This is dedicated to stories that don't fall into the other chategories. It will be interesting to see what I place here. Please be patient while I'm gathering stories, for soon they will be up and I promise you won't be dissapointed.
The last moment of Eric Judd's life was loud and swift. The hum of the Caravan's engine, and the drone of its tires on the pavement of Washington Interstate 195, ended with the bang of a blown tire. The endless fields of wheat rushing by on both sides, were replaced by a sudden jerk to the left and a spinning that reminded him of the Gravitron ride at the county fair.
Then the Caravan tipped, slamming onto its side and sliding down the oncoming lane. In the flurry of sparks, and the screaming from his wife Elaine and four-year old daughter Ellie, he did not see the oncoming tanker. In the last few seconds the screaming was drowned out by the blatting of an air horn, a horrible explosion, and flames that rivaled those of hell.
--- Eric Jud awoke from the fire on the edge of a strange, shining road. The road, which had no center line, fog lines, or marking of any kind upon it, was made of some luminous pink crystal; maybe Rose Quartz. Its surface was flawless and highly polished. He looked into it and saw his face, fuzzy and rose tinted, staring back at him. Although the crystal was completely devoid of the interior flaws common in Rose Quartz, he could not see through it to whatever lay on the other side. The crystal was impossibly deep, and it seemed to stretch on forever.
Where am I?
All around him stood mountains, natural towers of the same pink crystal that made up the road. They rose to his left, right, and before him as far as he could see, like an exclamation of ultimate beauty, the last sublime marks made upon the last sentence and page of the book which is the universe. They stood into a bright blue sky, piercing the clouds that rode far above like a herd of shapeless horses, perhaps ending in Heaven itself.
Eric sat up slowly, then rose to his feet, staring down the road ahead in disbelief. The crystal road was level where he stood, but far ahead stood the largest of the crystal mountains. The road slanted up the side of the mountain, and climbed it up into the clouds.
Everything around and in front of him was rose pink, sky blue, and cotton white. He turned to see what lay behind; to find the mysterious road's origin. There was nothing there; nothing at all. No clouds, mountains of pink, or blue sky, not even the static of a television tuned to empty waves.
Where are the girls? Where are my girls?
"Elaine . . . Ellie, where are you," he shouted. His voice cut through the air and echoed, undistorted in the beautiful valley between the mountains. The pink crystal rang like chimes and hummed softly, mimicking the desperation of his cries. "Elaine . . . Ellie, answer me!" It was a long time before his echoed cries, and the pink mountains crystalline response, died. There was no reply.
Eric faced the mountain; followed the wide crystalline road into the clouds with his eyes. If the girls were here with him, then he would find them up there. He did not know how he knew this, but he did.
Besides, he thought, looking back over his shoulder, there is no other way to go.
He knew following this crystal road to its termination would take some time, probably quite a long time. He looked down at his watch; a gold plated Belair, and blinked in surprise. It was gone.
Time does not exist for the dead.
Dead? OK, so I'm dead. I guess clothing doesn't exist for us either. He was standing on the edge of the crystal road, naked as the day he slid out of his mother.
The knowledge of his death had little effect on Eric, it was something he understood rather than mourned: the living could mourn for him. Neither did he take time to marvel at how cool and calm he was treating the knowledge of his demise. His wife and daughter were here, and he had to find them.
He followed the crystal road to the base of the mountain, and then up the mountain. He noticed as it steepened, that it was no more difficult to follow than when it was level. He followed the crystal road for an undeterminable time, not stopping once until he reached the bottom of the clouds. He turned again, curious to see how far he had come. Again, there was nothing behind him. It had advanced as he had, across the road at the bottom of the crystal canyon, to the top of the mountain, erasing everything behind him. The only thing that existed to him now was the veil that hovered above him, and whatever wonders lay behind it..
He followed the shrinking road through the clouds and found himself standing before those fabled Pearly Gates, at the edge of Heaven itself. ---
The gates of Heaven were not made of Pearl, but light; great, luminous shafts of light that rose up from the veil of mist he now walked upon, to infinity. The bars of light appeared to be perfectly tangible. Gloriously real, but not in the physical sense. They had a luster that did remind him of Pearl, or maybe Mother of Pearl. They were open wide; welcoming.
