know.”
Shannon considered his words. She hadn't even begun to process what had happened. Her physical feelings had lessened considerably since her death, but when she sat down and thought – when she took a moment to process what had happened in the past – what, day? How did time even work here? It was overwhelming. A lump rose in her throat. She clenched her hands into fists, and they shook violently.
Ben sat down next to her and made a movement to place his hand over hers, but at the last moment he hesitated and withdrew.
“I'm sorry. It was wrong of me to burden you with my own loneliness. It's just – I suppose I'm no good at talking to people who talk back anymore. I got ahead of myself; I was too excited. Perhaps with two heads, we can figure out exactly where we are. Maybe we can do something about it. A fresh set of eyes... maybe that's all this place needs. This can't be the only life after death. I refuse to accept it.”
“Well, we're trapped here for the night,” Shannon stood and walked to the window. It was pitch black outside. “Might as well burn the midnight oil and come up with some ideas.”
“Yes – absolutely.”
Ben struck a match and lit a second oil lamp before pulling the dark red curtain over the window. “You can never be too careful.”
“Nothing can get us in here, right?”
“We're safe inside the houses,” Ben assured her. “But don't go outside at night under any circumstances.”
Shannon hesitated. “The people who get trapped... there's no chance they're being taken to a better place, is there?”
“I doubt it,” he said grimly. “Like I said, they're probably taken to hell. Or a worse version of hell than we're already in.”
“So here's where we get to the theology stuff,” Shannon rolled her eyes. “I have to say, I didn't know what I expected from death, but a drab little town with creepy people? This definitely wasn't in any religion I ever studied.”
“Where do you think we are, then?”
“Dunno,” Shannon stared at the flickering shadows on the wall. “Purgatory? Limbo? Some really lame version of hell? Wherever we are, at least it's not fire and brimstone.”
“Oh, I don't know,” Ben considered. “After so much drudgery, fire and brimstone doesn't sound half bad. I'd take a bit of torture over this any day... at this point. At least it would be exciting.”
“So you think we're in...”
“Purgatory. Definitely purgatory,” Ben waved his finger in a circle. “All of this... these drab homes and colors, the dull sensations of bloody... everything. My apologies for using a crude word in front of you, Shannon.”
“What, bloody?” she snickered.
Ben stared at her, stiff-backed and wide-eyed.
“Relax, Mr. Victorian. It's, like, barely offensive anymore. I've seen it in kids' books. Nobody in the US even says it.”
“Americans...” he sighed. “At any rate, I have a working theory. You found the gate because you came across a path and chose to follow it instead of heading in the other direction, correct?”
“Yep.”
“I did the same. What, I wonder, would have happened if we'd taken the path in the other direction?”
Shannon shrugged. “Maybe it leads to another town like this. Maybe it leads to a better place, or a worse one.”
“All options I've spent an unhealthy amount of time obsessing over,” Ben said. “What if we'd decided to walk through the woods? What if we'd never found the path? Do those woods continue on forever? Would we eventually come across other towns like this? Would we have been snatched up by whatever takes this town's residents?”
“Whoa, hang on a sec,” she took a sip of her hot pine needle tea, briefly wondering if she would have to pee in the afterlife. “Let's break this down. There's no way for us to know what would have happened if we'd chosen another path. Unless we can figure out how to get out of here, there's no point in trying to figure out what's on the other side of the fence.”
“Perhaps it was narcissistic, but a large part of me wondered if this world was my own, personal curse before you came,” Ben admitted. “Selfishly, I wanted those people to be real, because at least they were in a worse position than I, depending on how I looked at it. But now I'm wondering if we're here because of some... mistake.”
Shannon considered his position. “Then why do these people deserve to be here? From what I've seen, there are at least four children! You can't tell me whatever higher power you believe – or believed – in would damn them to this fate.”
“I've no idea how Christianity has changed over the years,” said Ben. “But I was taught that unchristened children go to limbo. It's an idea that's never set well with me.”
“What if, when we die, it's just completely random?”
Placing his hand on his chin, Ben leaned forward. “Go on.”
