Part One: Oh My Gosh

When a young boy dies, where does he go? Young Jacque learns what happens to souls with unfinished business.

There was a small boy, no more than five years of age at the time, with magnificent blonde hair and a cut that shaped a bowl on his head. He had radiant blue eyes with the most pronounced features any child gifted from God could manifest. The din of the evening was unbridled and unclaimed, and the mother waved her arms around helplessly as her child sat wan and disturbed in the love seat adjacent to the crackling fire.

“He’s a weak child,” they had told his mother, “he won’t survive the night.”

I remember the doctors came into the room out from the currents of the bustling marketplace below and brandished their tawdry elements like small priests lifting the spirits in the corners of the room. It was a somber evening and the fire crackled and popped as I lay prone on the love seat adjacent to it. The rays of light danced across my cheeks and licked at my dying tone like small faeries of comfort searching for that once smiling little boy.

Yes, I was that little boy, and I saw the last visages of light as the fire seemed to die off"even as the fairies danced higher into the air. Oh, I was so terribly sleepy. My eyelids were languid and accosted by the temptations of rest, and my energy was tapped from me, but I knew my mother pained, and so I fought to stay conscious. I knew my father had gone out mere hours before, in search of a madman to cure my affliction: preposterous! There was no more a madman than a wine cellar somewhere in the foundries of this cruel world, and surely he dealt his dark magic there in relative silence. I was baffled, of this I am sure, for no woman beyond my mother had ever touched me. The maid with the big chest and long earrings often came to check on me when I had fallen ill, but my mother, ever the vigilante for her beloved boy, had dispatched her away with the flick of her wrist. I was in my nadir, and no woman would have her little boy while he battled evil.

She was my guardian, my torch, my gardienne, and I had failed her by falling now. The word frail must been the word wallowing in her mind as I slipped through her fingers. How puny and insignificant I must have seemed to her then. This woman, whose face was warm and comforting, like a chiseled angel from the brightest, untarnished stones of Greece, but now marred with misfortune for her dying kin. It was a face that wanted nothing more than to watch her ilk grow old and spread their seed throughout the world, creating something of a legacy. Fight, she encouraged me. Death, she called it. Death was banging at our doorstep and I was caught by its leash.

Death. I was going to die. Even in my small world, I knew that my death had marked the beginning of disaster for my family. Working as a clockwork engineer, my father was often away and I was left to be the little man of the house. Sure, my mother had her characters and her scenes, but for all it was worth, should there not be an heir to the family business, my mother was as safe as a chicken in a dog run.

“No more sleep. Send your blessings to the child and give up, Marlene. It is over. This is no longer a possibility to save him. He is not coming back from this. God will take him now.”

“I will send for the priest, I trust that it will not be much longer before he is given to the Lord.”

“Go now, find me a salve! A healer! A bloodletter! Anything to keep him healthy! How much will it take? 30 bills, maybe 40? Oh, mercy for this child…”

“Do not fret; he will be going to meet with the maker. It is all in good time. Please, see to your boy, we have done all we can.”

My mother fell to my side, taking my hands in her large, overworked paws, and brought them to her face. I could hardly feel the warmth in her cheeks anymore and I feared that her tears were as salty as the elixirs that the doctors had drowned me in. Her eyes were bloodied and sour and I knew she was far more pained than I had ever been. For the first time, I had seen a reticent spark of sadness in her eyes that reminded me of the infallibility of the human life. Not only was her son dying, but a single dominating feature had also died within her: I saw her love die away.

Despite this, I am sure, she was glad, and she came close to me in a whimper and kissed my forehead briskly. A tear fell and landed on my nose. I hadn’t the strength to return the emotion. I was defeated and tired, like a stream emptying into a pond and forever ceasing its dark travel. She mourned for me even as I clawed at the keyhole of life, struggling to keep my eyes open as my body sat shackled to the grave. Would she come down with me, I wondered?

I am alive, I am alive, I screamed in my head, but no amount of thought could project those words beyond the mortal flesh. My lips did not move. My hands felt no warmth. I shed no tears. I merely stared forward, into the darkness in the corner of the room, wasting away like cold meat.

“Good boy, it is time to see the heavens. Please be polite when speaking with the Lord, as you always have.”

She released my hands and I finally shut my eyes.

