by Opal Edgar
“He wouldn't dare! Tell me he can’t come here!”
Already I had visions of hellish fires spitting him out for a little family time. My stomach churned. That was something that hadn’t even crossed my mind. I had to get out of this limbo – fast.
“Gosh, I sure don’t understand a thing you’re saying,” the old man went on. “Young generations, crick-O-blimey! I try to keep up but it goes so fast. I suppose you have questions, sport … Don’t you? Do sit down, do sit down.”
He flicked his hand and the chair jumped at me – the headrest lodging itself deep into my solar plexus and tickling my liver. Yuck! I could feel the fabric touch my insides. I took a few steps backwards. This whole shadow thing wasn’t working out.
“I’m here to answer all your questions, Theod— O-whammy, I got it wrong! I’m here to answer your questions, Tosho. I’m Bartholomew, your dedicated spirit guide. I look after glitches.”
Glitches? This man had just called me a glitch. I wasn’t the one wearing his rat hair on his teeth! But now was not the time to make a fuss – no matter how unpleasant my companion. He promised what I wanted most. I swallowed my very misplaced pride.
“All of my questions?” I asked.
“That’s right, sport, all your questions. Do sit down.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure! Do you have a hearing problem, laddie? I’ve been telling you to take that golly-forsaken-blitzed-chair – forever!” he exclaimed. “Sit down and all your questions will be answered.”
Oh. Just like that. I dropped down in a flash, sinking up to my chest into the cushions.
“What the hell’s going on? Where am I? What am I supposed to do now? How do I get back home? Why am I dead? What are you going to do to me? Why are there ghosts after me? Who—” I blasted on.
He put his hand up again. I leaped away through the chair and bam – I was on the floor. My bum hit the ground and I blinked. How had it managed to hold me up when nothing else could? Was this ground made of special material that didn’t let shadows through?
As soon as the thought flittered into my mind, the floor became quicksand.
I started to panic. The floor is hard. The floor is hard! But I didn’t need to. I stopped sinking in and got back up on my feet. All this was controllable. I just wasn’t quite sure how. I looked at Bartholomew from behind the headrest of the chair. His hand was still up in the gesture I’d misinterpreted again. He was only shushing me, not throwing another armchair at my face.
“Gosh, you’re an odd cookie, aren't you? I see you have LOTS of questions, Theo— I mean Tosho! Please do sit back down, do sit down,” he said.
He smiled once again and the chair leaped dangerously at me. I scrambled over it and plopped down in the cushions once more so he would stop attacking me with it.
“So tell me, sport,” the old man said, “why didn’t you become a spirit?”
“A what?”
This is such a waste of time! the voice in my head yelled, exasperated. I jumped but grandpa didn’t notice.
“When you die there are two options, sport. Either you reach enlightenment in your lifetime and become a spirit straightaway or you’re bogged down in good old life and miserably shrivel into a shadow. Most people are blimey-damned bogged. You, cool cat, had incredible potential” he went on. “Crickey whiz, you could have been one of the most powerful new spirits! And pfft ... it all fizzled away.”
He kept moving his arms as he talked, sweeping them in a wide gesture and tickling the air. I frowned at his fingertips, trying to figure out what he was looking at. But it seemed that I was a bogged down shadow and I couldn’t see the things he tickled. He would have to enlighten me.
My jaw locked grimly. I tried not to stare at his potato sack robes. But the less I wanted to look: the more the sweat stains where apparent and a pungent smell emanated from them. Was he really that dirty, or was that an image he liked to cultivate ... as an enlightened being, of course.
“But, you can’t mean that’s the only things that happen after you die! What about heaven? Where is it?”
He laughed.
“There are many locked doors in the afterlife, sport. And some of those keys won’t fall into your hands just for wanting, if you get my drift. Private worlds only allow the crème de la crème, and you’re certainly not ready to even glimpse at their wonders. Now, sport, I’m here to help you reach your spirit self. That means we, cool cat, have to get your body, mind and soul to merge together. Got that? Baby steps.”
I shook my head. Mind and soul I got, in a fuzzy way. I mean, theoretically, I knew what a soul was … but my body? I could bloody walk right through things! Was he blind? I didn’t have a body anymore.
