Category: Short Story

“So what do you want to do?” Chuck asked with a smirk, tipping his beer bottle into the corner of his mouth.  I noticed the label finally.  Kours Lite. That sounded familiar… although I didn’t know why.

“I have no idea.  I had hard enough time figuring that out when I was alive.”  I had graduated high school, moved from job to job, starting and stopping community college at least a half dozen times, and I still had no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up.  Which was never going to happen now.  “Do I age?”

“More or less.  Aging is different on this side of Prime.  You don’t break down in physical form any longer… since entropy is not in effect with what you are made of, but your mind continues to grow.  Everything is based off of your age in that sense.  Your appearance can change at will.  It is all about self image, really.  You will meet young looking people that have been dead for millennia, and old walking corpses that died at 10 years of age but like the zombie look.  Your mind…” He reached across the table and tapped my forehead. “Your mind continues on.  That is what is holding what makes you together.  I died on Prime at the ripe old age of 79.  I was a real estate agent in my previous life, selling bungalows and revivals to people with way too much money out in a place called Los Angeles.”

“I know it.  Hollywood and all that; horrible airport.”

“Really?  Must have been after I left.  So I show up, ready for my harp and wings, and this crusty old lady meets me when I woke up after transit.  She looked me right in the eye and said, ‘I hope your life was fun, because now its time to get busy.’  It turns out that she was only looking like that to make herself be respected, like a matronly school teacher or a dear aunt.  Honestly, she looked like Mary-fucking-Poppins hit her stride.”

I laughed.  I loved that movie.  Never read the book.

“Yeah, right?  That is what I thought too.  She tells me… the world is bigger than I ever thought.  I thought I was smart when I died.  Like I had it all figured out… I was wrong.  That single notion that I knew that I had a billion other things to learn… that is what enabled me to grow, prosper, and ultimately be sitting here in front of you, your skilled and friendly transition expert.”

“So what do you do?  Do you have a home?  Days off?”

“Yes… kind of.  Its… complicated.  I have a realm that I share with others like me.  I am there right now.  You just don’t get it yet.  That is what maturity brings.  The afterlife is a meritocracy in many ways.  As you mature, and you learn more, and your consciousness expands… your relative worth increases.  It is a badge of sorts… boy scouts or something like that.  At different stages of your personal journey, you will learn new things about the world we live in and that reflects both outwardly and inwardly.  You are a mirror for what you experience in many ways.”

“I don’t understand.” I said sheepishly.

“Yeah, you won’t.  Its one of those things you have to through yourself.  Back to the question.  What do you want to do?”

“I have no idea.  What are my choices?”

“Everything.  Anything.  So you can’t approach the problem from that direction.  What do you like?”

“I like reading.  Love books.  I always wanted to be a writer.  I like acting… it was a reason I was a stage hand.”

“You are impossible, kid.” He smiled. “What else?  Hobbies?”

“Playing video games count?”

“Not really.”  He frowned.  “Like pong?”

“Yeah like pong. A little bit more advanced.  Warfare simulators.  Run and gun.”

Chuck perked up. “We have soldiers.  Always need soldiers.”

“Uh.  No thanks?”

“Hmmm.  Well we will figure it out.  Done?”

“Yes.  Stuffed.”

“Check please!” Chuck said to a passing roach.

“Oh double bullshit.  Money too?”

“Not so much.”  He smiled widely and a roach dropped a gold credit card on the table.  Chuck laid his hand on it and slid it back to the roach.  It hissed loudly.  Chuck responded to the hiss.   “Very good, thank you.”

“Let’s go.”  He jerked his head to the door.

“Wait.  How did you pay?”

“So remember how I said it is a meritocracy?  Your wealth, if you will, is based on your contributions… and you are paid, if you will, to do your job.  This all culminates in you growing.  Think of it like a bucket of sand.  When you do stuff, you get sand added to your bucket.  When you want stuff, you give sand out of your bucket.  You are the bucket.”

“So you paid with yourself?”

“Yes.  I paid the tab with what makes me up.  You will encounter people that are truly ghosts.  Insubstantial… real wisps.  They are on the verge of personal bankruptcy.  They have spent their essence to the point they don’t have much left… just a remnant left before the Colos snatches them up. But if you do things right, toe the line, you never really need to worry about it.  It all works out.”

“So everything fits.” I said sarcastically.

“You are finally sensing a pattern here, eh?”  Chuck stepped out of the Diner and to the street edge.  The sidewalk was bustling with traffic, all manner of folks going this way and that, all of them gave Chuck a wide berth.  In the street, cars, carriages, flying contraptions, were zooming to and fro in the lanes.  I swear I saw someone go by on a broom.

“Rules!  Only three rules… the rest are suggestions.”

I frowned slightly. “That doesn’t sound too bad.  But if there are only three, that means they must be big.”

Chuck slapped my shoulder and laughed. “First rule… don’t make offers you can’t fulfill.  Second rule… don’t break vows.  Third rule… and the most important… don’t travel out of or into other people’s realms directly.”

“What does that mean?”

“You will figure it out.  It is a huge no-no, and you can get killed over it.  Proverbially speaking, of course.  Ready for the career fair?”

“You said something about a tour.”

“Yeah, I did,” he said with a grimace. “I had hoped you would forget.   The tour is a pain in the ass.  Thankfully it is short.  Ready?”

I shrugged.  Chuck shook his head with a roll of the eyes, and took my arm.  I felt that pull again as he turned sideways and I was standing on a hill facing the most spectacular landscape I had ever laid eyes on.  I felt my mouth drop open.

In the distance, bathed in a golden light from a setting sun, a massive castle rose from the green fields around it.  The castle was suffused with golden light, with tall spires, and massive walls.  Each part of the castle was floating on separate earthen platforms, connected by winding, slowly undualating golden roads.  The city fortress was huge, it defied the eyes and the senses.  I could see things flying around it and above it, and I swear I could pick up the sound of otherworldly singing far in the distance.

“That has to be heaven.” I smiled widely, probably grinning like a fool.

“Nope.  That right there is the home of the Angelus.  The opposing side to the Authority.  So by most Christians, that would be called Hell.”

