reaching into the distance from the ground to the horizon. Firstly, you are not to look for the Almighty. He exists in a sheltered spot which is out of bounds to you and he is very busy. Therefore any attempt to seek him out is banned. If you infringe that rule... by trying to find him... it will result in very severe punishment. Secondly, once inside, you’ll find that the floor of Heaven is littered with millions of living white ducks.’

  ‘White ducks?’ spat John unwittingly, astonished at the saint’s comment.

  ‘White ducks?’ added Billy unnecessarily.

  ‘White ducks!’ repeated the eminent saint slowly. ‘Millions of them. Now we have a distinct rule here. If you tread on any one of them, all the others will start quacking in unison. Silence is golden in Heaven and any noise must be avoided at all cost. I would add that there is severe punishment for anyone who is clumsy enough to tread on one. Severe punishment. Do you all understand what I’m saying?’

  The three young men nodded although they really couldn’t take in all that was happening to them so quickly.

  ‘Is there anything you would like to ask me?’ requested the saint appearing to relax in his manner.

  ‘Yes,’ chirped Billy eagerly. ‘How do we get on here for drinks and women? Are they beautiful... plentiful... or what?’

  ‘I don’t understand the question,’ responded St. Peter.

  ‘Beer and sex,’ joined in John, with a modicum of hope for a festive time now that he did not have to support a body.

  ‘As I said, things are quite different here. You’ll learn the rules in due course but there are no true comforts. You will undertake your initiation tasks and eventually rise in credibility to be reincarnated back into the world if it is so decided. The only change will be is that you will be reborn into another body, a different environment, to new parents and, furthermore, you will not recall anything about your previous life or anything about your time in Heaven. Those are the set rules and you must obey them.’

  ‘I’m not certain I wouldn’t do better in the other place,’ muttered Billy to himself.

  ‘If you wish to go there... to burn for eternity in the fires there... you are welcome to do so,’ retorted the saint who was able to understand every thought and hear every word. ‘It’s a simple transition, I assure you.’

  ‘No, no!’ insisted the young man. ‘I’m here now. I think I’d prefer to stay whatever the rules.’

  ‘Good! I’m delighted!’ stated the eminent spirit. ‘Well as long as you understand what I’ve been telling you and behave accordingly, you will go unpunished and have a hopeful future ahead of each one of you.’

  He turned and opened the Pearly Gates to allow them into Heaven and they marched in behind him in Indian file. St. Peter had told them the truth. The floor was covered with live white ducks hustling each other to and fro so that it was very difficult not to tread on them. The three young men ventured carefully behind the eminent saint until they arrived at a chapel. Once inside, they were introduced to a man dressed in a monk’s outfit who had had the top of his head shaved.

  ‘I’m sure that each one of you is adept at being able to polish clouds and that you’re able to paint the cloak of the Archangel,’ he began, ‘so I’m going to teach you how to play the harp.’ He picked up an instrument and plucked at the strings. ‘It’s very simple,’ he told them. ‘Like playing the chords on a guitar. Just pluck away and the tune will come after a while. Here, try it!’ He passed the harp to Joe who plucked the strings to find that it was a pleasant task. He then gave it to Joe who, after playing with it for a while, handed it to Billy. ‘There,’ said the holy man, ‘you’ll all be able to play it well enough for your initiation tasks.’

  They left the chapel and wandered through the flurry of ducks aimlessly until Joe found himself sitting on a cloud with a piece of white cloth in his hand. John suddenly discovered he was in another chapel standing with a paintbrush and a pot of white paint behind an Archangel, while Billy realised he was sitting on a cloud with a harp in his hand.

  ‘Well go on!’ came a deep voice to each of them, even though they were all ostensibly in different locations. ‘Start your tasks. Get on with it!’

  Without hesitation, Joe began polishing the cloud although there was nothing substantial on which to place the cloth. It was as though he was trying to wipe away fresh air. In any case, the cloud appeared to be no different after he had polished it. After trying to cope with his situation, he became tired of the pointless task and decided to complain.

  ‘I want to see the person who’s in charge,’ he demanded of one of the holy men watching him nearby.

  ‘I’m the person in charge,’ replied the monk stentoriously.

  ‘This polishing the clouds business is a waste of time,’ continued Joe adamantly. ‘There’s nothing to polish. It vanishes before your eyes and it doesn’t improve it anyway.’