But he was paying me no attention at all. He kept scratching his dirty head. Actual patches of dry skin flaked off and snowed down his robe.
“What happened in that noggin of yours, sport? That’s what I want to know. Why did your soul refuse to merge, all of a sudden? Didn’t you want to join the blimey-O-supa-astronomic-spirit ranks?”
“What!” I exclaimed.
He narrowed his eyes at me, but instead of sprouting another weird word he tut-tutted and got up on his tiny twig legs. His knees wobbled inwards and outwards in a comic dance before he could stand straight. He pushed his robes back down over his knees. He was surprisingly quick once his legs were sorted out. I had no time to duck before he was in my face and poking at my hair.
“Blimey O’Riley! What is it you have on your head? Now that’s interesting, sport!”
Don’t meddle, fool! the voice said.
And strangely enough the gramps backed off. He still held his finger up and couldn't help look from it to my head. He was as perplexed as me. Had the voice pushed him away? Could it do that?
“Gosh!” he mumbled. “I thought people had stopped piercing third eyes into their skulls thousands of years ago. That soul of yours is leaking out.”
Worried, I rubbed at the hole the rock had made in the middle of my cranium. And sure enough, I felt an eyelid fringed by long lashes. A scream escaped me. I stared at my fingertips, expecting, I wasn’t quite sure why, to see the eye stuck to them. In shock, I gaped like a fish at Bartholomew.
“Let’s take a closer look, sport, shall we?” Bartholomew gestured for me to get up.
He pointed at the smooth blue wall with a crooked finger. A little door appeared. It was exactly the right height for his shrunken body, but only half my size. He didn’t look back, fully confident I was on his heels. I was still in shock and followed without a thought or a sound. I hunched down on my knees after him.
He better get this over with quickly, the voice grumbled.
We entered an ancient stone walled room. In the middle was a brass tank with circular glass panels showcasing shimmery blue jelly. A panel of copper instruments displaying numbers and jumbled signs sat next to the tank. The old man went to it. He picked up the pair of goggles and his eyes were magnified into teary crystal balls.
“Come on, sport, jump in,” he said.
I turned round and ran. It was too much. Just too much to process. But where did I think I could go? I managed a dozen steps and bounced off the ogre-lady’s ample belly. How could she be so big and yet so stealthy! I crab walked away from the two of them, but like the awful Frankenstein’s creature she lifted her arms up, stony faced, reaching for me.
Chapter 3
Very Wrong Soul
When I jumped left she stepped right. When I tried right she followed. Panic rose in my chest like mercury under a magnified sunbeam. My head felt ready to pop under the pressure of that thermometer.
“No way! I don’t know how to swim.” I panicked.
“Come on, it will only take a few minutes. No fussing, sport,” Bartholomew said.
I was quickly running out of space between myself and the wall. The ogress caught my arm. Her hands were like a steel vice. Effortlessly, she lifted me off my feet. I stared in disbelief, I weighed 9
0 kilos! No one lifted me!
I yanked at her arms. It did nothing. The tank got closer. I was desperate. I jabbed at the soft part of her underarm. She squeaked in shock as I stumbled out of her grasp.
“Don’t ever do that again!” I said. “I’ll go in! But I won’t be thrown!”
“Fine, fine,” Bartholomew said. “But hurry—”
“We’re busy people!” Ogre-lady finished for him.
She pushed a step ladder closer for me to climb on. For a second, I sat on the thick glass at the top of the tank holding my feet up to my chest.
“Is that why the girl outside was all wet? You dunked her in there too?” I asked.
“No idea what you’re talking about, cool cat,” Bartholomew said.
Bartholomew put his hand up in his signature move. He didn’t have an armchair this time but that didn’t stop him. As he lowered his hand, I felt pressure pushing me down. I toppled. Immediately, I spread my arms so as to have my palms flat on each side of the tank, resisting the shove. It was no use. Come on, I could walk through walls, why couldn’t I slip through whatever was pushing me down?