Beyond the gates was not the vast, glowing city of Angels he had visualized so often during the services he attended in his youth, but an endless and glorious field of the brightest light. All encompassing, all consuming light, and a chorus of angelic voices singing a single, magnificent note. A note unlike any ever played by Mozart, or Beethoven.
Come, the voices of the chorus sang out to him. Come see the light of God; the Alpha and Omega: completion. We are only complete when we are with God, and He is not complete until we are with him.
As Eric drew closer to the light he had this epiphany; God is the light, we are all the light. We never really die; we just go to the light. Everything returns to the light.
" . . . not everything," came a faint voice from a distant plane; a voice from the world of the living.
The voice was barely audible in the company of Heaven's music, but it was loud enough to taint the perfection around him. The angelic chorus wilted and died away like a poisoned rose, the light behind the gates began to fade to black, and the gates themselves began to close.
Eric moved quicker toward the closing gates. The motion was not physical, but an act of will; the will to be with the ones he loved, and knew waited on the other side. His mother, father, wife, and daughter; they would all be their, holding hands and waiting for him to come home.
"It's over Doctor, he's dead," said the voice from the other side.
"No, I will not give up on him," a familiar voice shouted. "Now shock him again!"
As he drew near to the gate a pale hand broke though the light, the hand of a small child. The hand stretched out to him as he reached for it.
Ellie.
"Clear," the familiar voice shouted again. Eric felt a jolt in his physical body. He felt his heart start pumping again.
Ellie!
The gate closed, and all was dark.
---
"My God, you saved him."
"Yes," the Doctor said, and sighed deeply. Even in the darkness, Eric recognized the voice as belonging to Jim Bellmann, an old schoolmate. "He's alive."
Then the voices faded and he was completely alone.
---
Eric awoke again on the edge of another strange road; a different road than before. There was no pink crystal or shining blue sky this time. The road was common blacktop, well worn and scarred with wide cracks and deep potholes.
He lay flat in the dust beside the blacktop, his snakes-eye-view showing a landscape similar to that of the desert in southern Idaho, where he had worked for a short time in construction. It was dry, flat, and dotted with dead brush.
It was well lit, but he could see no sun overhead. The sky glowed a bloody red color, tinting the cracked earth, dead brush, and ugly deserted road. Dark thunderheads lurked in the sky like an angry mob at a hanging. The electricity in the air was so thick he could smell it.
He stood up and looked down the road; it went on for miles, the landscape completely unchanging. He turned, looking the other way down the crumbling road. It was exactly the same, except for the sign he found himself facing. It was the kind of road sign you would see on any freeway off-ramp. Wrong way, it said.
He moved to step past the light, and a stroke of lightning broke loose from above, blowing a chunk of blacktop a few yards behind the sign. Eric felt the jolt, like the one that closed the gates of Heaven to him, except much stronger, the flash blinded him. He flew backward and slammed against the road several feet away. He held his arms defensively in front of his face, shielding himself from the rain of rubble that followed. He kept his eyes closed until the flash glare wore off.
He picked himself, dusted himself off, and looked at the sign again. The blast had not harmed it, but the message was different. Wrong way asshole, it said.
He took the hint, and began walking the other direction.
---
Brimstone Road - Southbound. This sign was unlike any you might encounter on your average Idaho freeway. The body of the sign appeared to be stretched and hardened leather, nailed to a long wooden pole. The message was painted in deep maroon; the letters were uneven and sloppy, like a child's finger painting.
This does not sound good, Eric thought. Several drifting thunderheads let go in the distance while he read the sign, blasting new craters into the already scarred hardpan. A fine mist of sand fell from the red sky.
Eric continued forward, preferring his unknown destination to the known penalty for disobeying the wrong way sign. The clouds followed him, circling overhead like hungry, air-born sharks.
