The Limpet Syndrome

by Tony Moyle

  Right, here’s the important bit. Positive souls are immediately attracted to Heaven when they leave the constraints of their physical body. Negative souls are, as you might expect, the reverse. Evil deeds (or sins as you may know them) create emotions and memories formed of negatively charged particles. Of course these souls are immediately attracted in the opposite direction, Hell.

  Very occasionally, and it’s a pain for us, I can tell you, a soul will have no charge at all and these are neutral souls, like you! They have no dominant negative or positive charge, an unlikely balance of both evil and good deeds, or quite possibly somebody that’s spent their entire life in complete isolated boredom, never interacting with anyone or doing anything mildly exciting. Whichever it is, these souls have to be accounted for in some way. They can’t be left to linger around or all sorts of nonsense will happen. So someone has to decide, on a balance of probability, whether they should be sent to Heaven or Hell. For more information refer to the document, ‘My trial, what the hell’s going on?’

  John searched the sheet for further information. The only additional passage read: ‘Please ask if you would like the agnostic version of this pamphlet, if you still need convincing’. John thought it highly unlikely.

  “I’m confused. How can a soul be charged?” John said to himself, looking up from his pamphlet.

  “That’s an interesting question, and not the first question people normally ask if I’m honest,” the Clerk replied, who John had completely forgotten was standing perfectly still in the background. “They usually start with, ‘Why me?’ or, ‘I’m not ready,’ and ‘What about all my family?’ That sort of thing. One person once asked if I’d take a bribe, which was really very silly…”

  “Uh hum,” coughed John. “Anyway, so the charged thing?”

  “Oh yes…well, the soul is a complex thing. It’s made up of tiny particles only visible under very specific conditions. They emit small electrical charges and travel around like a gust of air, or a little storm as some describe it. The combination of the charged particles can be positive, neutral or negative,” explained the Clerk.

  “So that’s what I sensed earlier on. Those little blue storms were other people’s souls,” said John, thinking back to his first experiences of Limbo.

  “Yes, just like you, except now you are inside one of our bodies,” replied the Clerk.

  “So if I’m just a ball of electricity. How did I experience those things before I got into this vessol?”

  “I guess it’s a kind of extrasensory perception. Your soul is built on emotions, characteristics and memories, which have feeling, sense and awareness. Alive but not quite living.”

  “But why is my soul neutral?” mused John.

  “That’s not for me to say. There may be any number of reasons, but that’s what will be explored in the trial,” answered the Clerk, checking his watch as if concerned by the schedule. “You’ll be in soon, and you can find out. The reason can often be explained by how you died. Out of interest, how did you die?”

  Although his last mortal moments were still very fresh in his mind, most of the details were clouded by a hazy veneer. It was as if his new anatomy was shrouding his vision and placing a veil over his closest memories. He remembered being in his car driving to the office when it had happened. He was a stickler for punctuality and routine, so it must have been about eight o’clock. Driving in a state of autopilot, he’d looked down momentarily to tamper with the radio. “This country will no longer be under the grip of fear…” John cut off the Prime Minister’s announcement in mid-sentence. He hated politics these days and rotated the radio dial to more comfortable listening.

  That’s when she appeared. Right in front of him. Almost on top of his tired and battered Audi. In the middle of the road a young girl, no more than eleven, was standing calmly smiling at him, her bleached-white hair flowing around her like wisps of fog on a breezy day. The only other thing he remembered was his instinctive need to swerve away, his last conscious memory of her.

  John visualised the moment he came around. A warm trickle of blood was running down his face and into his eyes as the smell of petrol fumes overpowered his nostrils. In the corner of his eye, through the rear-view mirror, he saw the shadowy figure of a man. The last fraction of memory was of a huge explosion, the sound of splintering metal being ripped apart around him and then darkness.

  “I’m not sure why I died exactly, but I was definitely involved in some kind of car crash. It’s all a bit vague,” stuttered John, struggling to rewind the memories in an attempt to clarify them further.

  “Some of your memories need time to adjust to their new setting. It’s not unusual for you to remember more later on,” said the Clerk, seeming almost sympathetic to John’s situation as if he knew at first hand how he felt.

  “Where is Limbo exactly?” asked John, not altogether happy to be recounting the manner of his own death.

  “Well, the simple answer is it’s on Earth. I’m not allowed to tell you where exactly. You’re deep under the Swiss Alps and it’s about time you saw it in its full splendour,” said the Clerk, putting on a black robe that was nestled over one of the chairs and making his way to the liquid metal door.

  “Wait! I’m not sure what to do?” pleaded John.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll explain everything when we’re inside. This door opens directly onto the court, the very heart of Limbo. It’s made of a metal similar in characteristics to mercury, but unlike anything else on Earth. It’s designed to stop souls escaping out of the chamber. Once you go in through this door you won’t come back this way again.” The Clerk held the key to eternity, but spoke with the simplicity of a tour guide.