I thought as hard as I could about escaping, but my feet slipped into the jelly. It was freezing cold! My legs were next. The pressure kept at it, pushing me down. Without handles to hold onto, I sank to the bottom and was held there despite thrashing my arms and kicking my feet.
“Don’t be difficult, sport,” the old man said, “just take a good lungful.”
I held my breath, refusing to comply. I fought to get out, but the jelly acted as glue and the tank was just too deep. I kicked up, pushing against the bottom of the tank, but the momentum was absorbed by all the goo. The old man shook his head.
“Just relax. This is communication fluid, my own invention,” Bartholomew said, puffing his chest out proudly. “With it I’m going to be able to talk to your soul without a bothersome assembly.”
I glared. Couldn’t he have started with that? The pressure was a tight grip on my whole body. I couldn’t even twitch anymore. The jelly wormed its way into my nose, as if it was alive. Soon it was in my mouth, my ears, down my throat and into my lungs.
“Get me out!” I yelled.
“Quiet now, sport, it’s your soul I want to talk to. So, Tosho’s soul, how do you feel?”
This is pathetic. You’re pathetic, old man! You can’t even master a simple communication tool. By all that is in the universe, how can you be on the spirit council and allowed to vote? Seriously! The voice persisted in my head.
“Don’t be shy,” Bartholomew said, not having heard anything.
Shy? The realisation hit me like a brick. Was that awful voice my soul?
What did you think, princess, of course I’m your bloody soul!
I stopped fighting, stunned like a loser in a boxing contest. The pit of glue wasn’t working. The ogress turned worried eyes at the old man. And suddenly a wisp of wind brought a cloud of sand swirling into the room. Except, there were no windows. Bartholomew froze for a second before collapsing on the step ladder, deflated.
“Golly gosh, this is all I needed. I was so sure it would work, Desire. They’re all going to make fun of me when they see. I can already picture that smug Egyptian midget laughing at me. Oh the humanity!” Bartholomew tragically threw his arm over his face.
The ogress, who was, it seemed, named Desire, protected her eyes and the next second the sand gathered to form a little boy. He looked about ten years old with a bald head and heavy black makeup round the eyes. He wore only a wrapped skirt, showing off his frail torso and stick legs. From his wrist to his shoulder marched a line of beetle tattoos. He planted his tiny fists on his hips and frowned at Bartholomew.
“A little sphinx in a very wet nightdress told me you were poaching my shadows, Bart old friend. I don’t think I have to remind you that murdered children and teenagers go to me,” he said, turning to the tank.
He winked.
“Anomalies in the waking process go to me, blimey! I have no reason to defend myself, I’m in my jolly-good rights!” Bartholomew answered.
The kid shrugged and knocked on the glass of the tank.
“Get my shadow out of that contraption of yours. That’s not how we treat someone with a trauma. I’ll report you to the Children’s League.”
“Crack-a-zawee! You are the Children’s League!” Bartholomew exclaimed.
“As surely as the Nile is long.” The kid winked again.
The ogress went to whisper in Bartholomew’s ear. He nodded and clapped his hands. Suddenly, the tank was gone. I collapsed on the stone floor, jelly dripping down my ruined suit.
“Elise wouldn't happen to be that sphinx of yours? I heard she was lurking in the corridor.” Bartholomew frowned.
“Maybe,” the kid nonchalantly said, walking towards me. “Perhaps I met with her today, and she might have said to go peek in your dungeon for a boy with a hole in his head.”
Even down on my knees the kid had to look up to talk to my face.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Blimey-O-supa-astronomic,” I said, coughing up a blob of jelly.
It splattered to the floor and slid round as if it was alive.
“Barty! He’s nailed you!” the kid exclaimed, jumping up and down. “Let’s get this show on the road!”
He twirled round, finger in the air. Out of nowhere appeared a circle of people. Bartholomew, the ogress and the kid had a place in it, but so did a group of Chinese people in suits, a tall African man in a soldier's uniform, a big anthropomorphic lizard-man and many unidentifiable creatures. The centre of the circle was me.
“What—” I started, but the sound stuck in my throat.