The image of my mother loomed in my mind as the light from the room trailed away, and the sound of the fire thundered until it dropped into insignificance. Was this the sweet release of death? Did I fail to keep her safe, just as she had done in my final moments? What awaited me beyond the grave, and was my fate any different from the chronicles of my dreams? Where there was light, I struggled to pursue. Wisps of willpower guided me as I flowed down the arcade into the limitless stars"or were they the trinkets of time, forever circulating in that limitless space? I was in a forest, and the trees lengthened until they buckled upward over the stars and joined at the horizon, coveting amongst themselves like armies of soldiers gearing for war. And I melted into the ground and become the floor of a magnificent jungle, creatures with names unknown to me trampling upon my face with their muscled paws and grooved talons. Was I the wind as it wrapped around the sail of a ship and guided it along its journey? Was I an artifactual pillar of stone, built thousands of years prior by the Romans? Had I become an angel? Had angels lived all around us, feeding from life and learning from us, just as we did from them? They were our environment. They were our guardians. I was the pillar. I was the forest leaves, the jungle floor, the wind that sank ships.

No, I was not an angel, or the wind, but merely a spectator for a thousand years played back in a few seconds. My soul was disassembled and shifted through the many dimensions of the Lord. I was a young and dying boy.

And then I remember a broad light that invited me in. I willed myself, if I knew any better as a small child, and I willingly glided toward it in all senses of the word! But that light suddenly perverted and twisted until I lost sight of it. The arcade that held me aloft suddenly vanished and I fell helplessly through a void of darkness. The stars vanished and increments of screams, far and distant and careening endlessly like a maze of evanescent death cries filled my senses until the definition of reality broke the cacophony.

Heaven was denied to me, of this much I knew. I had been denied access into His realm and I fell into the deep recesses of the most defiant world below. The cries fell away into the distance and the sweeps of echoes became blurs of strange hums and whistles until I lost my sight altogether. The feeling of air coursed through my body and folded my limbs as I fell into eh abyss from which death pulled me. A startling fear overtook me, for this was death. I fell into the currents of Hell, oh, a small boy falling into Hell! All my life, I only wanted to be a gentleman to my mother and a connoisseur of noble things, to be a master craftsman and a warm husband. Where was the evil? Where was the sin?

I fell through and through, screaming all the way, and then the whirling sounds stopped. Everything stopped. I was drenched in silence as my body lifted and all elements ceased to ignite and flare. The tumult of the journey has ended.

My eyelids felt heavy then, and through the darkness, a thin ray of light showed through until it grew sharper and more vivid. My hands felt something warm and calming, like warm grass that remains perked and erect during a sun-drenched day. That horizon of light expanded until the domes of my eyelids peeled back and a bright world greeted me.

“What is your name?” a voice cooed from my side. The air was thick like fog with a smell of lilac filling my small nostrils. I looked form side-to-side, and as far as the eye could see was rolling green hills and a sky of deep blue. There was not a tree in sight for miles, and the wind sailed graciously across the grasses, creating large and expansive waves throughout the land. It was as if the scenery before me was a tremulous ocean with green waves breathing and heaving like an evening tide.

“Child, what is thy name?” the voice cooed again.

I tossed my head behind me. A large figure clad in a long, red cloak stood over me. He towered above, like a tree, impossibly showy with stocky shoulders and long sleeves that covered any semblance of his arms. His hood was drawn over his face and a pool of shadow hid his complexion from me. He seemed to levitate above the floor as the edges of the burgundy cloak waved freely in the rhapsody of the wind.

I tried to stand, and found strength from which death had released me. I knew I was dead. I  had strength throughout my limbs like a rebirth, and the playful spirit that guided young children once again flowed through my veins. I apprehensively pulled myself up and stood next to the mysterious red figure. He still was much taller than me, perhaps two people taller, patiently waiting for my reply.

The words were caught in my throat.

“Jacque, my Lord” I must have said to him then.

“Jacque? Very peculiar indeed…”

“Where am I, sir?”

The cloaked figure manifested a hand in front of him, and it was clawed and jagged with skin of an ashy gray, like some sort of reptile, with fingers long and sharp. It was the kind of creature that kept me haunted inside my dreams, and enraptured me in nightmare, as if they sought to get under my skin. My voice hid inside and I became meek and modest.

The figure drew symbols in the air with one finger, scrapes and jabs of fire that hovered in the air, burning away the lilac and polluting the air.

“Jacque, you are not on the schedule,” he said, searching through what seemed to be a book of fire looming impossibly in the air before him, “how did you die? Poisoning? Stab wound? Maybe being hanged, after-all, it’s from your century.”

I shook my head, confused. I was sick. I died from being sick. How else would I have died? No one would murder me, of that I seemed sure. That was simply absurd!