“That is not hell.  That looks like paradise.”  I said in awe.

“It is for those that choose it.  For others, not so much.”  He grabbed my arm again.  “Next stop, the Authority.”

We turned again and I felt a lag I had not felt before.  It wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t painless.  We stepped on a flat plain, the ground was crystal, the grass and plants around us growing green and vibrant.  I looked closer and saw that as the plants creeped away from the crystal ground, their bases were also crystal, growing in color and solidity until it looked like an actual plant.   Off in the distance was something different than the Angelus’ floating city fortresses.  This was more elegant.  At the center of a glass and crystal city, a tower of light blossomed like a tree into the sky above the city.  Its trunk was a pillar of solid brilliance that I could look at without my eyes hurting, and I immediately felt a presence around me, welcoming me with love and kindness.  It was familiar, yet alien.  Something crazy.  My eyes followed the base of the light, up to the continuous lightening storm ranging in its branches.  It appeared to be endless.

Chuck smiled wearily. “Coming here weighs heavily.  Did you feel the creator touch your mind?”

“I did.”

“His way of saying hello.”

“Didn’t you just say that I couldn’t meet God?”  I raised my hand towards the city of light. “I obviously just did.”

“HA!  Saying hello to someone is not knowing them, dumbass.  To know the creator is to be that light… that column isn’t the creator, it is just a conduit.  The creator is up and out.”  He pointing his finger at the massive never ending lightening storm far above our heads.

“Up and out?” I lead.

He didn’t take the bait, or chose not to. “Up and out.”

Chuck grabbed my arm, looking ashen, and stepped away. We ended up outside a massive Colosseum.   Not the Greek kind of all columns and marble, but the American kind all steel and glass.  At each gate, people where streaming inwards in a constant shuffling movement.

“What is up with you?” I asked. Chuck wasn’t standing tall, leaning over a little, looking like he was about to vomit heavily on his shoes.

“Travelling to the Authority is hard for some.  Sin and all that.  Takes it out of you.  Literally.  There was a time when the balance of the Prime shifted all the way over to the Authority… A guy named Jesus was born.  Then 33 years later on Prime, it was shoved violently back to the Angelus.  It was an epic era in the history of Prime.”

“Why does that matter?  Why would you go to vomit town whenever you got close?”

“You will understand someday… maybe.  Maybe not.  I am of the latter group.  I don’t get it. So the reminder is given to me every time I show up.”

“Reminder that you have something to be repentant about?”  I ventured carefully.

“I was in real estate.  I have my fair share.”  Chuck grinned. “Every house has secrets.”

“HEEEEEY CHUCKY MARY!” A shout from far away tumbled over the tarmac. Chuck stood up straight, and his color came back.  He turned and waved.

“HEEEEEY YOURSELF, YOU FAT LOUSE.”  He yelled back.

A very obese man waddled over and gave Chuck a huge bear hug. “Another escort to the big dome, heh?”

“Doug, I would like you to meet, his eminence, the Buddha Ascendant, Tom.”  Chuck jerked his thumb at me. “And this is Doug, who found himself at the wrong end of an elephant.”

Tom laughed very loudly and pulled me into a big hug. “Well how do you do, Doug!  This is a fine day, isn’t it?”

I shrugged while encased in his meaty forearms like a huge straight jacket of beef. “I guess?”

“Yes it is!  I completely agree!”  He set me down gently.

“Chuck… I have an escort myself, but stop by in a few turns.  I need some help with a recruit.”

“Sure, Tom.  Sure.”

Tom slapped my shoulder again and started waddling back the way he came, calling out other people’s names and hugging them just as violently as he had hugged me.

“And that was Tom.”  Chuck laughed.

“Buddha?” I smiled.

“An honorary title for some people that truly are larger than life.  Tom is one of those rare people that just radiates positive energy like a small sun of happiness.”

“What is his job?”

“He is a Grader by trade, an ambassador in some ways, and all around, just a really fat happy dude.”

“Grader?”  I asked.

“Yeah, they take stock of events happening in the Prime shadows, and provide odds.  People bet on the events. So that makes him a bookie, if you will.”

I laughed.  “A buddha bookie?”

“More like a bookie buddha. Anyway… welcome to the Career Fair!”

We walked in through the gate, and a scene of abject bizarreness opened up before us.  Imagine a farmer’s market… in the middle east, a Bazaar, right?  Imagine a Bazaar taking place in all directions.  Front and back, above and below, side to side.  Every where I looked, I saw hundreds, if not thousands of booths with people everywhere. It was overwhelming.

“Wait right here.” Chuck went over and grabbed a map from a box and handed it to me. “So this will break it down for you.  Put your finger on the spot you want to check out and then say GO.   The map will take you there.   Once you make your choice, I will meet you there, and we will sign you up together.”

“Wait.  You are leaving me?” I said meekly.  I felt terror bubbling up from my gut.  My ghost gut.

“Yes I am. You will be fine.  I will be nearby… look I am right over there, handing off another case.”

Sure enough, I turned the direction he was pointing, and there was Chuck with a hand on the shoulder of very scared looking young blonde woman in the same gray Asian coveralls that I was wearing.  He waved at me.

“What the hell?” I said out loud.

“Lesson 1: Time is different here.” Chuck smiled, and waved at himself.  “Lesson 2: The statistical average is 6 days.”

“6 Days for what?”

“Until you find your next job.  See you later Doug.  Good luck.”  With a quick nod of the head, he stepped away in the odd way that he did.

And there I was. Holding a map, surrounding by thousands, if not millions of other folks, in the largest, most bizarre place I could imagine, looking like a complete ass.

Time to find a job.

So what do you tell a dead guy immediately after they die?

That was Chuck’s job.  He was a Death Transition Consultant, specializing on the more traumatic deaths. He supported the individuals that came ‘out of the world’ in a rather violent way, as he put it.  And it was his job to help me in this trying time… and to let me make my choice.

“What choice is that,” I said.

“The choice of what you are going to do, lad!  You can’t spend eternity floating about with a harp and a halo.  You have to make a living.  You have to contribute to one cause or another at some point.”

“Why?”