I turned on the spot to see them all as they joined hands. My body tingled, and I’m pretty sure it had nothing to do with the itchiness of my rat-hair suit. I felt too warm. A growing urge to open my mouth started to build up. I tried to resist. No use.
“Come on people, don’t you recognise me?” my mouth said.
It wasn’t me. Obviously. It was the voice.
They’d done it. They’d got it to talk out of my head. So I wasn’t crazy. It really was there! I touched my lips to be sure. A twitch travelled through the audience.
“Merlin!” the lizard man exclaimed. “How?”
I laughed. I didn’t want to, there was nothing funny about this whatsoever, but the voice disagreed. Maybe it wasn’t such a good thing that this voice wasn’t only in my head. It had some pretty nasty things to say. How did I get it back inside? Who was Merlin? And what was he doing in me?
“It’s just a little experiment, my friends,” Merlin said. “One that worked very well, I should add. The only problem now is that I’m stuck with a body that just doesn’t do anything for me.”
Bartholomew turned white. In fact, everyone in the whole room looked like they’d eaten a handful of worms that were fighting their way back out.
“You jolly-can’t be Merlin,” Bartholomew said. “Merlin’s a blasted spirit. Spirits don’t get reborn. Crikey, they can’t!”
“Mister obvious. I hate to break it to you, people, but they can,” Merlin said.
“Well they golly-sure shouldn’t!” insisted Bartholomew.
“Says who?”
“Blimey-O, you had no right to get reborn, you grody hound. You have overstepped the unquestioned boundaries of life and death. This is jolly-as bad as power thief heresy! This goes beyond any of your previous pranks. What were you thinking?”
Bartholomew shook with anger and Desire the ogress tightened her grip on his hand.
“This is science, you dabbling old fool. How dare you compare me to the power thief savages! Me! You are so jealous.” Merlin was really arrogant.
“You went too far! Cricky-O-kazawee, what about this poor Tosho body you dragged into your madness? What do we do with him? We cannot condone such actions, no siree. You are blasted-dangerous. I call for Merlin’s termination!”
“The golem squad?” one
suited lady said.
“Just try it!” Merlin yelled.
“He broke all the golly-forsaken-laws! And he obviously meddled with the living!” Bartholomew yelled, and then he looked at me again. “Blimey-O! Why someone as intelligent as you would concentrate all his energy on breaking every rule is beyond me. Why did you ever want to get reborn Merlin?”
“Bigoted fool! Don’t you get it? I was never undead, never a monster! I didn’t even remember ever being alive, it was so long ago! All this knowledge … I had to feel it for myself. You of all people should understand that!” Merlin said.
“Merlin, don’t take us for idiots, you always have ulterior motives. Pure desire for knowledge? You can’t expect us to believe that,” the most talkative suited lady said.
“Philistine,” Merlin barked.
He screamed so loud I felt my throat burn.
The circle of people round me looked at each other uneasily. The little boy put his hand up, breaking the circle. A few people threw reproving looks at him and the lizard-man, who hadn’t managed to keep his clasp, attempted grabbing it again. But the kid wasn’t letting him have a fingernail.
“I’ve heard enough. By Maat’s justice, I won’t let you use the golem squad. We are not equipped to punish a soul but leave the body and mind intact and free to roam. To my knowledge Tosho is an innocent. As sure as the Nile houses Ammit, I will never condemn an innocent,” the Egyptian kid said.
The main suited lady walked out of the circle, grabbed his small flitting hand and got it back into the lizard-man’s fist. Her eyes said: if you let go again I’ll feed you to my collection of carnivorous plants. Then she walked back to her spot and authoritatively closed the circle again.
“I agree with the child. Old B, you’re not in charge of this evaluation. Not only does Theodore fall under the watch of a number of spirits, but conflict of interest and all that. We all know you hate Merlin,” she said. “I’m in charge of blunt force trauma to the head victims, but personally I don’t want to touch this case with a ten foot chop stick. I will say one thing. Merlin, you want to feel all the grinding misery of working your way up? Well, let’s make it a memorable journey this time. I declare that you will be the weakest undead: a powerless zombie. Have a blast. No more pleading, it’s our turn to decide what you need.”
