Such a shame.
To tell you the truth, it’s bittersweet. For twenty-seven years I watched you grow, watched you change as you discovered that the opportunity-filled world which your parents painted for you was all bullshit. You became cynical, and with it, lazy. As is the way with your species you started to look out for number one, screw everyone else. You piss and moan and think you have it tough, and to that, I say…
You should try living in my shoes for a few hundred years. Still, I can’t complain. This job isn’t too bad. I could have done better, that's for sure, but I could have also done a lot worse, and unlike you I choose to look on the bright side. Every cloud, and all that bullshit.
And so here we are, the watcher and the watched. The dying and the already dead. I can see you staring at another one of those shitty reality shows that you seem to be hooked on these days, all the glitz and glamour.
Fuck that.
You’re yawning, though, and I can tell you’re getting tired.
Soon then.
I suppose it’s only fair as I wait for you to finish watching this god awful crap on the TV that I tell you what I do. It makes no difference to you, in the long run, of course, but I don t often get to talk about my work and for once I want to indulge. Call it nostalgia; call it readying myself to move on from this job to the next. Whatever you like.
I take souls.
I know. Scary, right?
Let me give you a second to digest that little snippet, whilst I tell you a little more. We have time yet. I can see you well enough from the shadowy place here in the corner, and you don’t seem quite ready to give in to the tiredness.
First up then, a few harsh truths.
Heaven and hell aren't as it seems. You people have this idea that it’s some kind of titanic battle between good and evil, which, incidentally, causes no end of amusement over on our side. The reality is that it’s a business. The guy upstairs and the guy downstairs work together to achieve a fine balance. Of course, every now and again, they will clash, and stupid decisions are made. The Boxing Day Tsunami in Indonesia and the 9/11 attacks on New York being just a couple of examples of when things got out of hand and one of them spat their dummy out. Mostly, though, they get on fine. They share the workload and it’s left to guys like me to get down on street level as it were and do the dirty stuff.
If you’re wondering why I’m telling you all this, then you’re a little slow on the uptake. See, tonight is your night. You shouldn’t be surprised. It’s been coming for a while. The problem is that you humans never learn. It’s always live fast, work hard, play harder. You never take a moment to sit back and really look at the world. Even now, you’re screwing around on your overpriced smartphone, and it pains me to see what that innocent little kid in the Spiderman pyjamas who always dreamed of being an astronaut has become.
I’m right here in the room with you, something that as a kid, you would have picked up on in an instant, but not anymore. A damn freight train could plough through this shithole apartment of yours and it still wouldn’t stop you from gawping at the tiny screen which contains your entire fake world. I’m tempted, just for a second to goose you, just to see if I can get a reaction for old times’ sake, but I won’t.
You’ll get yours soon enough.
Just know that if I did choose to let you see me, I mean if I changed from this transparent thing in the darkness and materialized in front of you...well, to put it bluntly, it would blow your little fucking mind. I knew a guy once who got so pissed off with his assigned human that he made himself visible and started throwing the guy's furniture around. The human had a heart attack right there in his bed. When the cops arrived, his hair was white, and he was barely alive. He’d also gone blind. That’s what it would mean to see us for what we are. You might think I have a problem with humans, but you couldn’t be further from the truth. See, I used to be just like you. Human, I mean.
Now, of course, I’m nothing. A formless thing, an entity. An incorporeal presence. But a long, long time ago I, too, was made of flesh and bone. I had a family and friends, hopes and dreams to go on to greatness or, at least, leave something behind to show I’d at least existed on this rock. However, the price of immortality is that you have to watch everyone you ever knew die. I’m not bitter, it’s just how it is. For the first few hundred years, it plagued me but I learned to live with it. I mean, what choice did I have, right?
Don’t bother giving me any sympathy. I long ago stopped having such things as feelings or emotions anyway, and without the ties of family of the other trappings of humanity I can devote myself fully to what I need to do, which is good news for me and not so good for you. Even so, you can’t blame me if I sound a little bitter. Hundreds of years of waiting in the dark and watching human after human throw their lives away soon becomes frustrating. It doesn’t matter anyway because, as I said earlier, tonight is your night. You’ll be in bed soon, and this dingy little shitbox apartment, which is a far cry from the nice house that you and your soon to be widowed wife used to share, will be the last thing your waking body will ever experience. Man, I loved that house. It was big, there was room to move, room to breathe. But you went and screwed it up and flushed the one good thing you had down the toilet. Now that house is gone, and the wife is with someone else.
I still wonder why you didn’t fight, didn’t even try to win her back, especially when the kids started calling her new guy Daddy. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You waited, and waited, and now it’s too late.
You’ve finally switched off the TV and put away the phone and are up and locking the doors, the first part of the going to bed routine. I guess I’d better wrap this up.
Let me tell you all about death. The ever after. The afterlife. Whatever you choose to call it. First up, there is no out of body experience, nor any white lights or rose-filled gardens where the spirits of the departed loved ones come to meet you and take you into the next life.
Please.
Don’t tell me you ever believed that shit?
