Riley rambles about T.V. shows I’ve never heard of for a few more minutes when I guess it finally dawns on him that I haven’t been paying attention. “Sorry, dude. I tend to get distracted and go on about stuff sometimes. It used to drive my wife nuts.”

This peaks my interest.

“You were married?”

Riley perks up from his prone position on the rooftop. “Yep! It woulda been eight years this May! Still amazes me that she stuck with me that long. As I’m sure you’ve figured out, I’m not the easiest person to be around sometimes. Becca, my wife, used to say I was best taken in small doses.”

He chuckles and I find myself smiling with him. After a few moments I venture, “So Riley, if you don’t mind me asking, how long has it been since you…”

“Bit it?”

I wince. “Yeah.”

He stares up into the clouds for a few minutes, as if he’s doing the math in his head and it’s confusing him. Eventually he shrugs and says, “You know, dude, I’m not really sure anymore. It’s hard to describe, but stuff works differently for us now.”

“How do you mean?”

His brow crinkles in concentration. “Well, you just died so you’re still thinking of stuff like a normal dude would, ya know? Like minutes and hours and days and worried about time and stuff. When you’re rocking the spirit world like we are now that stuff doesn’t matter as much. It’s like time goes by differently.”

I resist the urge to rub at temples that aren’t there anymore. “That doesn’t make any sense, Riley.”

“I know, right? Here, lemmie try and give you an example. How long do you think we’ve been chillin’ up here on this roof?”

I shrug. “I don’t know, maybe ten minutes or so?”

He nods. “Sure, it feels like that, but it’s probably been more like a couple of hours.”

I snort. “No offense, but I think you fried too many brain cells when you were alive, Riley. There’s no way we’ve been up…here…that…”

I look where he’s pointing. It’s the sun. The sun that’s close to setting. I could have sworn it was high in the sky, maybe noon or so, when we first popped out of the roof.

I shake my head. “No, that’s impossible.”

He grins sheepishly at me and shrugs again. “Told ya, dude. Welcome to the crazy-nutso spirit world.”

I feel like I’m going to pop a gasket. “Okay, so why wasn’t everything moving in fast motion when we were in my apartment?”

“Cuz we were focused, man.”

I look at him incredulously and have to fight the urge to make a crack about him and focusing, but it’d be too easy. Instead I venture, “I’ll probably regret asking, but could you try and explain that?”

“Man, Mike’s so much better at this kinda thing… Okay, it’s like this: if you’re interested in something, or like, super focused or whatever, you’re in the moment, ya know? You’re there. But when you stop trying to be in the moment, time just kinda flies by you.” He suddenly brightens like a kid that just figured out the answer to a question. “Like daydreaming! You ever just kinda drift off in thought and the next thing you know you’ve missed the first half of Scooby Doo?”

“Uh…sure.”

He levels a finger at me. “Same deal. When we’re focused on something it’s like everything is cool and the gang, but any other time it’s like we’re living in a daydream. Mike told me that’s why focusing on moving on is so important for us. It’s real easy to just kinda get lost in thought, and before you know it you’re giving little old ladies a heart attack because you think they broke into your apartment, when they’ve really been living there for years.”

He does the “crazy” pantomime again.

Awesome.

“You’ve mentioned Mike several times now, and he obviously has a good idea about how all this works. Think I could meet him?”

I have no idea how things work in this new…dimension? It’s all so hard to wrap my mind around, and I really need answers before I go “loony toons” myself. As if to emphasize this point Riley snaps his fingers and they actually make a sound, even though all evidence I’ve seen so far tells me that it shouldn’t have worked. So can we be solid sometimes and not the rest of the time? How does that even…gah!

“That’s a great idea, bro! He could answer your questions a lot better than I can!”

I sure as hell hope so.

“Just follow me, compadre!”