  ‘But it does,’ retorted the monk seriously. ‘There are thousands of white clouds to be cleaned.’

  ‘That’s just it. They’re just mist, cold air. They can’t be cleaned. As I said, I’m just wasting my time.’

  ‘Are you refusing to do the work?’

  The question became quite challenging and Joe moved back to contemplate his situation. This was an initiation task and they might be testing him... but for what? For reincarnation or perhaps for something more sinister? He couldn’t quite make up his mind. ‘No, I’m not,’ he went on. ‘I’m just saying it’s pointless. Perhaps I ought to see the Almighty about it.’

  ‘That is not permissible. You know there’s punishment for anyone who intends to do that.’

  Joe shrugged his shoulders and returned to his cloud, polishing for all he was worth. He was dead, in Heaven, and at a loss. He might as well conform rather than be punished. So he carried on polishing clouds with all his might.

  John liked his task. He stood with a bucket of white paint and a large paintbrush in his hand behind one of the Archangels and steadily covered the cloak. However, the more he painted the duller the lustre seemed to become. He began to get frustrated after a while and made wide brushstrokes before returning to short ones but it made no difference. The more he painted the worse the cloak seemed to be. In due course, he stopped work to ask whether he was doing the right thing or whether the paint was indeed white. He was told to continue with the task regardless and he did so, albeit with a certain amount of reluctance and concern.

  Billy was a different matter altogether. He sat on a cloud with a harp in his hand, plucking at the strings idly in the hope he would eventually find a tune. Occasionally, he put together three or four reasonably sounding chords but the actual playing of the instrument fluently eluded him. Nonetheless, he gave it his best effort and kept on playing for what seemed an eternity even though he didn’t know if anyone was listening to him.

  As time does not exist in Heaven, it was difficult to determine when they all met up again. In fact, it was at the end of their initiation tasks during which they were told that they all conducted themselves with credit. It was then they came face to face with St. Peter again.

  ‘I’ve come to remind you that you’re in the main compound again and there are millions of white ducks milling around. I’ll repeat what I told you before. If any of you tread on one of the ducks all the others will start quacking. Thereafter, the person who trod on the duck will be severely punished. Are there any questions?’

  ‘How are you going to punish us?’ asked John. ‘I mean we have no proper bodies any more. We’re merely spirits.’

  ‘You
’ll find out soon enough if you tread on a duck,’ returned the eminent saint curtly before turning on his heel and moving towards the door. ‘Now, you’ve got a short recess before you go to the next set of tasks. Make the most of it.’

  ‘Make the most of it!’ muttered Billy bitterly. ‘How are we going to do that? There’s no women, no beer, nothing!’ However, he was talking to himself because the eminent saint had left.

  ‘Well I suppose we’d better do our own thing, whatever that might be,’ said Joe eventually. ‘Do you know I haven’t slept for one moment since I’ve been here.’

  ‘Me neither,’ returned John amiably. ‘Not a wink.’

  They sauntered across three brilliantly white clouds and stared at the horizon glumly.

  ‘I think I’ll travel along this way,’ said Billy.

  ‘I’m going in the opposite direction,’ stated John.

  ‘Well I’m going to stay exactly where I am,’ declared Joe.

  It was their final farewell to each other for the three young friends never met each other again. Heaven was a timeless place without day or night... an eternal place of deliverance. Yet everything seemed to be normal with holy people going about their business diligently, angels appearing occasionally to undertake their work, Archangels attentively taking command, while the rest of the souls busily doing their allocated tasks. There was never any mention of the Almighty and no one ever appeared to see him. Joe mused that perhaps the supreme entity was on holiday... or maybe he never even existed. No, that was too tall a story! He had to be somewhere in Heaven. After all, he had created the world and developed mankind in his own image... if the Holy Bible was to be beleived.

  It was a short while later, with these thoughts invading his mind, that his concentration drifted. As he crossed the main highway in Heaven to travel to the next cloud he unwittingly trod on a duck. Immediately, all the other ducks started to quack loudly creating a most unholy din. Joe stood stock still. He suddenly recalled that there was a punishment in store for him and he wondered what it would be. As Billy had said, they didn’t have any bodies or minds to be punished so what could anyone do to them? Without delay, out of a cloud, St. Peter appeared and approached him slowly.