“WHY?!  Because you bloody well have to! The world you knew was a preliminary stage.  Qualifying for the next heat.  You are in the next race now, and it is time to step up to a line.”

“And if I don’t?” I was getting kind of pissed.  I knew I had to work to eat and have shelter in the ‘real world’, but being dead, one doesn’t need to eat, and any rain wouldn’t bother me.  Why struggle to makes ends meet when the ends just didn’t fucking matter anymore?

“If you don’t… ha.  You don’t have a choice.  You don’t get to pick inaction.  Picking inaction invites the Colos.  Then your choice just doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Carlos?  Who is Carlos?”

He sighed exasperatedly. “The Colos. C – O – L – O – S.  A nightmare of nothing.  It is a force, not a being.  You can’t reason with it, you can’t beg it.  It comes for the refuse, the trash, the fodder.  Think of the Colos as the cosmic garbage man.  He comes and cleans up the mess.  For beings like you and I, that means being unmade. Our very essence is removed from not just this plane, but all planes.  We are removed from whole of reality.  Because the Colos is not bound to time or space or anything else.  All the principles of our universe are nothing but something that needs to be cleaned up.”

“So I pick nothing, I die?  I thought I was already dead?” I said.

“Oh you are dead to that world, not to this one.  But in this one, you get unmade, your existence is wiped out everywhere.  The universe reasserts itself… Doug does not exist any more.  Your mother never had you, your father never knew you.  Your death never happened.  Blink.  One moment, Doug, the wonderful boy from Winchester, much loved by his family and friends, horrible accident with an elephant, coverage in the local paper, legend for the next fifty years… all that gone.  No Doug, period.  Get it?”

“Yeah, I get it.”  I said sourly.

“Wipe that look off your face, Doug.  You can do anything.  Anything!  The universe is your oyster so to speak.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, this and that.  The universe is huge.  Earth is constrained for a reason.  It is its own little pocket of the universe.  The rest of the universe?  Yeah, its open.  You hungry?”

“For what?  I am dead.  I don’t have to eat.”  I felt my lip curl in confusion.

“Yeah, and you don’t have to wear clothes either.  But you are.  You are not insubstantial.  You are ascended, yes, but your matter is still matter.  It takes energy to run your brain, your soul.  Your a wisp, but a wisp needs food too.”

“Uh… ok?! What does wisp food taste like?”

“Oh depends on who’s cooking.  I know a good place… come on.”  He said.

He grabbed my shoulder and turned sideways?  Not sure how to explain it… he turned away from me, I felt a pull and we were standing in front of a diner I knew of down on fifth.

“Hey, I know this place.  Good hamburgers.”

“Yes they are.  After you.” He waved his hand forward with flourish.

We stepped into the Diner, and it was the Diner, but wasn’t the place I knew.  The tables were in the same places, the upholstery was different, and the creatures running about weren’t human.  Pretty sure the cooks were demons of some sort.

“This is Roxie’s on fifth, right?” I asked.  They looked like roaches.  Huge roaches, walking upright, handing off plates to customers of all shapes and sizes on their own.

“Russell’s on fifth, actually.  Same imprint, different owner. That table is open.”

We sat and a roach thingy skittered up to the table, just inclining its head slightly.

“Two beers, two cheeseburgers, and a bucket of fries.” Chuck smiled. “Plenty of salt.”

The thing skittered off, a scratchy, tapping noise on the cheap linoleum.  I swear I heard hissing too. I lowered my voice considerably, I didn’t want to come off rude.

“What are they?”

“The roaches?  Exactly what they look like.  Roaches.”

“How did they get so big?” I said disgustedly.

“Oh Doug.  Drop that attitude right here.  Things are going to be different.  Get over it.  Enjoy it.  Endless wonder.  Yeah.  Enjoy the endless wonder.”  The beers arrived, Chuck drained his in a single go and ordered another before the roach had a chance to scamper off. “Roaches know food.  They are good at it.  These roaches are not purebreds obviously…”

“Purebreds?” I said.

“Yeah, creations.  You know, made by greater powers.  These guys are amalgamations.  Legion.  You know, many.”

“Many roaches?  Like all stuck together?”

“Toss some spirits and essences in there too.  Imagine a cosmic primordial soup, stir it around a few million years and eventually something interesting is going to crawl out.  The form works, let it go.”  He shrugged.

“Because everything fits?” I said sarcastically.

“Exactly!” He smiled widely.  “You are getting it.”

“How long are you going to hold my hand in the afterlife?”

“Oh, about as long as I need to.  You have a million questions, I have a million answers… plus I can’t leave until you make your career choice.  Kind of in my contract.”

The food arrived and we both tucked in without much discussion.  The burgers were definitely hamburgers, and the french fries were definitely cut up fried potatoes.  And it all was pretty dang good.  To someone that hadn’t eaten anything since waking up, it was like my first meal out of prison.  It was delicious.

“So… what now?” I asked.

“Well we finish our meal, then I take you for a tour, then I take you to the career fair.  I stand by you until you sign on a dotted line, then I move on to the next corpse.  No offense.”

“None taken.”  I took another bite.

“So start with the three top questions you have.”

“That is easy.  Is there a god?”

“Of course there is.”

“Oh how silly of me.” I said sardonically.

“Yes. Much.  Next question?”

“Can I meet him?”

“Ha.  Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

Chuck put his hands to the his temples and made an exploding motion outwards.  “It would blow your mind.  Quite messy.”

“So far the afterlife seems to be not all that different from the real world.”

“Who said it would be different? Not I.  I said this is the next heat in a big race.”

“You did.”

“I did.” Another mutual bite of our food.

“You said it was the next heat with your absolute shit racing analogy.” I said.

“I bet your pardon, my analogies are sublime.  I have perfected them over the last hundred years. Next question?”

“What is it all for?”

“Finally.  The question.  The big one.”  Chuck put down his hamburger and crossed his fingers over his plate. “What is the purpose of life?  What is the meaning of living on a planet, struggling, loving, losing, and then dying?  Why do you wake up on the other side expecting relief from the struggle… only to find more of it?  Ha.  Imagine what the suicides must feel like.  Glad I don’t work that department.”