For the first time since waking up into this surreal headache I’ve found something that genuinely makes me momentarily happy. Flying is fun! It’s strange in that, like everything else has been so far, it’s off compared to how you’d imagine it would feel. I can feel the wind on my face, but it isn’t hot or cold, it’s just a sort of pressure. Still, flying, doing loop the loops, and barrel rolls, and all the other things you’ve always daydreamed about still causes a flutter in your gut and is just as fun as I always imagined it would be. For a short amount of time I actually forget how miserable and freakish everything has been since this morning. I was almost sorry when we arrived at our destination.

Once again, I’m surprised and more than a little nervous.

We’ve just landed at a church.

Great.

It’s not a large church by any stretch of the imagination. It’s just a small building out in the sticks- a country church like you’d see on “old timey” movies or television shows, with faded and chipped white paint and a steeple with a rusted bell and missing shingles. There are no people or cars around that I can see. In fact, there’s only a small dirt road lined by trees that leads to the church proper. It doesn’t look like the building has been in regular use in some time, though someone obviously still tends to the place. The building itself hasn’t fallen completely into disrepair, though it could use some fresh paint and a little TLC here and there, and the surrounding land hasn’t become overtaken by weeds and such. If I had to guess, it’s probably a family church on someone’s land, and every once in a while someone comes out to make sure that things don’t go completely to hell.

Riley doesn’t hesitate at all and just dive bombs directly through the roof. I’m still new to the whole ghost thing, and for a few moments I have a little panic attack about plowing face first into wood, even though I’d already flown through my own apartment not but a few hours ago.

Riley sticks his head out through the roof and waves me in. “It’s okay, dude. Just stop thinking so much.”

Then he disappears back inside.

Well, it’s easy for him to say. Thinking too much doesn’t seem to be a burden Riley has ever had to bare. But I know I’m being childish and I force myself to close my eyes and go. A few terror-filled seconds later I’m floating next to Riley in a musty, dark church. The sun has set and it makes the old building even creepier on the inside, and I find myself nervously listening for banjoes.

From beside me Riley sighs. “Dude, you need to relax! You’re so uptight that I could shove a lump of coal up your butt and get a diamond.”

I start to snap back on him but hesitate when I register what he said. “Wait, did you just quote Ferris Bueller?”

He smiles at me. “I figure if yer gonna steal, steal from the greats!”

“Right. Well, Ferris, I think I have the right to be a little freaked out right now. I kill myself and then wake up into some freaky dream-world where nothing makes sense. Now I’m standing in an abandoned church in the middle of nowhere that reminds me of scenes from Deliverance with a hippy ghost waiting for some guy named ‘Mike.’”

He actually scoffs at me. “Dave, I have the feeling you were a real uptight dude even before you bought it. You’re dead now, man. You let all that crap get to you and you offed yourself. Time to lighten up a bit.”

Before I can respond he takes off and flies through the roof again. I start to shout after him but my voice freezes in my throat when candles all around the room suddenly flicker to life at the same time. A blinding light springs into being from the alter at the front of the room- a light so bright that closing my eyes and covering them with my arms does nothing to shield me from the glare. A voice echoes throughout the tiny building in a booming baritone, and my whole “body” seems to resonate with it.

“Welcome, David Mathis. I am Michael, and I believe that you have some questions for me.”

Main Archive Page   Chapter 3 ->

Copyright © J.R. Broadwater 2013

All rights reserved

All of the characters are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

“Well, I have to be honest. This isn’t what I was expecting.”

I watch as paramedics desperately try to save the life I took.

One of them, a man who looks like he was pulled from a magazine cover, is pumping frantically on my chest and counting as another, a young woman who can’t be over twenty, works the bag that they have over my mouth every thirty compressions from inside my bathtub. Meanwhile we’ve got another two, an older white gentleman with silver hair and penchant for colorful language, and an African American with a head shaved so cleanly that the fluorescents of my bathroom bulbs occasionally glint into the older one’s eyes. You can tell because the older one winces and mutters a string of even more colorful curses each time it happens. They’re each working diligently on a wrist, trying to stop the bleeding. I want to tap them on the shoulder and let them know that I’m impressed, and maybe even a little touched, by their effort, but it’s too late. I feel especially sorry for the black guy because he’s been trying to wrap my left wrist while mounted on my toilet for the last few minutes.