If you did, you’re in for a rude awakening when it’s my ugly ass that greets you and takes you to the other place. Incidentally, you’re lucky. You’ve got what we call in the trade an ‘easy’ death. You, my friend, are going in your sleep. A nice, peaceful, natural causes removal. That’s what they call it by the way over where I come from. A removal. Make no mistake, though, you really are lucky, because going in your sleep is a damn sight better than those waking, painful deaths. The car crashes, and drownings, the domestic disputes gone too far. You won’t have to suffer any of that. None of the knowing it’s coming. Yours will be quick, tidy and quiet.
This is how it will go.
You will go to sleep as you do every night, fully expecting that tomorrow will be another day when you finally go on that diet, or call your wife and tell her you’re sorry for being such an asshole, or really apply yourself at work to try and snag that promotion, only that’s not how it will go, your time, buddy, is up. No more chances, no more tomorrows. You, my friend, have seen your last sunset.
I’ll wait until you’re sleeping.
I’m not talking about the light, toss and turn crap. I mean the deep, do not disturb type sleep. That’s when I’ll appear.
The room will grow cold, but you’ll be too far under to notice. That’s when I’ll take form.
I’ll stand over you and for a while I'll just watch until its time. We work to a very strict timetable and have to take you at exactly the right moment. When it comes, I’ll reach out my hand, and my fingers, like long tendrils of mist, will reach down to your face. I might whisper in your ear, reassuring you with my dry, dead breath that it will be okay, that I know what I’m doing. You won’t hear it of course. You’ll still be sleeping, expecting to wake up the next day. Poetic really if you think about it.
I'll open your mouth then turn back into that wispy, misty form, then in I go.
You won’t feel it. That I promise.
I’ll go
in and I’ll find the soul.
Troublesome things you know, souls. They never stay in one place, and tend to get spread out around the body as the years go by. Some of it will be in the brain, that much is a given, and there’s always a big old chunk in the heart. The rest…ah that’s anyone’s guess. Each of us has our own system. Me, I’m methodical. I search every organ, every muscle, and every cell. I’m thorough. I always get all of it. Incidentally, you want to know something interesting about ghosts? That’s what happens when a less careful of my kind doesn't get all of the soul. The parts that are left behind roam the earth in a kind of never-ending limbo, most of the time not even aware they’re dead. It’s a horrible, horrible way to go.
Anyway, I’m getting side-tracked.
So, I’ll gather the soul. During this time, you’re still alive, by the way. Still breathing and dreaming. But not for long. I come back out the way I came—through the mouth—and reform by your bed, bringing your soul with me. It's then that the body dies. See the body is just a machine— and a laughably flawed one at that—. And without the soul to pull the strings, it’s a useless organic thing.
I always watch my human take their last breath.
Partly to make sure my job is done, and secondly because there’s beautiful about it. That’s when I know it’s over, and my work is done.
You know the belief that you will go to either heaven or hell depending on how well you lived your life?
Well, that part is kind of true.
In the trade, we call it the drop-off.
Let me try to describe it in a way that your mortal little mind would understand. I’ll be quick, though because I can see you getting ready for bed, and I’m scheduled to take you not long after you go to sleep.
Imagine a huge chamber stretching as far as the eye can see, a room that’s immense beyond comprehension. Inside are others like you, fresh souls, confused and aware but helpless until we release you. So we wait for our turn, and together we go to meet with your purgatory advisor to find out where your destination will be. These guys can be sour, and a little short with you, but try to remember that they’re just trying to do their jobs, and with millions of people to see, you can forgive them if they’re a little abrupt.
They will discuss your life with you, and more importantly if you made the most of it. See that’s the kicker. If you’ve done well, and lived a full, good life, then you get to go upstairs and enjoy peaceful oblivion, or whatever kind of fuzzy goodness goes on up there. But if you haven’t, then you better be prepared for the other place. The place where I come from.
And you can forget that image that just popped up in your head, too. It’s not all fire and brimstone as you might have been led to believe, in fact, there’s nothing but a cold, black emptiness. Seconds feel like hours. Minutes like weeks, Hours like years. It’s lonely and you will wait there in that void until you’re called upon. It could be days or weeks. If you are lucky, it will just be a few months. Usually it's years. Some of the particularly bad ones are made to wait for centuries. Let me tell you, just floating around in that void is... well, for want of a better word, it’s hell.
Eventually, you will be called in front of him.
Now a word of advice. You don’t want to look him in the eye. In fact, don’t say or do anything. Just keep your eyes down and your ears open. He will assign you a duty. You might be unlucky and get one of the shitty jobs. Fucking poltergeists are the lowest of the low and you don’t want to get stuck doing that forever. Another one to avoid is becoming a demon. A guy I know found himself doing that back in the early 1900’s and has been called up by stupid kids playing on their Ouija boards more times than he can remember.
If you’re lucky, though, you might get a gig like mine and become a reaper. It’s a good deal. You get to see the world; you get to watch as human life goes on. More than that, though, you get to spend a lot of time away from that dark pit. I have my fingers crossed for you, but the decision isn’t mine to make.