He swallowed heavily and leaned towards me across the red formica tabletop.

“The answer to the the question is simple.  The point of it all is the struggle.”

“The struggle?  What the hell does that mean?”

“The struggle of love over loss, the struggle of life over death, the struggle of good over evil… its all a struggle. And it is a fight that defines the universe.  It is a fight that you will need to contribute to.”

“How?”  I felt my head swimming and stopped eating.

“Career fair!  The universe comes down to a single career fair that never ends.”

“You are fucking kidding me.” I said.  Chuck had to be pulling my leg.

“Nope.”

“A fucking, hello-my-name-is-pam-and-I-want-to-talk-to-you-about-a-career-in-sanitation, kind of career fair?”

“That is about right.  You pick your job, you place your vote, and you join a political party.  All in one swoop.”

“Now I know you are fucking with me.”

“Why is that?” Chuck ended with a chuckle.

“Because there is no possible way there are politics in the afterlife.  That is just cruel.” I shook my grimace out.

“Well it is important.  It is for earth.”

“Bullshit.”

“No listen.  The Earth is not just a planet.  It is a balancing point for the whole of the universe.  It is the source of the Prime.”

“You are seriously telling me that Earth is the center of the universe?”

“I am.  Imagine a billion earths all overlapped on each other.  Each earth has different levels if you will… your death on the Prime happens to be the center of that balance.  Depending on the balance of the scales, the Prime slides one way or the other.  But all of it matters.”

“I don’t understand at all, Chuck.” I think my eyebrows where buried in my hairline.

“This diner for instance, you recognized it, but it is not the diner you knew.  So obviously we are not on your earth, right? Its a huge teeter-totter, a big see saw.  At one end is the Angelus.  At the other end is the Authority.  Between the Authority and the Angelus, the balance of worlds is controlled, maintained, and held.  A balance where everything fits.  Your soul came from the only place souls can come from… all souls come from one place. Prime.  The entire show is driven by the souls from Prime.  And Prime is the prize.  For the side that controls Prime, controls reality.  Because if you control the source of the souls… well… you control everything.”

“And the career fair is supposed to what?  Enlist souls to either side?”  I said incredulously.

“Exactly!” Chuck beamed. “I knew you were smart when I saw you hanging from the back of an elephant!”

A roach passing by inclined its head questioningly and stopped.

“Don’t ask.” I grumbled.

I died right before my 21st birthday… like the very hour before.  I was fucking pissed.  Well I wasn’t pissed in the British sense of the word, and that made me pissed in the American sense of the word.  I should have died drunk, but being the good little boy I was, I had never had a drink or sip or smell of an alcoholic drink.

Yep, I died… um… dead sober at 20 years, 364 days, and 11 hours.

Why so specific?  Fuck, I don’t know.  Someone, somewhere, has a sense of humor.  And whoever it is, I fucking hate the guy.  Of course, that means it is probably the big guy in the sky.  And welp, that would be just my luck.  My shitty horrible terrible disastrous luck.

So you may be asking how the hell is a dead guy writing all this out right now?  Because of my cosmic luck.  Let me back up… to the day I died.

I woke up suddenly with a killer headache.  Which wasn’t much of a surprise considering the amazing thing I had just escaped.  Escape, perhaps not the best word choice, but at least a horrible amount of humiliation I would have received if it had happened.  I came to as a witness to a very lively scene.  There were two crowds watching said scene.  The first crowd happened to be normal people just passing by… going shopping, running errands, on to get their prostrates checked, you know, herding themselves along like cattle.  The first crowd tended to just circle the scene in abject horror, mouths agape, mothers shielding the eyes of their progeny, some men calling 999, others puking into the gutter.

The second crowd wasn’t really a crowd, per se.  More like a few interested parties.  They stood in a small cluster, pointing and laughing, with drinks in hand, giving each other high fives and making brash puns and jokes.  If the contrast between the two crowds is shocking to you, imagine how I felt.  I was lying down in the middle of this odd and crazy scene.

An introduction is needed.  The leader of the second crowd was one Charles Mann. Most folks just called him Chuck, a fewer number called him Mary.  Chuck is the first one that caught my eye.  Mostly because of the extremely rude jokes he was making, and also because the rest of the crowd (the shocked ones) paid his lewd and disturbing comments no mind.  That is because they couldn’t hear him.  Or see him. Chuck was dead.

A ghost.  A specter.  A man from beyond the grave.  A dead man laughing.

He quickly noticed my stare, and giggling all the more, he excused himself from his onlookers and headed over to me.  I would like to tell you that he pushed and jostled his way over to me, but he just kind of passed through everyone in the way, leaving a trail of shivering people in his wake.

“WELL, THAT WAS GREAT, DOUG!”  He said rambunctiously. “I mean damn.  No, I mean DAMN!  That was great.  I feel in need of immediate feedback to your great person-hood with a simple enjoyable clap.  Bravo.  Braaaaaa-vo!”

He furiously clapped his hands together and tossed in a few whistles for good measure.  I tried to lift my head to look at him, but I found it pretty difficult to move.  I tried to look to my left shoulder, and slowly things rotated, revealing nothing but an old wad of chewing gum and more spectators.  I tried to roll my head backwards, it lolled like a rag doll, and I could make out nothing more than I already had.  So I looked straight up.  As I saw it, looking right was going to be a hassle, and getting up seemed right out.  So I let my head fall back to a neutral position and looked up, which seemed like a completely rational choice.

It was a mistake.

There, hanging very precariously, was a dead, limp body.  Hanging.  From the back of an elephant.  Yes you read that right.  A dead body, covered in shit, hanging from the back of an elephant.  The elephant was still alive.  And in obvious distress.  I mean, come on, it had a human head stuck in it’s anus.

Then it dawned on me that I was looking at myself.  Or what was me.  A 20 year old stage hand, helping a trainer with a live elephant for a bit of practice.  A very dead me was swinging back and forth from the elephant’s ass, the neck at a very odd angle.  It didn’t look healthy.  But it wasn’t healthy, because I was dead.