  He beckoned John to stand next to him. When there was no response he took him by the arm and led him towards a door that was deficient of lock, hinge or knob. Without knock or ritual he pulled a hesitant John straight into the liquid, which even for a soul protected inside a plastic body was an experience like swimming in a metallic hot tub. The metal solution flooded over him and began a frantic search for any gaps or openings in his vessol, welding them shut where they were found. It took several breathless minutes to reach the other side. As he finally broke through to the space in the next room he took a huge gasp of air, seconds away from drowning. No breath was forthcoming, an unnecessary, if not impossible, function for a dead person.

  On the other side of the door was a sight of jaw-dropping beauty and wonder. A thousand metres in diameter, a huge, metallic sphere, made of the same substance as the door, opened up in front of them. One of the only non-metallic structures in the room was a white column. Like an oversized stalactite it stretched from the very middle of the ceiling almost to the floor. At about six feet from the bottom it stopped above a dock made of an intricate array of ivory benches. The room had no natural light, but was bathed by the glow from four huge pyres that jutted out of the sphere at equidistant points along its circumference. Below him, a less than obvious stairway flowed down to the centre.

  “Welcome to Limbo,” the Clerk added matter-of-factly.

  - CHAPTER TWO -

  THE TRIAL

  The two of them made their long, careful journey to the bottom. The concave walls of the sphere shimmered from the light of the pyres as the liquid in the walls swam back and forward trying to escape to another part of the room. By the time they were halfway to the centre, John saw more of the court scene, which included three figures sitting along a large, raised platform behind a heavy, wooden counter.

  “Who are they?” whispered John to the Clerk.

  “They are the people who will defend, prosecute and judge you in the eyes of God. The judiciary, if you like. The man on the left in the tweed jacket represents God on Earth. The man on the right, the one that looks like he’s just been pulled from a sewer, is the man representing Satan on Earth. They will decide your fate,” explained the Clerk, pointing out the two people with his finger.

  “What about the man in the middle?�
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  “You might find out later,” replied the Clerk, “if it’s appropriate.”

  When they had reached the centre the Clerk led John to the dock. The door to the four-foot-high, intricate structure was made of ivory, but they weren’t animal bones. Exhumed human leg and arm bones were interwoven with jaws and skulls to create this macabre cubicle. Above him the white column had a hollow point at the end, like a giant was about to do some icing on a massively oversized wedding cake.

  The Clerk made his way to a desk on the right-hand side, between John’s dock and the three deadpan characters who sat quietly waiting for proceedings to start. The Clerk ruffled through crumpled pieces of paper, hastily making notes with a quill and ink. John glanced across nervously at the judiciary. The figure in the centre looked down at his hands uncomfortably, desperately trying to avoid eye contact. All three of them were male, but whilst the men representing the religious extremes were relatively young, the man in the middle was the oldest person that John had ever seen, and he’d seen the Tailor.

  The weight of this man’s personal trials had been captured in his forlorn eyes, only equalled by the signs of fatigue in his leathery and cracked skin. His filthy, old-fashioned pinstripe suit was slightly too big for him, bought at a time before his body had shrunk by several sizes. As his bent and withered body shuffled in its seat, a pair of thin spectacles balanced precariously on the tip of his flaky nose. They were helped to defy a seemingly inevitable fall by uncontrollably long and matted white hair like lambswool caught on a barbed wire fence.

  “Case number 13,214,390,129, John Hewson versus damnation. Under the laws set out by the creators, all such neutral anomalies will be brought to Limbo to be judged as to their final resting place. In the documents set forward you will see that this case has been brought by Satan, who accuses John Hewson of breaking one of the Ten Commandments. If proven, he will be sent to Hell without reprieve until his soul is utterly spent. John, you have been accused as stated, how do you plead?” The Clerk stared in John’s direction and for the first time seemed neither sympathetic nor friendly. There was a long and difficult pause.

  “I’m sorry, I’m still getting over the fact that I’m dead. What do you mean, how do I plead?” replied John.

  “Did you break one of the Ten Commandments?” reiterated the Clerk. “Innocent or guilty?”

  John racked the area that until recently housed his brain, under pressure as to the implications of an incorrect response. The Ten Commandments: it was years since he’d been to church or studied the Bible. Could he remember them all, let alone remember whether he’d broken any? He tried to recall the easy ones. Murder, theft, adultery, he was certain he was clear on the first two, and since he wasn’t married there was no chance of the third. What came after those? He seemed to remember something about honouring his parents, one about graven images, and another on bearing false witness. He was convinced that he hadn’t knowingly gone against any of these, although he recognised the twisted irony of the last one if he gave the wrong answer.

  “I do need an answer. We have other cases, you know.”

  “Innocent!” John blurted out, on the basis of hope more than good judgement. He prayed the chap resembling a bearded hippy, the eyes of God, might remember more about his life than he did.

  “Then the case will proceed with the evidence for the defence.” The Clerk sat down, the pre-agreed signal for the hippy to creep unstably from his chair and approach John’s dock.

  “Hey, man, I’m Angelo. I’m here to help you.”