Ahh, there you go now. You’ve just climbed into bed, and I can see how tired you are. Say goodnight to the world, buddy, it’s almost time.
Anyway, I digress.
I’m sure you’d prefer to go up there and live in with the good people but…
Man, this part is always hard to say.
You haven’t led a perfect life.
Not bad by any means, just not perfect. The truth is you’re borderline. I’ve watched you and willed you to do something worthwhile, but it’s always tomorrow. Always soon. Never today. You’ve had a life of opportunities, chances to make a difference, but like it is with so many humans, you waited too long, spent too many hours out drinking or sitting in front of the TV and wasting the time you have. And I’ll be straight with you, chief. I’m worried that it’s too late.
Ahh, there you go.
Deep sleep.
It’s time, but don’t worry, I’ll look after you.
Just like I promised.
You look so innocent, so unaware of what’s about to happen. Either way, it’s time we were going. The lines at the purgatory hall are always a bitch, and it’s best if we get there early. I wonder if you will have any regrets when you find out it’s over?
I think I would, although to tell you the truth, your wife and kids will probably lead better lives without you there to screw it up. It may be harsh, but it’s true. The world won’t miss you. In fact, it will be better without you in it. That big wheel will keep turning regardless.
You’re in that place.
Deep, do not disturb land, and I was never a reaper that needed to be told twice.
It’s time.
FIRECRACKER
[This is one of those stories which seem to crop up every now and again, in that I genuinely don’t recall writing it! Based on the dates on the word document, it looks like it was sometime in mid-2011, which would tie in with the Dark Corners writing sessions. Either way, I can’t recall it, and discovering it again was a pleasant surprise. I like the simplicity of it and although it takes a few liberties with real world procedure, I’m happy to include it here. ]
SIX MINUITES. THREE hundred and sixty seconds. The human heart beats between sixty and eighty times per minute when resting, but I know mine is going a hell of a lot faster than that right now. It’s funny how you never think about time until you don’t have much left. But I’m thinking about it now, because in exactly five minutes and twenty-eight seconds, the world as we know it is going to end.
I know this because I made it happen. I’m not some lunatic cult member either like David Koresh of the Canadian guy who thinks he is Jesus. I’m just a man like everyone else, I’m just fortunate that the fringe benefits of my job have given me the opportunity to pull the plug on this shithole world that we live in.
It’s funny because even as a kid growing up I think I always knew that this was my fate. We relied too much on governments without backbones who, when the time came, didn’t have the guts to stand up and be counted. Whilst my buddies were watching cartoons and riding bikes, I was watching the news as those people in power continued to flush the country down the drain. Even then it left a sour taste in my mouth and I knew what I needed to do.
Four minutes.
It's strange knowing what fate intends for you from such a young age. I knew what subjects I would need to take to get there, and I devoted myself to getting there whatever the cost. It was because of my complete dedication that I had no friends growing up. I didn’t need them either. I learned early on that most people are out for number one and will stab you in the back first chance they get. My parents and teachers were overjoyed and encouraged me to keep working hard. As I grew up, I was still wet behind the ears. I thought I could make a difference, I thought that by getting involved with these political groups that I could bring about change, but it didn’t take long to find that it was a hive of the corrupt, fed by the greed of those who only wanted to increase their own power.
The thing is, it would have
been easy to join in with those tyrannical old men. They were the snake offering the tainted apple, promising the world if only I would sell them my soul. I will admit to being tempted. I was young and hungry for success, but when it all came down to it, I couldn’t face the idea of becoming a member of that particular club, clinging on to power with one gnarled hand whilst I stuffed pockets full of cash with the other.
Not likely.
My decision to shun their invitations made me a target, but I was never one to shy away from a good fight, and so I used the public against them. It was easy to get them onside, because many of them, like me were sick of these people who were running the world into the ground. I told it how it was, I exposed their flaws, uncovered the skeletons they had tried so hard to bury, and the public loved me for it. One particular world leader made some derogatory statements about me in the press back in two thousand and two, but I wasn’t some wet behind the ear rookie anymore, and I arranged for a dead hooker and two kilos of heroin to be found in his hotel room. No matter where you are in the world, that would be enough to get you a stretch in prison, but this was Texas, and it was punishable by death. I pushed for it to happen. Not publicly, but behind closed doors. I schemed and whispered and planted seeds of ideas in the heads of the right people. In two thousand and four, after two appeals and numerous protests, he was sentenced to death by lethal injection. In public, I said it should serve as an example that nobody was above the law. In the circles I ran in though, people suspected that I had more to do with it. The disdain they had for me grew into fear, and that suited me just fine.
Two minutes fifty. Time flies.
I had to dispose of a lot of people on the way up. Don’t be so surprised, though. I wasn’t the only one that got my hands dirty. You might say I was just as vile and corrupt as the rest of them, but I’m different. You see, I had that one goal, that one idea of what needed to happen if the world was to really become a better place. I knew by then that words alone wouldn’t change things. Only action would do that.
Forgotten Fears Page 9