I am dead.  And the elephant is screaming because it has a foreign object lodged in its ass.  Everyone knows how painful a hard shit is, it feels like something is ripping its way out as you strain over the bowl, but this poor elephant couldn’t get its painful ripper to pass. So it trumpeted, and stamped, and tried to quickly move in a circle.  It was restrained by its trainer, so instead it was forced to swing its shoulders, causing a chain reaction of swinging, culminating in a dead body twisting and swaying like a pendulum.  I won’t even bother describing the grinding noise my neck was making.

No wonder bystanders where puking.  I would have too.  Chuck reached out and offered me his hand.  I took it slowly, my body coming to, the senses flooding back down my limbs.  I was all pins and needles as everything woke up.  Chuck started pumping my hand as soon as I was on my feet.  I still felt detached.  I knew my head was attached to my body and definitely not broken, but the horror next to me kept making me feel like I needed to swallow.

“Very good to meet you Doug, my friend!  The name is Charles Mann, but you can call me Chuck.  Like the beaver.  Or woodchuck?  Whatever.” He said.

“I… uh…”  I tried to say something intelligent, but nothing seemed to want to come out.  My mouth was open.  Oooooohhhh… this is what going into shock feels like.  I had always wondered.

“Thinking about spoons?  Spoons, eh?  Or forks?  When I ‘passed on’, for some strange reason I thought about swiss army knives.  No idea why.  When I passed on the mantle of life, as it were, I could not stop thinking about pocket knives.  My consultant said that I was a rarity indeed. She was a spoon person herself, like most folks.”  He said.

“Spoons?”  Actually, I did wake up thinking about spoons.  Silver ones.  From my aunt’s house out in Liechester.  The little souvenir ones that are completely useless for anything else but gathering dust. “Yeah… little silver ones.”

“Nothing like a silver spoon! Ha!”  He clapped me on the back.  “Welcome to world, you were born with a silver spoon in your head.  And your head… well… your head has seen better sights.”

“Yeah.  I think it has.”

“So Doug.  How’s it hanging?”  Chuck started laughing hysterically.  Peals of laughter.  It was a good laugh, infectious. “Don’t worry about too much.  That sad sack of meat up there isn’t you.  Your you.  That meat sack up there will be the source of hilarious and entertaining stories for years to come, but for you, it was just a speed bump, my friend.”

“Uh, yeah.”  I tried to look away.  I did.  I seriously tried.

“Look on the bright side, Doug… at least you didn’t die from humiliation!”

“That happens?” I asked.

“Oh, a fair amount.  Plenty of people die every day.  People choke on Jello.  Which makes the wake awkward, because some fool always has to brings a jello salad.  Nasty things, aren’t they.  And then no one knows what to say.  Every Jello-toting great aunt is a right bastard anyway. Am I right?”

“I guess?”

“Right.  Now all these folks are in a quandary.  Look at them all, scratching their heads.  How exactly does one pull the head out?  Do you grab the feet and yank really hard?  Or do you leverage against the elephant’s ass cheeks and push at the corpse’s shoulders?”

“I would have just pulled.”  I said.  I was still confused, give me a break.

“Me too.  Too funny.  Let’s ‘shuffle’ off.  Ready?”

“What about your friends?”  I asked.

“Oh, they have all moved on by now.  Come along, Doug.  Let’s expand our horizons, shall we?”

“Wait a tic.  I am naked.”

“Why, yes, you are.”

“Where the hell are my clothes?”

Chuck smiled and pointed a thumb over his shoulder at my corpse.  “Right over there.”

“How can I get them off the other… me?”  I said sheepishly.

“You can’t, Doug.  Someone out there thought that every person enters the world naked, and that is how they should exit it.  So welcome to the world.  Happy Deathday!”  He tossed me an envelope and then for some bizarre reason turned away modestly.

The envelope had my name hastily scratched onto the front, with my middle name included.  I flipped it over, and instead of a standard closure, it had a small red pull cord, labelled… what else?  Pull.

I yanked on it, and with a cough of an old dying man, the envelope unfolded into something that looked like a Japanese Ghi.  I pulled the pants on quickly, and pulled the front together as best I could.

“Sandals and the belt are in the front pocket.” Chuck called over his shoulder.

“It all fits.”  I commented.

“Of course it all fits.  Everything always fits.”  He was looking at the corpse again, and started chuckling, ending in a small trailing sigh.

Happy Deathday, indeed. Happy Fucking Deathday to me.

I was browsing on one of those online websites for realty properties when I saw the perfect home.  You know the site I was on… they have the pictures of the houses with the smiling real estate agents in their carefully posed photographs, with either the straight tie or the gentle curve of pearls at their neck.  And no matter the sex of the agent, you can’t forget the coiffed hair.  Every single one of them has perfect hair. I am sure there are bald real estate agents, but if they are successful or not is probably another story.

I am getting off-track.  Kind of.  I will come back to that.

The website shows homes, and I knew immediately when I saw mine.  It wasn’t anything fancy really. It was modest, only a hundred square feet larger than our current home, but the inside was beautiful.  A great kitchen, spacious bedrooms, and the right layout for a multilevel home in the burbs.  My wife and my kids were excited when I showed it to them.  They ooh’d and aah’d at the right places, they asked when we could go look at it.  So I looked up the number for the smiling agent on the site, and gave her a call.

I did not notice in the picture that her eyes were almost violet.  Perhaps I did.  I probably waved it off to a clumsy photoshop effort or some silly lenses.  I completely missed the ears.  You really have to look hard at that picture to see them.  I can’t explain it really… its like seeing a cloud behind another cloud.  Indistinct in a way, but you know something is there.  You can get the presence of it… the sense that depth exists beyond what you are seeing.  Your mind fills in the gaps. It copes. It adjusts.

We are nothing but animals really.  Maybe that is why it happened.  Maybe that is why I didn’t look closely at that coiffed hair.  The pictures all blend together anyway.  You aren’t looking for an agent, you are looking for house.  More importantly, you are looking for something that can be a home.  Not a place, but your place.  A pivot point for your family’s life.