Sorry, guys. I couldn’t afford a bigger place.

Maybe I should have killed myself in the living room? That seemed inconsiderate to the landlord. I figured blood would be harder to get out of carpet than it would be linoleum. Besides, the bathroom is the room you do this sort of thing in, isn’t it? You hear someone slit their wrists in the bathroom and it makes a sort of sense. You hear the same story, only it took place in the living room or a bedroom or something, and it just seems weird or creepier somehow.

Odd.

Oh well. What’s done is done. Which is the same conclusion I think these poor people have come to as well, because they’ve stopped their frantic ER routine now and are looking like whipped puppies. The older man is still cursing as he walks from the room. The younger girl is crying a bit, as the magazine model holds her. I’m guessing I was her first suicide.

Mozel Tov.

The black guy just looks mildly disgusted as he stares down at my body. He mutters, “What a waste,” as he follows the old man out the bathroom door.

Story of my life, pal. They should put that on my tombstone.

From beside me, the other spirit asks, “What were you expecting?”

“Hm?”

“A minute ago you said ‘This isn’t what I was expecting.’ What were you expecting?”

I shrug, which seems an odd gesture now, considering that I don’t have a body anymore. Mortal habits die hard. “I guess I don’t really know. A bright, white light? Complete darkness? Nothingness? I’m not really religious, and I never really bought into the Heaven and Hell stuff, so I guess I never really had a solid idea as to what would happen after it was over. I just didn’t count on standing over my own body, watching myself die while some poor schmucks tried to save the life I just threw away. I especially didn’t count on watching it with another…spirit, or whatever you are.”

He nods with my comments, and when I finish he mutters, “Yeah man, totally. Been there.”

I arch an eyebrow. “What, so you’re just another dead stiff, too? You’re not an angel or anything?”

He laughs. “Me? Oh, Hell no! Ha! If I were, how screwed would you be?!”

He laughs for a few more seconds while I grow increasingly nervous. When he sees that I’m not laughing with him he sobers and continues, “No dude, I’m just another spirit rocking the limbo plane with the rest of us. But it’s a common courtesy that when one of us kicks it that there’s someone there to help with the transition, you know? We try to look out for each other. Tell new people the basics so they aren’t just left holding the bag by themselves and end up becoming a poltergeist or some crap like you hear about on T.V.”

I go to run my hand through my hair, a nervous gesture I used to have; only I don’t have hair anymore. I stop mid-way, realizing how stupid I must look, and lower my “hand”. “Okay, so if you’re here to give me the ‘ghost 101’ class could we do it someplace else?” I nod towards my body, which is now being photographed by police officers as they do their best to avoid the rivers of smeared crimson covering my bathroom floor. “This is a little…weird.”

“Oh! Yeah, sure man. Duh!” He moves to slap his forehead and instead kinda displaces his own face for a second, like a hand moving through smoke. It is the strangest thing I’ve seen yet. “Just follow me!”

And then he floats through the friggin ceiling.

Excellent.

I stand there for a few moments, both exasperated that even in death I seem to get the short end of the proverbial stick, and wondering how long it’ll take the moron to realize that I haven’t followed him. Sure enough, about a minute later he sticks his head back through the ceiling to look down at me. “I’m so sorry, dude! I’d forget my own head if it weren’t corporally attached! All you gotta do is think it man. Will yourself to move and you’ll do it. It’s weird at first, but trust me, it’ll work.”

Weird. Trust you. Right.

