Struggling With the Afterlife

by Ronald Stanley Jr.

  And maybe they were, he thought. He moved closer, then froze in horror.

  Within the picker bushes, around the mouth of the sad porcelain toilet, were giant bug-like creatures. They were a breed between wasps and caterpillars, only bigger and with many more legs and segments.

  They were licking the water as it poured down the abandoned porcelain toilet.

  Johnny wanted no part of these (or whatever other cousins they may have). If there was a Hell, or End Of The World somewhere, he was sure these creatures were part of it. As you got tortured wanting to die but couldn’t...

  Oh, Honeysuckle Bug fuck - think positive, Warrior! He thought to himself, looking down at the envelope, then Cecilian Street. He pushed the thought of Eternal Damnation and getting tortured for all eternity aside and moved on away from the giant bugs.

  Somewhere in the distance, a loud horn blew. As he walked down Cecilian Street, he saw an abandoned basketball court to his right. Beyond that he saw a rusty mailbox. It had the logo of the bird on it but faded. He knew this had to be the mailbox the troll had wanted him to put the envelope in. As he made his way to it, opening up the rusty box, putting the envelope in and closing the box, he saw an open field with a giant abandoned shack.

  It was shaped like the front of a house, only broader - longer. It had many windows and doors in the center. Some were locked and rusty, others were painted different colors and numbered.

  It’s not a house - it’s a factory, he’d thought. Then - another thought: both. It’s a house of many and factory of many to..

  To make them..

  Whatever they were, or maybe it was one of many, like..

  Legion, he thought. Though where that name had come from, he didn’t know either.

  Then he thought of the Bible he’d picked up earlier. It had come from there, he’d thought then. Yes, Legion - the demon cast into the pigs. One of Many.

  The horn sounding in the distance got louder now. From all around him, he felt things stirring. What things he didn’t know but felt like it was time to scram and get out of Dodge. Later on, another time, he would come back and explore this place more. It held his interest and.. Seemed to enchant him. Pull him in. What lies behind those doors? What was inside that seemingly abandoned factory? What did they make there? From his left, he heard the tapping of little legs on pavement.

  The Creepy Crawlers, he thought. The same ones that had been around the porcelain god drinking its water. To confirm this, he looked and saw that yes, they were on the pavement of the once abandoned basketball court. Many different species now some spider like, some crab like, some giant caterpillar like. None he wanted a part of.

  But they weren’t regarding him. Not yet, anyways, and he wanted to keep it like that.

  Instead, some were gathering what looked like giant body parts from different parts of the woods nearby. With fascination and horror, Johnny saw the creatures move the body parts around on the court until they somewhat fit together. Then they started making sucking noises as they mended the parts together.

  Whatever it was, it was blue skinned and also had the curli - cues tattooed within the skin.

  The face was evil looking, yellow wrathful eyes with red sockets, yellow fang - like teeth.

  From out of the wood, Johnny saw some of them gather broken porcelain parts...

  This wasn’t good, Johnny thought. The horn got louder, and he sprinted across the court area.

  The sprinting escalated into a run. From behind them, he heard the tapping and sucking noises (some even growled) but the sounds were fading out.

  They hadn’t noticed him, or they had and were too busy summoning whatever horror that was.

  As he took a left after Cecilian street, he saw it was getting darker.

  He looked to his left. What remained of the Sad Porcelain Toilet was now just half of one with the cartoon eyes still intact. The bottom half was porcelain dust. Some of the Creepy Crawlers were taking parts of it and headed towards the basketball court with them in their pinchers. Johnny ran past the abandoned house with the furniture that called out his name earlier. Nothing from the house. But now some of the furniture was scattered about on the street.

  Now he heard some of them whispering a gurgled language that wasn’t English at all. What the fuck was it then?

  Whatever it was, he wanted no part of it.

  Another passersby, this time a boy about his age with brown hair, leather jacket and jeans and a shirt with the band Poison on it.