It has to be special and I knew this one was it.   I just didn’t know why.  On the surface it was very nice, as I already pointed out, but it had an intrinsic quality that I just loved.  The way the walk went up through the front yard. Not straight, but meandering to the left and then back to the right, with small garden boxes on either side, and a tall tree standing guard at its starting point near the street.  A great green guardian, standing proudly in front of the home it shaded from the afternoon sun.  A good healthy tree, giving shade to the house, but light to the boxes.

I could grow a garden, I thought. A place for tomatoes, cucumbers, perhaps even some salsa ingredients.  A salsa garden!  That is what I wanted. Jalapenos, onions, peppers, garlic, cilantro… I would have enough room with this place.  Just had to call the agent.

So I did.

Her name was Aurora.  Like the Northern Lights.  She was available immediately and when could my family stop by, she asked.  I told her Thursday, at 4 o’clock, and it was a date. And that was it.  Nothing weird or out of place.  I came back to the website every day, and looked at the photos like a regretful husband perusing a dating site, noting the shingles on the roof (looked new), the paint on the siding (looked fresh), the brick work (solid), and the lovely landscaping around the eaves and the window wells (b-e-a-uti-ful).  I think I was ready to buy before I had even seen it.

The day arrived.  Like any other when you are counting the seconds tick by, so like molasses running uphill.  I trudged my way through work, did my meetings, gave my bullshit project updates and referenced the current position of the clock every 12.5 seconds in eager anticipation.  Four o’clock could not come any slower… time had been absorbed by my evil wall clock, so like any good employee, I said screw it and I headed out early.  I drove home, picked up the wife and kids, and headed over to the house a full half hour early.

We drove into a secluded cul-de-sac off a secondary road within a pleasant little neighborhood.  The drive wasn’t far from the main roads in town, and the potential future neighbor’s houses looked well kept and tidy.  Actually, it looked like an geriatric neighborhood, where lots of older folks might live.  You know the sort of people, they care for their yard, and their trees, and look down their nose at anyone that wasn’t caring for their fair share.  I told my wife that there was probably a typical blue haired old lady who comprised the entire neighborhood watch sitting in her cardigan with one of her 10 cats on her lap peeking nervously out of her curtains, just waiting for the opportunity to call 911.  I circled the cul-de-sac slowly at least twice before parking.  That way it looked we were casing the joint, I laughed. My wife was not amused.

Which, honestly, is exactly what we were doing.  Except it was legal.  Its called “shopping around.”   So sue me. I let the kids out, and they took off like rockets in search of the oddities and new discoveries all around the front yard.  I told them to stay out of the garden, but they didn’t listen to me of course. They zoomed through the boxes, weaving under the trees, screaming and laughing.  The aforementioned make believe cat lady was probably having kittens seeing a family of six descend on her peaceful street. And I didn’t even bring the dogs.

I walked up to the house, but the curtains were drawn. I tried to peek in around where I could, but I didn’t see anything that I had not already seen on the website.  Still, it was lovely.  I think I was smitten.  My wife slapped my shoulder and told me to snap out of it. I pointed out all the things i loved, and she nodded and smiled at the right parts.  She just told me to settle down, then yelled at the rugrats to keep it down.

I heard the tinny mosquito buzz of a scooter far off, the undertones of an older Italian model, deeper and throaty as it came closer.  Around the corner, the bright red scooter came into view and popped up onto the curb without any hesitation.   The driver popped her helmet off, and wouldn’t you know it, the coiffed hair didn’t even look out of place.  I was surprised.

“Ah, Mr. Davidson?” She took off her riding gloves and tossed them gently into her upturned helmet balancing precariously on the seat.

“It is.  This is my wife, Shelly, and my horrible children are running around.  If you hadn’t noticed the moment you turned into the neighborhood.” I said.

“No such thing as a horrible child,” she said with a small smile. “Just misplaced enthusiasm.  Mrs. Davidson, nice to meet you.  My name is Aurora.  What do you think of the curb appeal?”

My wife smiled. “I think it has great appeal.  The garden is very nice and brings a lot of color to the yard.  I am excited to see inside.”

“What is important to you?” Aurora asked.

“A good kitchen, with plenty of storage.  We are always needing more storage.”  She nodded at the kids, still running about.

Aurora laughed.  A bright tinkling laughter, full of silver coins bouncing down like gentle rain.  My youngest daughter stopped midstride a few feet away and came over to the agent.  She is a precocious four year old, with a bright smile and a silly nature.  Kind of shy around strangers most of the time.  But she ran up to the agent with awe in her eyes and hugged her leg.

“You’re pretty!” She laughed.

Aurora smiled.  “So are you, little one.  Do you and your siblings want to see the house?”

She nodded her head vigorously. She turned her head and looked at her siblings, and then in an earth stopping breath, yelled. “GET OVA HERE!”

All the other kids amazingly enough filed over and stood in a cluster around Aurora.  They were little planets in orbit around the star of our real estate agent.

“Now, children. Your sister wants to see the house, and I want to show to all of you.  But I need you all to be good little children.  That means no running, no screaming, and no touching anything or anyone you may see.  Do you all understand?” She said.

My wife and I smiled at each other as we saw awe-inspiring head nodding from my horde.   I don’t think we heard what she actually said.

“Very good!”  She turned on her heel and lead the way to the front door.  I noticed there was not a key or lock involved, but a very fancy looking door handle in the middle of the door.  It was the neatest looking door I had ever seen.  She knocked three times, turned the handle and stepped into the cool dark of the empty house.  We all filed in behind her.

She looked around and smiled.  “Welcome home.”

I took it all in.  The house wasn’t huge by any standard.  This was not a micro mansion or even a large well appointed home.  This was a home made for living, and enjoyment, and rest.  It was a well designed home, making the most of the space it had.  The rooms were spacious, and lit well from the shaded windows.  Even in the filtered light, I could tell this was something special.  The main room was huge… all hard wood floors and open right into the glamorous kitchen.  My wife did not even take in the front area, she made a beeline for the kitchen and started to lovingly caress the counter-tops and cabinetry.

“This house was built about twenty five years ago, and it was owned by only person in that time.  The seller unfortunately passed on recently, and his family lives out in California.  They decided to put it on the market without ever visiting it unfortunately.  Their loss, really.  This home is wonderful.  I personally love it, and I don’t even live here.” Aurora said.