I feel like a complete moron, but I try it. I look up at the blue-white ghost-head that’s staring at me and try to imagine myself floating up to where he is. Just when I’m about to tell the idiot that he can take his ghost lessons and shove them up his smoky butthole I realize that I’m almost close enough to head-butt him. A moment later and we’re both in the apartment above mine and watching as Mrs. Vandervall knits whatever hellish creation she’s working on this month as her army of cats continues to desecrate her living space. Then we’re through that floor and onto the next, and so on until we’ve reached the roof. It’s a beautiful day out. The sky is a clear blue without a hint of clouds, and the sun makes my ghost escort glisten.

No, I refuse to make a Twilight joke. I may have committed suicide, but I still have some pride.

My escort lies down on the roof and sighs contentedly. “Ahh, much better, yeah?”

I nod and sit next to him, wondering if I’m just going to fall through. I don’t. Score one for the home team. I turn my head to him. “So, do you have a name, or do I just call you Casper?”

He glances up at me, confused. “Huh? Oh!” He chuckles. “Casper. Hey, you’re a pretty funny dude! No, my name is Riley.”

Of course it is.

I keep expecting him to pull out a joint from his ghost pockets and offer me a toke. Then all we’d be missing is bongo drums. I’d bet money that Riley had dreads in his previous life.

“Hello, Riley. My name is David.”

“Hiya Dave!”

He waves at me like an excited five year old.

If there is a God, he’s laughing his ass off at me right now.

I sigh and resist the urge to roll my eyes. “So, Riley, Ghosting 101?”

“Huh? Oh! Yeah! So, uh, welcome to the afterlife. Or I guess the pre-afterlife. Or something.”

Well, we’re certainly off to a wonderful start.

“Yeah, thanks.”

He grins like an idiot. “No problemo! Now, we’ve already covered how you get around… Mike gave me a list of crap to talk about but I always forget…”

“Mike?”

“Oh! Yeah, Mike. He’s kinda like the guy in charge around here. He’s the one that tells us when we need to go see someone like you and give them the 4-1-1.”

“And he sent you to me. Sounds like a swell guy.”

Apparently, Riley isn’t good with sarcasm. We’ll add it to the list. He smiles even wider and says with complete sincerity, “Thanks, man. I think you’re pretty great yourself.”

At this point I’d kill myself again if I thought it’d do any good.

Riley continues, “Well, I can’t remember the list, exactly, but the most important thing you need to know about is moving on.”

“’Moving on?’ You mean this isn’t it?”

“Oh, no, man! This here is what they call limbo. This is the plane between life and the afterlife.”

“The afterlife…as in Heaven? Hell? Sheol? Valhalla? ”

He laughs and slaps at his knee, which again just displaces like smoke. “Hell if I know, dude! No one can really tell me for sure what goes on after. All I know is it’s important that we get there and that we don’t hang around in limbo for too long.”

“Why not? This doesn’t seem so bad, present company excluded.”

“Well, because spirits that hang around limbo too long tend to go a little loony toons, ya know?” He whirls a finger next to his head in the common “crazy” pantomime gesture. “All those scary ghosts that you hear about, those are the ones that didn’t or couldn’t move on.”

Interesting.

“Okay, so what do we have to do to move on?”

“Good question! I have no idea.”

Wonderful.

“Riley, have you been a spirit a long time?”

“Me? Nawww.” He shakes his head for a moment, then, as if I can actually see a light bulb go off, he laughs. “Oh, you’re joking with me! Ha! No, sorry dude, it’s just that it’s different for everyone. You gotta make up for past mistakes, or settle unfinished business, or whatever, and when you do you’re done and can move on. C’mon, dude. Didn’t you ever see Being Human?”

I sigh. “I must have missed it.”

“Too bad, dude. Awesome show. Witwer kills it! I hear the UK version is better, but whatever. USA all the way is what I always say. Hey, that rhymes! Which reminds me of this other show I like that was about…”

I never thought it would be possible to be depressed after you’re already dead.

<-Main Archive Page   Chapter 2 ->

Copyright © J.R. Broadwater 2013

All rights reserved

All of the characters are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.