“Ah, yes, but you are not on the schedule. You were not supposed to die from sickness, otherwise you would not be here, child.”

Where is here? What is this place?

“Meh-ven, my child. It is the realm between realms"a limbo for souls; eater of souls. The black hole for uncertain beings and legends that have pervaded your realm for centuries. A place of ghosts that are unsure of where to go. That is where you are. Now hold still while I give you a barcode.”

But I want to go to heaven. Surely, you are not my Lord, and if you claim to be He, then surely I am not dead. My mother told me about Him, of the many songs and choruses that would be sung, and the insurmountable beauty of heaven. She told me all of these things.

“And those that live their days in the Lord’s light shall pass through heaven’s gates, but you did not. Moreover, dear blue-eyed waif, you are not on the schedule for naturally departed souls, and therefore, you do not belong in heaven.”

I could not believe my ears. This is impossible. Where is heaven? Where is Hell? Was this Hell? Was he Satan, the fallen angel of the almighty Lord? The fallen apostle?

“My name is Gosh. I am not in league with the devil, nor his designs, nor am I friends with God and his bloated accomplishments. I am merely Gosh, and this is my realm between realms. It is Meh-ven. By default, you were sent here with unfinished business.”

Unfinished business? Like Limbo?

“…Had you finished business, you’d have gone to heaven, no? Or, had you been morally unbalanced, Hell would have snatched you from the very air that you drifted! Nay, this place is much more complicated and filled with yet another bout of trials that one must overcome before finally meeting their makers. It is a realm of Meh-ven; the realm of ghosts.”

But I am only six winters, how could this be? What unfinished business could a young boy such as I possibly have? Surely, this is what I must have thought, and my unspoken words were received by him as if I were transparent. Like a crystal ball portending the images of my mind.

“You did not die naturally, young Jacque. Few ever do, and they certainly wouldn’t come here if they had. There’s a place for that. You came here because someone made you sick. By definition, the lords and ladies of your town cared little for you and all the world seemed to suppress you and your mother. The doctors fed you salt in the place of elixirs, and the people that once sought your health abandoned you for your affluent nature.”

I blinked helplessly. Gosh stared at me.

And then I stared at him some more.

… And he stared back at me.

“In short,” he continued, if only to break the silence, letting loose a weary sigh, “humans are ugly creatures that eat their own kin. It is not to say that your mother didn’t love you, but it is she that poisoned you. If there is anything to say about that, well, I’d be surprised if you didn’t appear on my doorstep. That is why you are here; there is unfinished business somewhere on the mortal plane. True, she did care deeply for you, but she transpired to kill you, and for that, you are thrust into Limbo like small fry into the maws of a beast.”

“Sir, I think you are mistaken,” I said politely, a ball of muck sitting in my throat, “my mother was a kind woman. She would not have wished ill upon me. I was a weak boy, and I failed my mother, that is all, Sir Gosh-”

“… a weak affluent boy in a world that descended upon your family. You see, the gnats congregate wherever the fruits taste sweetest, and the rarest of these fruits are those that are waning from age, and you, boy, come from a waning family. Without a proper man to run your family, the assets are free game for those that possess the slight.”

“But mama did not poison me!”

“Alas, she did! And according to my observations, she did it out of no ill-will to you! On the contrary, it was to protect you from the horrors that awaited your family. Surely you realize by now that the gnats have descended upon your poor mother. It has been done. You’ve been made an orphan, and now all that remains is unfinished business.”

He swiped the air away and the fires dissipated into nothingness, just as his face seemed to flee from light and remain as nothing, just as this entire journey seemed to be for naught; a concept founded on nothing. I wiped away the bloody tears welling in my eyes and stared briefly into the many folds of his chest.

Unfinished business? I asked.

“Haven’t you ever heard stories of men and women locked in days past, forced to live day-by-day in a state of perpetual madness? Many cultures often call them spirits, or ghosts, as I prefer. These are the disciples of Gosh, the wandering miracles! Poets and historians write of Meh-ven capriciously and in many different lights: Sheol. It is no secret, my dear Jacque, son.”

“But Sir Gosh, sir…”

He pitched his black face down at me, “Yes boy?”

“What in the way of death has kept me in Mayvan?” I asked, or something thereof.

“No, Meh-ven… It’s Meh-ven, like, it’s only adequate and only slightly more mediocre than heaven or hell. It’s not great and not poor. It’s just… Meh.”

“Sir?”