“It is very nice.” I admitted.  The floors were a glowing hard wood, reflecting the windows, and kitchen with a mulled sense of age and duty.  The room smelled faintly of cinnamon and nutmeg, fall flavors permeating the wood.  The walls were painted a gentle white-ish color, reminded me of autumn snow and brisk frosted mornings.

“This is the main room, down those stairs is the family room and basement, and up those stairs are all the bedrooms.  The original owner had no children of his own, but he was quite the hobbyist.  He used the master as his own, and the other three bedrooms for an office, workspace, and storage room respectively.”

“I thought it had five bedrooms?”  My wife said, still admiring the cabinets in the kitchen.

“It does.  The last one is in the basement, a very neat bedroom indeed.  Let’s save that for last.  Should we head upstairs?”

We toured the house, and every room was reminiscent of the main great room, but in a different way.  The master bedroom was beautiful, with curled driftwood used as a railing on the short elevated on-suite bathroom, hardwood floors and amazing tile work in the bathroom.  The closet was spacious, with clever cabinets and storage units that folded into the walls. My wife’s eyes went wide.

“This may be the bedroom of my dreams.  I thought the kitchen was nice… but this bedroom.  My god.”  My wife said.

“The house seems like a perfect fit, doesn’t it?  That would probably be your bedroom little one.”  Aurora said to my youngest, pointing at the next door down.

She ran off and I heard a squeal of delight from the next room.  I quickly headed her way, and found the perfect little girl’s room.  The walls were a soft muted pink, with a special closet that had a small door that lead to another tiny little room.

“A crawlspace above the garage.” Aurora commented with a wink. “But the perfect hideaway for a little girl and her secret dreams.”

The next bedroom was a perfect fit for my son, the ceiling was lifted to follow the line of the roof, and a small loft had been added. Again, Aurora winked at my wife and I. “Every boy needs a fort of his own.”

I will let you guess what happened with the next bedroom and the next child.  A perfect fit.  I was sensing a theme.  Like this house was made for us.  Isn’t that bizarre?  But it was.  Wasn’t it?  We were meant to be here, looking at it.  I could feel the sense of need from the house.  It was not meant to be empty, any more than we were meant not to live in it.  A strange yearning from the walls, and the floors, and the edges of everything.  I could almost taste it.

The basement though. It blew the rest away.  First, it contained the perfect teenager girl’s room.  It had a built in vanity and furniture around the walls.  Each area of the room was designed to be the perfect storage for clothes, shoes, and jewelry.  The office, or should I say, the man cave, made me drool.  Power… water… bar… built in mini-fridge with custom cabinets and a keg fridge hidden away beside the sink.  This house was only 2000 square feet, but it felt double.  I could fit a mind-blowingly awesome movie, game, and computer room down here.  Just give it to me.

“I shall name it… Tardis.”  I breathed. “Its bigger on the inside.”

“I am so very glad you like it. The garage and the back yard is all that is left.  Shall we?”  Aurora smiled.

The garage was a garage, again, plenty of storage. The floor was sealed concrete, everything was finished.  It was like a race car garage, with lots of lights and plastic lined walls.  Very nice.  I could use this easily I thought.  We headed back into the house, through a well designed mud room and into the backyard.

The backyard made the front look quaint.

It had a hedge against the rear of the yard, backing up to a number of large trees in the open space behind.

Wait a minute.

“Aurora?  Is there a park behind the house?  I thought the street went behind the cul-de-sac?” I asked.

“No park… just a small empty space between the houses.  A very small place that a couple trees call their home.  Probably a few rabbits and field mice are back there too.  Definitely some robins.  I saw some nests on my last visit.  There is a gap in the hedges over in the corner, if you want to take a look.”

“Oh no need.  Just curious.  The landscaping is amazing.”

“It is lovely isn’t it?  The shed is over to the right behind the garage… it is empty right now of course, but plenty of room for garden tools and the like.”

My wife grabbed my hand and without looking at me and said, “We’ll take it.”

That is how we ended up in our house (under our budget too)… after Aurora gave us the keys, we were in bliss.  We moved in a week after closing, and we made it our own.  It was summer, so the kids hadn’t started school yet, so we set to making the house ours.  My youngest told me about the fairies that very week.

“Daddy, I saw a bug.”  She said.

“Oh yeah?” I replied absent-mindedly. I was putting together a spice rack, and she was a yapper.  I only have half-paid attention to our conversations as they happened.  In all fairness, I did that with all my kids.

“Yeah, it had two legs, and big wings, and it smiled and waved at me.” She said exaggeratedly. Her hands were her punctuation, waving up and down with her statement.

I stopped screwing the spice rack together and looked at her carefully.  She was calm, and it appeared she had not hit her head, so I played along. “Oh yeah?  Was the bug pretty?”

“Yes, Daddy. Very pretty.  She is the prettiest bug I ever saw.  She has purple eyes.”

“Purple eyes, huh? That sounds…” I thought about it. Purple eyes.  Where did I see purple eyes? “… that sounds neat. It doesn’t sound like a bug though.  It sounds like fairy.”

“Yes, Daddy, yes.  She is a fairy.  Like Tinkerbell, but way prettier.”  She said very seriously.

“And only you can see her?” I asked.

“No, Daddy. Everyone can see her. You are silly, Daddy.” She admonished.

“I am, aren’t I.  Go play.”  I smiled.

Then my son pointed out something about the backyard at dinner that night… but I still didn’t think much of it.  In retrospect, the signs were all there.  Adults just don’t see it easy.

“The space behind our yard is huge.” He said.

“Oh yeah?  How huge?”  I replied.

“I don’t know, but I walked and walked and walked.  I never found the street.”

“That’s weird.” I said, heaving a mouthful of green beans in.

“I found a cool tree though.  It was covered in moss, and had those hanging branches.  What are those called again?”

“A willow?”

“Yeah, a willow.  I found this huge willow, and it had these huge leaves.  But the little beavers I saw where the coolest.”

“Little beavers?” I said around my bite, chewing slowly.

“They were small, like cats, but had wide tails.  I thought they were beavers.  They must be someone’s pets though.”

