Only Watching North
Copyright 2016 Lee A Jackson
Only Watching North
He smelled, more than felt the arrival of the mail that morning. He creaked and groaned, more than sprang to life. Body stiff, eyes heavy. Room dark.
With cold, stiff fingers, Jimmy fumbled on his chest for the letter of which he had sensed the arrival of. An unusual perfume emanated from its luxurious fibres, a welcome change from the acrid smells of rotting flesh and damp earth, he thought to himself, idly tugging a ravenous worm from his ear.
It's true that many a thing is lost during the passing. Everyone possess senses that are taken for granted, sight, smell, sound, taste and touch. But these are never lost, for they constitute vital layers of the soul, like the blossoming leaves feeding a mighty oak. The senses absorb life, nourishing the inner life force. Even though the heart turns inanimate and the shell withers, the soul lives on, but through lack of use the senses lie near-dormant.
The soul has the power to keep the body animated because it sends out feeders, namely the senses, in order to gather energy to move the physical form. Even in death there’s enough there to drive simple actions thanks to the gatherings from the sensation of touch alone, with the other senses largely being cut off. So being clinically dead doesn’t account for the soul.
Aside from touch, the rest of the senses gradually fade away through lack of use. There's nothing to hear six feet under. Nothing to see. Nothing to taste. Nothing to smell. Unless of course, a perfumed letter gets delivered by the great divinities, igniting those dormant sensations of awareness.
Jimmy unfolded the envelope, taking a long, lingering whiff of the heavenly odour. Through the eternal darkness, the gilded letters, which glowed a pristine white from their own ethereal source, sprang towards his eyes. Sleepy as his eyes were, they had had five months to more than just adjust to the darkness. So attuned had his night-vision become, that Jimmy now reaped the benefits of being able to spot a fly deep in a forest beneath a cloud covered sky. Unless of course, it was hiding behind a tree and he wasn't locked up in a coffin.
"Why spend an eternity looking up?" the first line on the single sheet of paper read. Jimmy wriggled restlessly.
"Doesn't It Get Desperate Only Watching North!!"
Jimmy turned the paper over looking for more of those beautifully crafted letters. None were forthcoming. The rest of the paper remained in pallid nakedness.
What is this all about? Jimmy mused, contemplating whether to be bothered with contemplating the letter or not. Then again, it was Tuesday, what other pressing business did he have?
Sure it gets me down, he silently answered the question on the paper. We're always placed on our back, my next door neighbour, his next door neighbour etcetera. We have to look North to the Heavens, so we can see the path ahead of us on our second journey. But why haven't I gotten my ticket North yet? What's keeping them? I suppose we're supposed to take the wait as it comes because, in the end, it’s a small price to pay for eternal bliss. So just lay here until we're called for. Limbo I think it's called.
Jimmy looked once more at the paper, becoming slightly distressed and uncomfortable with his situation. Why deliver this now?
"Doesn't It Get Desperate Only Watching North!!"
What does that mean? Then he noticed that it wasn't a question that was staring him in the face. Those were exclamation marks, a statement of fact. A jovial statement? An optimistic statement? Jimmy shivered, suddenly feeling out of place in the cosmos. Damn this mysterious letter.
In a crumpled ball, the paper rested in Jimmy's fist, a fist which was eager to go on a journey of its own. One fuelled by frustration. Jimmy summoned all his reserves of his energy slammed his fist down by his side, feeling the sensation of splintering damp wood beneath his once-plush bed of velour.
Jimmy's hand lay trembling, his sense of touch flooding back, awakening in his soul. He closed his eyes and in his own private sanctum saw the message again, with everything but the first letters discarded.
D-I-G-D-O-W-N the letter told him. Dig down! Jimmy re-attached the errant index finger that had catapulted off his hand with the force of the impact and started tearing away at the material that was left of the base of the coffin.