He tossed his flat head around, side to side, seemingly searching among the many hills and grasslands for an answer to the question. I was sure he himself could not generate an answer to entice my young mind. But he once again came to me with his face of mystery and reconciled.

“This is a place for souls, as I said before, but it is a place where lost souls like yourself go to understand their place in God’s plan. You’ve got extra baggage, and it’s just not good discipline bringing all that extra weight into heaven. Something must drop, something must give away. That is why you were turned away from the gates of paradise. That is why you couldn’t hear the songs of the angels, or the cries of the souls granted access into His realm. You’re too heavy. You’ll sink everything! It just isn’t good business. After-all, we don’t want a repeat of the Jurassic Age. That was… just inconveniencing.”

I blinked at him twice. I needn’t say words; he saw through me.

“Yes, yes… your mother was a contractor of many things, including secrets and things of value. Unfortunately, the family fortune wasn’t one of those secrets contracted, and now it’s in the hands of a ruthless man and his family… oh, what was his name! Romeo, Ralph, Rumpus… ah… yes! Rufus! Rufus McKeys!”

“Uncle Rufus?” I exclaimed happily.

“Only, he wasn’t your uncle. In fact, I’m not quite sure he was ever related to you. He wanted to mate with your mother, of that much I am sure, but he was never concerned with your well being! Your good-for-nothing father made it very clear to him that should he ever fight with your mother, that he’d ship her off to him without so much as a pound of-”

“What happened to mama?”

“Your mother, ah, yes. Alas, she was dispatched away with him the moment you died. I’m sure she died, but she didn’t come here and isn’t on the schedule. She’s dead, boy, but you won’t be seeing her until you’re done with the disciple training.”

I shook my head in refusal. I denied him. I denied everything. My mother wasn’t dead! Oh, but she was. Gosh put images in my head which I knew weren’t my own, and I felt enticed by this, if not a bit saddened. Questions gripped me.

“Gosh, sir, is she going to heaven? Will she see the Lord?” I inquired with the inklings of a child-like tone. She, of any person, must have seen the Lord. It only seemed befitting. But Gosh seemed to chuckle from behind that bloody cloak and used that claw of a hand to pull at his chest and grope at the place that his heart should have been. It was a hollow laugh, so unlike the mortals that he toyed with.

“I don’t pass judgement over anyone, but knowing God, I doubt she went to heaven. She might have seen the devil already, or even congregated with other souls on the interpretation of what you mortals call the ‘Bible’. Who knows. The point is: you’re here now with unfinished business and-”

“I want to see mama.”

“Yes, of course, you miss your mother, but first you must become one of my disciples and-”

“Are there any trees in heaven?”

“and- trees?! Why such puny questions? How would I know! I am Gosh, master of the realm between rea-”

“Lord Gosh-”

“Just Gosh.”

“Gosh, sir, are you an angel?”

Gosh shifted in his place uncomfortably, visibly torn from my various questions. He sighed again.

“No, just a phantom… shifting from plane to plane and doing the good business for the good fight. Sometimes I create lands… and destroy them. Kill, and procreate. Alter, and demolish. I am not known but anyone but my disciples, and I answer to no one but myself, and that is why I do not like to call myself an angel, for I am not the foul servant of the-”

“Sir, and unfinished business, what am I to do about that?”

“… Of course, that’s the simple part. The people that moved into your home. They are eating your food, sleeping in your bed, using your furniture, invading your home! What do you think you should do? Haunt them. Scare them away. Make them feel the powers of Gosh!”

“Scare them? Sounds fun!”

“Only then, may you go to heaven… or hell. I don’t care which. But do as I ask and you will be given a chance to cross that bridge once more.”

I put my hands together, just as orphans pray together during a sermon by the nuns, lowering my head and smiling at images of God and Jesus on the cross. I concentrated, with all my heart, on the positive aspects of gaining insight into my current indecision" this apparent Limbo, served by a posthumous demon in a red cloak and face of charcoal. Yes, I thought, I would do this. I would be a good boy. I wanted nothing more than to be good. I wanted nothing more than to live a normal life as a boy, my mother’s boy, and see be the diamond of any parent’s eye.

Yes, I told him. I will do it.

He folded his arms over the other. Good, he said. He was pleased.

“Good, let us begin, then. Remember, you’re a ghost. You’re dead. That’s the first lesson, and until you believe it yourself, none of this will make sense. You’ll just end up spending endless amounts of time with me, and we both don’t want that. I don’t have to remind you that this isn’t hell, boy.”