“Why is that?”

“They had little vests on.  They looked like vests.  Why would a beaver be wearing a vest?”

“No idea, buddy.  That sounds pretty weird.”

“They loved those leaves from the willow though.  They kept picking the fallen ones up and carrying them off somewhere.  Must taste good?”

“Maybe… that is something. You kids have some good imaginations.” I said. Then the conversation moved on to some other trivial thing…

Then I met my first brownie. Not the edible kind.  I met that edible kind when I was kid and have loved every one since.   No such thing as a brownie I didn’t like.  Nope.  This brownie is named Vert. Like Bert with a V.  He is roughly 23 years old, likes beer, and can curse lividly in about 14 languages.   He has a foul mouth, but a heart of gold.

Literally.  He showed me.  It was gold.

It was a week later, and I was doing some work on my new inherited garden in the backyard.  The boxes were sizable, each about the size of a twin bed, and each had overrun a little with weeds in the absence of a owner that was, you know, alive.  I was pulling weeds, and mixing in compost, when I a little thing caught my eye near the shed.  I thought it was stick bug sitting on the ledge of the little shed window near the door, resting calmly in the shade, but when I looked closer, I saw a little arm lift a little mug in my direction.

At first, I thought I had passed out in the heat and was delirious.  So I put down my rake and pinched my arm.  It still hurt.  So I took off my gloves and rubbed my eyes carefully with the clean bit of my shirt. It didn’t help.  In fact, the little guy just sat there staring at me incredulously.

“Oi.  Alright?”  It squeaked at me.

“I am seeing things.” I replied.

“Yeah, that is what you are supposed to use your eyes for.  What else would do with eyeballs?  Juggle them?”

“You sound British.”

“And you sound like an imbecile.”

“Hey, no need for calling names.” I protested.

“You started it.” It laughed back. “I am about as British as you are.”

“And you are?”

“I am.”

“You are a what?” I asked. I walked over very cautiously, squinting in the sun, trying to figure it out.  It had to be a trick of some sort.

“I am a Vert.” It said without hesitation.

“A Vert? What is a vert?”

“I am.  My goodness you *are* an imbecile. I thought brains were supposed to be bigger in the large folk.”

“So lots of Verts running around my garden?” I asked.

“Just the one today.  I am not a vert, I am Vert.  That is my name.  I am a brownie.  A gnome.  Whatever fits your fancy.”

“And why are you sitting on my shed?”

“Oh, this and that.  Watching you struggle with the brutish tools you have is actually quite entertaining.  Its like watching a troll trying to have sex with a tree.  Seriously.  You need a mirror.  And I need more beer.”

“That does sound good…” I admitted.

“Well off you go then.  Bring me some.”  He waved his hand at me while he drained his little thimble of a mug.

I walked back inside puzzled at the interaction, trying to rationalize it through.

“Done already? I am impressed.” My wife called from the kitchen.

“No, just getting a drink.”

“Don’t dilly dally, dinner will be ready at six.”

I grumbled some sort of response and reached the beer fridge.  What does a gnome drink?  Lager? Ale? Stout?  I grabbed a lager (its what I wanted, screw the gnome), and headed back outside, waiting to crack it once the door was shut.  I had kind of hoped that the gnome would be gone, and a stick would be leaning on the windowsill, my imagination just running on overdrive, rampant assailing my common sense.

No such luck.

The little guy was still leaning against the window, smiling at me with a crooked grin.  I walked over with beer and poured it slowly into his tiny mug.

“Alright, alright, alright.”  He said.

“I hope you are ok with lager.”  I said.

“In my opinion my friend, no such thing as a bad beer.  Everything is drinkable in fitting proportions.”

“And that is?”

“Doesn’t matter how bad it is, if there is enough of it, it is worth drinking!”  His laughter was pealing lilt, which he quickly drenched with a swallow from his mug.   I took a swallow too.

“My name is John.”  I said as I leaned against the shed.

“Nice to meet you, John.”

“Nice to meet you, Vert.” I replied.

“Now that we are on a first name basis, I hope to drink more of your beer.” He admitted.

“Now that we are on a first name basis, I hope to share more of my beer.” I laughed.

We drank in silence for a few minutes.  I had a million questions, but had no idea what kind of protocol existed for questioning a gnome about what the… hell… is… going… on.

“Oh come on, mate.  I know you are dying to ask me something.” He teased.

“So… been a gnome long?”  I asked.

“All of the questions in existence and that is what you come up with?  Been a gnome long?  Well, nope, about two minutes ago I was a dog.  Of *course* I have been a gnome long.  All my life. Born and raised on the other side of that wall.”

“In the space between the houses?”  I looked over at the small empty area, my hedge pushed right up against it.

“Not so much a space between, but a space convergent really.  Its a bit of land where things cross over you see.  There used to be millions of such places in the world, but times have changed, the fae has waned, and there are only a hundred or so left.  You happen to be living on one.”

“Oh, well, that… is good.”  I stammered.

“Truth is, I am a bit of a welcoming committee myself.  Just letting you know that things will be coming and going time to time.  Nothing harmful mind you, we keep those sorts of things away from the spaces, but a bit of traffic, if you please.”

“Um. Ok?”

“Great!  I will be back in a day or two, just to check in on you.  Let me know if you have any questions, eh?  Of course if you have any questions, just ask the house, she will let you know too.”

“The house?”

“Yeah the house!  Goodness me.  You sure have your moments.  Oh, one last thing… if a jibber shows up at your door, don’t let him in.  He owes me money still.  Oh, and don’t talk to the Grevious, he is downright evil.”

“What’s a jibber?”  My confusion was running all over the place, a dog chasing a squirrel in circles.

“Eh, shortish balding guy, likes card games.  Notoriously hard to get rid of.  Welcome to the neighborhood!”  He spun in place, and the sill was empty.

Welcome to the neighborhood?  Then it hit me.  Violet eyes.  Aurora the realty agent.  Heh, more like a reality agent I think.

Welcome to the Fae neighborhood, I guess. At least the house was awesome.  I could deal with a little strangeness time to time.

…

Wait a second…  The Grevious?  What the hell was that about?