  He was also holding an envelope and headed towards where Johnny just came from.

  “Watch it!” Johnny said to him. He looked up, startled; he’d been looking down at the envelope.

  “Lots of shit down that side of the street. Lots of things that bite man!” “Thanks for the warning!” the kid said, preoccupied, still studying the envelope and moving onward.

  Others. There were others here like him. Probably arriving in this world in a coffin, not knowing who they were in their past life. Only knowing what they had to do to survive. It started to rain a little as he made his way back to the house. Luckily the house was the only olive green with yellow sidings on the block. The troll was waiting anxiously for him in the house, Jenny behind him.

  “You made it back in one -piece boy!” Pickle nose said (maybe half jokingly?

  Johnny thought).

  “Yes - y,yes, I did!,” Johnny said.

  “Now let’s eat!” the troll said excitedly.

  From outside, the wind and rain got louder, heavier. He thought of the brown-haired boy with the Poison shirt on and leather jacket. Hopefully he’d made it.

  Jenny had made them dinner and his stomach roared; he was hungry. Chicken pot pie, salad with his favorite dressing (bleu cheese) and pasta.

  He told them about the horrors he’d faced outside, and Jenny gave him a knowing look.

  “Yes Johnny - lots of horrors out there, but luckily you made it back!”

  The troll patted him on the back. Then he put something on the table that put a sparkle in Johnny’s eyes. 2 large gold coins with the bird in the center.

  “For you boy!” he said. “Do more errands for me, and you may earn enough to get your own house someday here!”

  Johnny was taken aback, surprised and excited all at once. He’d thought life on this planet would end horribly. And maybe it did for some. But did it really have to?

  “Wow, really?” the boy gasped.

  “Not all is bad here, boy - just survive long enough, and you’ll get rewarded!”

  He took this thought with him in the hours that passed later on as the troll played on the piano and he talked with Jenny for a while upstairs. He’d had to go to the bathroom and feared the dungeon would be there when he opened the door. But no - it was a normal bathroom this time with a bathtub and olive-green toilet to match it.

  It would be there again, he reckoned.

  He was getting used to this place now. It was the gold coins the troll had given him; they kept his sanity.

  They gave him hope. Hope to getting out of here one day and owning his own house.

  Then Jenny said something to him that brought that rage back all again. “Time to go to bed Johnny - church tomorrow!”

  She led him to his room, which had clothes and books he now remembered from his past life.

  Fuck church he thought but didn’t want to push it. The memories of church brought back memories of abuse his stepfather put him through as a child. They started coming back to him now, and as did the feelings of rage and depression.

  He went to bed as best he could. Outside, the rain was still pouring down. He’d closed his eyes after Jenny walked off into her own room. He’d awoken about an hour or so later. He’d guessed it was around midnight. The fan he’d found in his room he remembered using as a noise blocker didn’t seem to help. It hadn’t helped
drowning out the screams coming from outside.

  Johnny jolted from his bed, horrified. It was dark, and carousel like shadows of animals danced around him in his room. Sheep, goats, pigs, rabbits, cats, dogs -all passing by him , onto him... then they faded away.

  But the screaming got louder.

  Johnny looked outside the dusty window.

  The brown- haired boy was being chased by the large blue skinned beast. The one Johnny warned him about.

  The boy screamed helplessly in horror as the beast caught up with him. It had a large knife in its hand. It was made of quilt and porcelain among other atrocities.

  As the knife went up and down in the air, Johnny stifled a scream. The screaming outside faded.

  Johnny looked as the Creepy Crawlers came out of the darkness, taking pieces of the boy. Some even growled as they fought for one of his arms. The Porcelain Beast dropped the knife on the ground and walked away from the scene. Within 5 minutes, the last of the boy and any items from the scene were no more. The Creepy Crawler’s went back into their hiding places. Some into the darkness, some into nearby holes in the street and sewers.