Jimmy tumbled through a layer of dirt; the final layer that had been separating him and the cavernous space he now found himself in. Choosing to ignore the jolting shock of the fall through space, Jimmy found the new wide spaces around him immediately invigorating. He stretched vigorously, working the cricks out of his shoulders and neck. It was only when he was bending forwards, touching his down, working the lower back, that he realised something was different. Despite his clothes having seen better days, bits of his person weren't falling off. His skin was staying attached, all the joints inside him were holding together. He breathed deeply, igniting his nostrils, and, deep in the back of his throat he could taste the air. Pure, clean air like nothing he'd breathed before. He surmised that as air is life, it was replenishing his mortal shell, just as his senses, coming
back to life, was replenishing his soul.
Candles sat in niches in the wall of the cave burned brightly. It was the first light Jimmy had seen for several months and while the glowing brightness hurt his eyes a little, he found himself transfixed, staring at the dancing flames. They cast shadows, memories in his mind of the life now gone, of long lost faces and the heat of the sun. After a while of reverie, Jimmy tore himself away from the alluring flames. As nice as some of the recollections were, he knew he couldn't stay in his past. A tunnel away to his left, lit by more burning candles was calling him. He had no idea why he was here, but, taking one more look above him at the hole in the ceiling through which he fell, he could see only the depressing blackness up north and knew that he no longer belonged up there.
Jimmy emerged from the long cold tunnel into another cavern of similar size to the one into which he had fallen. Only no longer was Jimmy alone. Behind a desk, which guarded a pair of beautifully carved ivory doors, sat a man. An ordinary man. Jimmy looked at him and realised that he had one of those faces that the more you look at, the more you forget what he looks like.
Jimmy offered up a croaky greeting through a torrent of dusty coughs.
"Sit down, sit down," said the man in an accent-less, unhurried, monotonous kind of way.
Jimmy looked for a chair but only found the damp floor. He plopped himself down.
"Jimmy Beattie, yes?" said the man behind the desk, without looking up from some paperwork he was shuffling around on his luxuriously veneered desk.
Jimmy nodded.
"Welcome to the darkest depths of any known plane of existence Jimmy."
Jimmy's eyes widened, eyelids hurting. He looked at the candles lighting the room with a new symbolic perspective. Fire? Darkest depths? Surely he hadn't dug his way to the mother-in-law's kitchen. No, that was ridiculous. He mused over all the tales of Hell that he'd heard told to him as a child in order to scare him straight. How easily he'd been seduced by the dark. “DIGDOWN!” Jimmy cursed himself.
"The rest of your existence starts here. We have arranged permanent accommodation for you."
"Listen," Jimmy protested, swallowing hard to lubricate his dry throat. "Surely there's been some mistake…"
"Let me assure you, Mr Beattie," said the man, "I am the great one's Administrator, and I don't make mistakes. With the boss that I have, I'm sure that you can appreciate that it wouldn't be in my best interest to do so."
"Boss? You mean, Sa…" said Jimmy, cutting himself off, not wanting to hear the worst.
"That one? He goes by many names."
Jimmy nodded, "Can't be a nice place to be when he's in a bad mood." His tongue suddenly eager to work again.
r />
"Oh, he's always in a bad mood, Mr Beattie. He wouldn't much of a maligned creature if he wore a big smile on his face now would he?"
Jimmy frowned. "You know, in a drunken stupor a couple of years ago, I dialled 666 on the phone and was going to get the evil one himself to pay a visit to the mother-in-law. Couldn't get through, though."
A dull laugh expectorated from between the man's ordinarily thin lips. "He doesn't run a grudge service like that. He's not available on call 24-7."
"But there are people who claim to have summoned him, some against their will," commented Jimmy, recalling many a horror movie.
"Phonies," said the Administrator. "Every single one of them. Can you imagine some geeky nerd sat behind a computer summoning the Dark Lord, and He appearing and being at their beck and call. Please."
"The Geek shall inherit the earth!" Jimmy laughed, not really knowing why.