  As Angelo smiled his eyes tried unsuccessfully to cross sides, unable to get past the bridge of his nose. It was most disconcerting to concentrate on his counsel, the man between him and who knew what horrors, when he kept looking at John’s knees. On top of this the smell from Angelo’s life of record-breaking shower-less sit-ins was making him nauseous.

  “I’m sure you understand the importance of your honesty and can guess that there is little need for you to say the oath on the Bible,” stated Angelo, whose smile instantly evaporated from vaguely odd yet mildly reassuring, to a mad, ‘I don’t live in the real world’ expression. If this man wasn’t away with the fairies he was most certainly waiting patiently in the departure lounge clutching his boarding pass. “John, how would you describe the way you lived your life on Earth?”

  “Well, I think I live…sorry lived, a very fair life. I never willingly or consciously harmed anyone. I wasn’t very active in my visits to church, but I prayed occasionally. I gave money to charity, looked after my friends and…and…never stood on spiders,” John rambled, trying to unlock positive memories in a puzzled mind swirling around a prosthetic body.

  “Excellent, John. No more questions,” affirmed Angelo, addressing his colleagues on the judiciary.

  “Is that it?” John declared, pulling Angelo back by his tank top.

  “Is that what?” replied Angelo, more bamboozled than if he’d been asked to complete an IQ test after a rather potent spliff.

  “My defence, is that it? A brief character reference from the very person on trial,” replied John in exasperation, certain that he’d not been given the best resources to help him. In fact he’d decided this guy had probably never been in a court before, let alone worked in one.

  “That’s about it, yeah. It’s an open-and-shut case. I’ve seen their evidence, the prosecution haven’t got a leg to stand on,” replied Angelo. As John was soon to find out, the prosecution did have a leg to stand on, they also had several spares, all of which were about to be used to kick him to pieces.

  “Our evidence suggests that this man has led an honest and fair, if not totally devoted existence on Earth and has not broken any of the Commandments. This is a classic case of low-level religious belief coupled with some foolish misdemeanours, which explains why his soul is neutral. We’ve seen it a thousand times before. If Greco can find any evidence of major religious wrongdoing, then let him bring his evidence forward.”

  The man furthest right stood forward. His crazed grin exposed his rotten teeth and blackened tongue, whilst his greasy, dank hair drew attention away from his pox-ridden skin and bloodied nose. As he scuttled towards the dock the slime and dirt followed in his wake. If there was anyone in this room more suitable to be sitting where John was, it was this man. Surely he must have a criminal record longer than his arms, and they showed the needled evidence for at least some of his misdemeanours. Oddly, Greco was the only person in the room enjoying themselves. He approached with a strange device in his vein-ridged hands.

  “It is our belief,” croaked Greco, “that John Hewson has broken two of the Ten Commandments, evidence which I will put forward to this court.”

  Greco’s voice, deep and sore from years of self-inflicted abuse, echoed several times around the sphere. “The first breach relates to the Ninth Commandment, thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s ass.”

  “I object,” chirped Angelo dreamily. “I thought you might bring this one up, Greco.”

  “Let’s hear it, Counsel,” said the Clerk.

  “Staring at his neighbour’s arse doesn’t count as breaking the Ninth Commandment,” replied Angelo, directing his comments to the elderly man sitting on the bench, apparently half-asleep.

  The decrepit figure briefly looked up and uttered, “Sustained.”

  John reflected on the young brunette student who used to live next door to him. She was in her early twenties and did have a fantastic bottom, which he had to admit analysing on a number of occasions when she left the house for her daily walk to university. But to be damned for eternity on a technicality would have been extremely harsh.

  “Okay, well, if you can’t accept that I have overwhelming proof that he has broken the Third Commandment.” Greco held aloft his device in triumph.

  “Thou shalt not make wrongful use of the name of God,” clarified Angelo quickly. “What have you got on that, then?”

  “What I have is John himself breaking this commandment at
the very point of his death. In fact it is my belief that, as this commandment was broken as the wave of life broke on the shores of death, it demonstrates the direction in which he was heading,” said Greco, seemingly with information that Angelo had not been briefed on based on his sudden look of unhelpful anxiety. “If the court will allow, I would like to play for you the last moments of John’s life.”

  “This is most irregular, Greco. But if it is real evidence, then it must be heard. I am concerned, however, as to how you came across this most unorthodox of instruments,” replied the Clerk.

  “I am not at liberty to divulge the source, Clerk, but safe to say this is genuine, as I am sure the defendant will verify.” Greco leaned forward, passing the silver-coloured box to the Clerk.

  The Clerk, completely confuddled by its technology, searched around for a way to make it work. Eventually he found a pad on the side, which caused it to amplify its hidden recording at maximum volume around the court. The first noise was a screeching car forcibly applying its brakes. The next sound was the impact, as broken metal, glass and plastic combined. A radio station was doing its best to play through the commotion. Greco indicated to the Clerk to stop the tape.

  “What was playing on the radio at the moment of your car crash, John?”

  John could remember changing the radio channels moments before the crash from Radio 4 to Radio 2, and strangely he did remember what music was playing. “Ironically, it was ‘Stairway to Heaven’ by Led Zeppelin.”