  All made Johnny’s skin crawl.

  Yes, not all made it here to own their own house.

  From downstairs, Johnny heard music. The troll was happily playing the piano.

  Chapter 2

  The Healing Ball

  Johnny waited in line, feeling a mixture of anxiety and excitement. He saw Marcus Rowen up ahead and thought at times he made eye contact with him (although that could have been his own imagination getting the better of him).

  In one hand he had Marcus Rowen’s book, Struggling With The Afterlife. In the other, he had his own story he had started to write.

  Yes, Johnny had wanted to be a writer too just like the man he read many books from.

  He had a lot of work to do; the story was half-assed, unfinished, had poor grammar and spelling and the idea was over -done (a family moving into a haunted house) - but at least it was a start.

  Johnny had just been promoted to a smarter class in school (English) so he knew he was improving. It was the rewriting he had to improve on, he guessed.

  As the line got shorter and the famous writer came into view, Johnny felt his heart start to race. He took out his inhaler from his left pocket and inhaled. It did a little good, but not enough to kill the excitement and heart rate.

  Which wasn’t really a bad thing.

  “Mr. Rowen, I think you’re the Anti- Christ!” a voice yelled at from somewhere) not in the line, but to the right in one of the clothing stores). Voices cheered this on. Johnny turned to see a man in a business suit holding a picket sign protesting the event. About 5 people were behind him. “Well, that’s fucking original,” Marcus said, chuckling. This was followed by an uproar of laughter by the crowd waiting in line to get an autograph. It drowned out the protester and his goonies.

  Both Johnny and Marcus laughed as well, and in that moment, both made eye contact with each other.

  There was something in those black eyes that caught Johnny by surprise and excitement.

  Recognition. That, and the writer had been expecting him.

  But what about the other teens and adults that had come here that have probably read all the books and series? Wasn’t he expecting them too? Why would just a boy be so special?

  Finally, it was Johnny’s turn to get his autograph.

  They made eye contact again, both smiling. Johnny reached out a shaking hand with his unfinished book, which consisted of a pad with hand -written letters of a haunted house and a family moving in that was just about to be terrified. The House Of Damnation, it had been called.

  He Handed it to Marcus, who took the book and opened it with genuine liking. He flipped through it, then made eye contact with Johnny again. “Boy, you have a gift!” he said. “You’re young - so keep writing! This is just a rough draft; you’ll get better!”

  “Thank you - thank you so much!” Johnny managed. He then took his inhaler out again and inhaled deeply. Then he handed Marcus’s book to get signed.

  Marcus smiled, pale white hand and skin signing the book that kept Johnny up for long hours of the night wanting to get. It just got released today. Johnny would go to the library and read some of Marcus books before putting them back. Then the next day, he’d go and pick up the book(s) again and read them. Because if he took them home, his stepfather would have surely thrown them in the trash. Maybe make the boy burn them even.

  After signing his book, before giving it back to him, Marcus leaned forward, smiling, making eye contact once again.

  There was that recognition. The boy noticed the silver chain around the writer’s neck, and the bird in the center of it, flying in mid-air among two semi - circles. “Inside a select few of my books, there’s a prize hidden,” Marcus said to him. The boy also noticed he now had something in his right hand: a small wooden ball. He handed the ball to him after handing him the autographed book (he’d also autographed Johnny’s half-assed story, to which he was delighted). Johnny took the ball with excitement. He did not recall the man giving this ball out to anyone else in line (or maybe he had, but the excitement of meeting his favorite writer had overwhelmed him so much, he didn’t recall it).

  “Is this a stress ball?” Johnny asked. Marcus chuckled. He had the voice of a mortician, Johnny thought. But there was also happiness in that voice. Writing had brought him that happiness. As he chuckled, about three more of those chains came dangling out of his black cloak - like suit.