"The man up North wouldn't have it, so why should Satan? No-one, and let me tell you from personal experience, no-one bosses the boss."
"So, how does this work for me then? Is it down the pub for a drink and a chat after a hard day's slog in the incineration plant that is Hell? That’s an average passing of a day, is it?"
"No, Mr Beattie, it doesn't work like that. There is no time as such in the afterlife, remember, you are here for all eternity."
"Gee, thanks. So do you know already who's on their way down before they turn up here at the request of a nicely gilded invitation delivered to their casket?"
"Of course! That's my job. I have a check-list of every single person born. My understudies make hourly reports on people, who in turn get awarded disciplinary points according to any misdemeanour committed. Hit that magic total of 666 and you'll be checking into Hell when you die for sure."
"Blimey. So that little indiscretion with the Milk-Lady didn't help matters then?"
"Indeed not Jimmy. Nor the sweets stolen from the grocery store, nor the three unpaid parking tickets, nor the late payments on your utility bills, nor the constant swearing.
“Fuc...” Jimmy started but was abruptly cut off.
"Don’t do it, Mr Beattie, please. Everything seems to be in order here. Just. Let's keep it that way. I've no more time for idle chit-chat. I'm a busy man. Your eternity waits for you behind these doors."
The great ivory doors parted, silent on their hinges. Jimmy tried not to look, foolishly hoping that it would all go away and back in his cosy casket he'd find himself. But his eyes were drawn to the doors. Now standing, he tried to urge his feet to flee back down the tunnel through which he'd come, but they stayed planted to the spot.
Within the darkness behind the door, Jimmy could see shapes moving. Twisted little figures dancing and skipping in merriment. One by one they emerged into the cavern and surrounded him. Hideous faces, sculpted by torture and eternal damnation. With faces red and scarred they paraded around him, poking and prodding at his cowering body with pitchforks. Jimmy's body once more felt useless and weary. He could almost sense his senses crawling back into dormancy.
"Jimmy Beattie," he heard a booming voice about the cruel taunts. "You have been resigned to spend your eternity with us, your afterlife is in our hands. Surprised? You will be."
"Eh?"
Jimmy looked up and towards the door, as a loud cheer went up, and he was simultaneously showered in an explosion of party streamers. The minions around him were pulling their tortured faces off, tossing them into the air and discarding their pitchforks. Momentarily repulsed, a wave of relief engulfed him as instead of seeing dripping muscle and protruding eyes, angelic faces were instead smiling at him.
Jimmy saw the Administrator walking towards him through the merry throng. "Welcome to the Pearly Gates, Jimmy," said he, "we like to treat all our guests to a surprise celebration."
"Celebration?" Jimmy spluttered.
"A welcome to the afterlife celebration. Showing people their greatest fear makes them appreciate exactly what they've achieved by reaching Heaven. You can only go North from here."
"So this isn't…." mused Jimmy, gesturing to his surroundings, which suddenly seemed less threatening to him. "Nice touch," remarked Jimmy as a large banner pronouncing a jovial 'welcome' in bold lettering was unveiled.
"We aim to please,” said the Administrator. “Now, come on and join us. You're one of the lucky ones Mr Beattie, having clocked up a score of 665.9, one more curse word out of you and this would have ended a whole lot differently. Come on now, there's a big crowd waiting for you, Grandpa John and Auntie Susie's there and by the way, call me Peter."
***
Thank you for reading my stories.
If you enjoyed it, won’t you please take a moment to leave me a review? Thanks!
Connect with Me
Follow me on Twitter
Lee on Facebook
Visit my website
About the author:
I began writing in my mid to late teens, sequestered away in my bedroom in rural south west England.
The writing was borne out of a need to express myself and to communicate with the world, something I
was not good at doing verbally. It became an outlet for me and my writing grew with me through the
years.
Other titles by Lee A Jackson
A Soul of Stone
A Cerberus Jaw
Dreaming Falling Down
S and M
Delphine
The Crawling
Destination B
Paradoxical Undressing