“Well, when we're born, we can't choose our parents, our economic standing, our race, intelligence, or anything else, really. As far as I can tell, we're just – slapped into a body. Who knows? What if, when we die, we're just slapped into some kind of afterlife? What if the most pious nun could end up in the ninth circle of hell because the afterlife is just as unfair as physical world?”
“That's an interesting thought,” said Ben. “Though, to be fair, I've probably ended up in the right place. I wasn't the best person in life, but I certainly wasn't the worst.”
“Same,” Shannon admitted. “So maybe that's why we're here. Not good enough to go to heaven, not bad enough to go to hell.”
“That still doesn't explain the children. I don't want you to have too optimistic an understanding of this place, Shannon,” he warned. “The loneliness, the lack of change... It's a prison. My writing is the only thing that keeps me from going mad most days.”
“I'd love to see it sometime.”
“And you will,” he assured her. “But not yet. I've never shown my writing to anyone, and... well, you can imagine my fear of scrutiny, I'm sure.”
A gust of wind suddenly shook the house. It whistled as it blew under the door, and Ben's papers went flying from his desk.
“The hell was that?” Shannon jumped.
“That means it's too dangerous to go outside.”
The wind whistled again, and a high-pitched, deafening scream erupted from outside.
“Does this happen every night?” Shannon picked up the throw from the sofa and pulled it over her bare shoulders. It was the first time she'd felt cold since she died.
“The screaming?” Ben frowned. “That's not normal, I'm afraid. Someone's trapped out there. They'll be gone in the morning.”
Shannon jumped to her feet. “That sounded like it came from a kid! We have to bring them in!”
“Are you mad? If you go out there, you'll be taken along with them!”
She rushed to the table and grabbed one of the oil lamps. Ben tried to pull her back by her shoulder, but Shannon shrugged him off. Throwing open the door, she ran outside and slammed it behind her.
The wind screamed and howled, and the white mist from the forest and sky encircled her, only visible through the dim view of her gas lamp.
“Hello?” she shouted. “Hello!”
The wind ripped and tugged at Shannon's dress, her brown hair swirling around her face as she strained every muscle to walk against it.
The scream erupted from the darkness once more, and Shannon pushed forward, harder and harder, until she was standing in front of the fountain. A small figure was curled up in the dry, shallow pool.
It was the little boy who jumped rope.
Shannon jumped into the fountain and scooped him up in her arms, climbing out of the pool and following the dim light of Ben's home from halfway across the square. She held the boy close as he screamed and cried into her shoulder. The mist encircled them, and even with the lamp, Shannon could barely see. It pulled harder and harder, but she pushed forward toward th
e light. Finally she reached the threshold. Ben threw the door open, pulled her inside, and slammed it behind her.
Setting the boy on the ground, Shannon collapsed onto the floor. He got up and sprinted into the bedroom.
“What did you just do?”
“There was a kid!” she exclaimed. “You heard him! I couldn't just not do anything!”
“You could've easily been swept away!”
“But I wasn't.”
Limbs weak and shaking from overexertion, Shannon pulled herself to her feet and approached the bedroom slowly. The boy had hidden himself on the bed under a thick quilt.
“Hey, it's okay,” she said softly. “You're safe now. We're not going to hurt you.”
Shannon gently took the blanket off of his head and wrapped it around his shoulders. Tears poured down his face, and he shook violently.
“Shh...” she put a hand on his shoulder.
“Acchi ike!” he screamed, pushing her away.
“Hey, hey, it's okay,” Shannon took a handkerchief from Ben's nightstand and dabbed the boy's face.
She turned around to find Ben standing in the doorway. “Now might be a good time for some pine needle tea.”
Ben hopped up and reappeared a few moments later with a steaming cup.
“I think he's speaking Japanese,” Shannon said.
“Do you speak Japanese?”
“Like, ten phrases. I had a pen pal when I was a kid. He might be speaking Korean, but keep your fingers crossed for Japanese, because at least I can kind of communicate.”
“Do you know anything that might calm him down?”
“Um, other than introducing myself, not really.