  Marcus paused just enough to put them back (leaving one out) before continuing.

  “Well, something like that,” he said.” You will see. Keep reading and you’ll see. You have something special that not too many have.” Johnny honestly didn’t know if the writer said this to all his fans or if he really meant it. It didn’t matter at that moment. All that mattered was that he’d met his favorite writer and it wasn’t a disappointment.

  Johnny shook his hand, then realized there were impatient people in back of him. He then went off, putting the wooden ball with the bird and 2 semi-circles engraved on it in his left pocket.

  He looked back and saw the line moving rather quickly. The man was giving people a brief hand-shake, autograph, maybe an exchange of words here and there, then off they went with a smile.

  No long talks and no wooden balls given out.

  Johnny also felt something else. He breathed in the air with a lightness and ease he didn’t have just an hour before.

  He didn’t feel like he needed his inhaler anymore. He would keep it just in case but...he really didn’t need it.

  His mother was waiting for him in the car. They smiled at each other. She could be so well off without that asshole in her life, he thought. “Did you get your autograph Johnny?” she asked excitedly, to which he nodded just as excitedly back. “I did - I really did ma!” he said back.

  “Oh good!” she said and kissed him. He showed her the book and his own book that got signed. She wasn’t a huge horror fan - more of a romance story fan. But she was happy for her son.

  They talked small talk on the way home. Then, almost there, there was an uncomfortable silence.

  “Johnny..” his mother said, looking back at him in the old station wagon they had in the 80’s(it was ‘84). “Yes mom?” he said. She stared down uneasily at the book.

  “You may want to hide the book before Thomas gets home. Maybe underneath your bed or in the closet.” Johnny sighed. “Alright mom, I get it,” he said. He’s a dick, he thought but did not say. But by the look on his face and the way she looked at him, he didn’t have to.

  He might as well have been one of the protesters – hell-he might as well have been the one accusing the writer of being the Anti-Christ.

  Johnny laughed to himself. Maybe that had been him.

  But no - his stepfat
her was busy building houses. Making the dough. Unfortunately, that’s why his dependent mother needed the asshole so badly.

  Johnny sighed and nodded to his submissive mother in agreement. He would hide the goddamned book from the Anti-Christ - under the bed or in the closet.

  At night, he would take it out and read it. Honestly the drunk was too fucked up most of the time to notice anyways - but just to be sure, he hid it every night before going to bed. And when he dreamed - he dreamed of that world. He awoke with both excitement and horror at what he saw there. The excitement from exploring another world - the horror at some of the beasts he saw there. Though part of him knew it was a dream, they were so real that he feared he might get bit by something there. Or worse. One night, he had a dream he was in a dark room with two dim lights over him. The smell of dust and dried blood filled his nostrils. He looked inside the room and saw old fashioned quilted furniture scattered about.

  Barbed wire and dried blood were interwoven between the curli - cues. It made him think of his great grandmother - she had furniture like that (only cleaner).

  Suddenly, one of the chairs started growling like a dog. A low guttural sound at first. It paused. Then started again - this time meaner, louder. Then it barked and leaped forward, the wooden legs clop - clopping on the old wooden floor as it did so. “Bastard child!” he heard another one say. He turned towards this one - the voice was of an old lady that sounded like his bus driver. Johnny saw the chair had gray curly hair sticking out of it, blowing in a wind that wasn’t there. Then, to the left of him, he saw it wasn’t the wind blowing the hair that made it move, but a small fan that automatically blew in different directions back and forth(like his mother had during the Summer, he’d thought in the dream). “Bastard whore!” he heard himself say back to the chair in the dream. The chair seemed startled at this, as if it didn’t expect the boy to talk or fight back.

  Then, Johnny summoned the ball in the dream. It came to him from out of the darkness. With his mind he picked it up; it bounced up into his hand just by reaching out to it. As he held it in his hand, he felt the once sinister furniture back away out of fear.