He walked, and sometime later found himself in front of another sign. Like the others, this sign was made of stretched leather, nailed to a long pole. Unlike the others, this looked new. The leather looked more like pink, dried skin; it was dotted with freckles.
The Drop - Three Rods South - Having A Hell Of A Time - Wish You Were Here, was drawn across the freckled skin in runny red letters. Even the writing was fresher; it looked more like blood than paint.
The sky grumbled above him, the ground shook, and the air began to charge with electricity again. He started walking again and the electrical charge dissipated. The thunderheads followed and circled again, but did not strike.
He walked for a long time, but his legs did not tire. The thunderheads would not let him turn North, so he kept South. If there was an end to this nightmare, then it would be three Rods to the South. ---
The road and the desert ended abruptly at the edge of a chasm so enormously wide, it made the distance he had just crossed look tiny in comparison. He could not see far enough across it to even guess if it had another side. The giant canyon brimmed with flames, like the water of an infernal lake. A smell like burnt matches permeated the air.
A steady breeze blew by Eric as air from the desert behind him, rushing to feed the hungry flames. Sand and loose tumbleweeds rushed past him on both sides, tickling his bare legs. He continued walking towards the flames without pause, perhaps because his legs refused to accept what his mind already suspected, or perhaps because the flames would be preferable to the nightmare behind him.
At the left of the road, placed a few feet from the edge of damnation, was a small and tidy desk with a plaque that read Reception. On the desk was two stacks of paper, one on the left side and one on the right. A human skull had been placed on each stack, to keep the papers from flying into the flames. Those skulls were small; very small.
Seated behind the desk was a small, Imp of a man. He wore a white dress shirt, gray suit vest, and gray derby hat. He had a crooked handlebar mustache and skin that was lobster red. He waited patiently while Eric approached.
Another tall, wooden pole was stabbed into the ground left of the desk. At the top of the pole, impaled through the rectum, was a headless limbless corpse. Eric couldn't tell if it was a man or woman because its back was turned to him. The words, Please Take A Seat, were carved into its back. There was a similar corpse to the right; its message read, The Drop - Depth Unknown - Take The Plunge.
"My God," Eric gasped.
The Red Man behind the desk looked up sharply and said, "don't start with me pall, I've had the day from Hell." He motioned to an empty chair in front of the desk. "Take a seat."
Eric kept his eyes on the little man while he sat.
The little man waited with his elbows propped on the desk; chin resting on his balled up hands and looking impatient.
The Red Man took the stack of paper from the left hand side of the desk. "Name please," he asked.
Eric stared at the man in disbelief, but said nothing.
"Name," the Red Man repeated. "What is your name sir; last name first, first name last. I need it for the paperwork."
"Uh, Judd, Eric Travis," he stammered.
The Red Man thumbed through the thick stack in his hand with lightning speed, scanning through the entire stack in seconds. He frowned and replaced the stack back under its skull.
"You're not on the list. Don't worry, I'll get you set up." He pulled a sheet from the top of the stack on the right, snatched it from under the skull like a stage magician pulling a tablecloth out from under a full glass of wine. A quill pen appeared in his right hand, and he filled the form out in a blur of motion. "Okay, sign here," the Red Man said, passing the sheet across his desk.
"No," Eric said. "I don't belong here." He rose slowly from his chair and backed a couple of steps from the desk. "This is a mistake, I'm a good person. I don't belong here." I belong with Elaine and Ellie, he thought.
"It's not your place or mine to say where you belong, Mr. Judd. You missed the last train, and this is where they put you." The Red Man leaned across his desk and said, "life is a bitch, and when you die it usually doesn't get better."
Eric took another step backwards. "No," he whispered, "I haven't done anything wrong."
"You weren't on the list so I'll have to take your word for it, but you are here." He tapped the form on the center of the desk impatiently, "Sign here please."
Eric didn't move.
"Okay, I'll sign it for you." He snatched it back, and before Eric could move, it was endorsed. The form vanished from his hand in a burst of flame. "There, you're ready to go." He pushed back from the desk and stood up. "Mr. Judd, welcome to Hell."
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