by Tobias Wade
Noah stopped to watch a pair of horses pulling a carriage directly through oncoming traffic. Maybe it was just getting dark, but he kept counting the wrong number of legs on the beasts. His brain refused to believe half the things that his eyes were extremely confident about.
“As many times as you can,” George Hampton corrected. “It’s not easy to get back. Some never manage it, though they try for a thousand years. Others do it by accident, or maybe it won’t happen until a conflict in their previous life was resolved or their soul mate has died and joined them. The way back is so different for everyone that it’s quite impossible to have a reliable method.”
“What good is trying to teach it then?” Noah asked.
“Schools aren’t meant to teach you all the answers. How could they fit the whole world into such a small container? A good school should instead teach you to love the truth so you will search for it on your own.”
“How come we could see stuff that was on the other side?” Noah asked. “My daughter Mandy too, and sometimes I thought even the baby was keen on them.”
“You’re Chainers, that’s why.” The old man grinned, evidently delighted by this. “Chainers keep repeating the cycle. You’ve been back and forth, dying and getting reborn again, over and over, until you’ve done it so much that you started holding onto something about the journey. Some people will come back still holding secrets from the other side. They might even remember spells or powers after learning them so many times. Of course the magic over there isn’t nearly as strong as it is here, but every once in a while there goes a psychic with a neat trick or a man with a bit of old predators still in him. Or in your case, a family who can still see glimpses of the other side. Ah, but here we are with time to spare.”
The bus stop ahead wasn’t like any bus stop Noah had ever seen. It was closer to the size of an airport hanger with a single massive cavity. The building was entirely black, and inside loomed a towering bus, two lanes wide and at least five stories tall. Heavy clouds of purple-tinged steam flooded from somewhere underneath in regular pulses that looked almost like the bus was breathing.
“That’s not a bus!” Noah exclaimed, feeling both deceived and delighted by the revelation.
A fresh gout of purple mist billowed from beneath the monstrosity and Noah covered his nose and mouth with his arm. In contrast, the old man spread his arms and inhaled deeply, wafting the mist up toward his face with both hands.
“It’s grape flavored this time,” George uttered with content. “Hurry up now, you’ve still got to buy your ticket.”
The old man led Noah through the waiting area outside. Dozens of children filled the space, several sitting at each of the stone tables which were scattered beneath bright orange umbrellas. It wasn’t just human children though—on one table a golden retriever puppy twirled in happy circles in the center of attention. There were all manner of domestic cats and other animals that were likely to be found in a city, including a very young hippo that must have come from the zoo. Noah paused in surprise to see Mrs. Robinson stalking along the top of the stone wall which surrounded the area.
“You weren’t planning to leave me, were you?” Mrs. Robinson snapped, her voice sharp and accusing.
Noah opened his mouth to reply, but in his shock he couldn’t find the words. Mrs. Robinson turned up her nose and strutted past, not showing the least concern that Noah had actually died in her pursuit. She cut the line in front of a pair of excitedly chatting girls and hopped directly onto the counter.
“One way ticket to Barbaros please.” George Hampton was speaking to an adjacent attendant through the glass.
“Are you sure you’ve got enough left?” the woman behind the counter answered. She was dressed in a smart business suit with an orange tie and white gloves.
“Maybe so, maybe not,” he replied. “It’s for the boy, not me.
Noah had picked his way through the tables to reach the counter, and the saleswoman reached out a hand holding a neatly printed ticket. Noah reached out to take it, and white gloves seized his wrist.
“You’ll be paying, correct? Can you confirm that your name and date of death is printed correctly on the ticket?”
Noah hadn’t told her this information, but he could see that Noah Tellaver, August 22nd, 2018 was correct on all accounts. He nodded and tried to pull his hand away but was unable to break the woman’s grip.
“If you’d died one day later then you would have had to wait a whole year,” the attendant said, whistling low. “Someone out there is really watching out for you, eh? That will be two weeks.”
“Two weeks? How far is this bus going?” Noah demanded.
The ticket woman smiled patiently as she rolled her eyes. “That’s not the distance; it’s the cost, silly. Two weeks for the fare with your luggage included.”
“But I haven’t got any luggage,” Noah argued, quite confused.
“Your body. You will want to take it with you, I assume?”
“Yeah... Of course… I mean—am I supposed to?”
“Yes, dear,” the woman replied kindly. “Deep breath now; this won’t hurt a bit.”
Still grasping his wrist tightly, the woman pressed a brilliant aquamarine stone into the back of Noah’s hand. The stone turned on like a Christmas light, the aquatic glow bathing them through its numerous facets. Noah felt intensely groggy for a moment as though he’d just woken from an abrupt nap and was trying to decipher whether the clock read AM or PM. The white gloves released his wrist and allowed him to pull away with the ticket in his hand.
“I don’t feel any different,” Noah said.
“You won’t until around forty,” George Hampton responded. “Then it starts to sting a bit. No matter though, you’re set to go. Remember not to talk to strangers unless they have something worth saying. and all that sort of thing.”
A loud whistle blew from the direction of the bus. There was a stout man with a mustache wearing an identical orange tie and white gloves standing in front. He was checking the tickets of the first children who were beginning to board. At his side was a similarly uniformed opossum standing on its hind legs, checking the tickets from the animals.
“Can you let them know I’m alright? My daughter, I mean. That it didn’t hurt, and that they don’t have to worry about me.”
“I’ll tell them you’re going to the best place in the world,” George Hampton assured him. “Besides, you can always check in on them from the Whispering Room when you arrive.”
The whistle blew again, this time a tad more shrill and impatient.
“What about Samantha and Claire?” Noah pressed, not having time to ask all the questions he wanted. “We’ve only just met me, but I think they’d want to know since it must have been horrible for them to actually see me go. And oh, I can give you more names if we have the time—”
George tapped the side of his nose and smiled. “Find your way back and tell them yourself. That’s how it’s supposed to be done.”
The third blast of the whistle sounded from directly behind Noah. He flinched and spun to find himself face-to-face with the bus attendant who promptly snatched the ticket from his hand.
“All aboard!” Mustached Man bellowed. “Daymare 7 is departing, one way to The Mortuary on Barbaros Island. Last call!”
“Shut up, will you? If you tried to leave me, I can promise you’ll be looking for a new job before sunrise,” shouted a portly, red faced boy whose beady eyes were almost invisible in his pudgy face. “What ever happened to resting in peace?”
“Don’t mind him, darling,” cooed a tall, thin girl racing to catch up. “No-one would ever dream of leaving you behind.”
“They’d better not. I’m not staying one more minute in this vile town. You told me Heaven was going to have everything I wanted in it, but nothing here is made of gold and I can’t find a thing to eat.”
The thin girl caught up and handed two tickets to the Mustached Man who nodded sharply. “Brandon and Teresa Hides,
you’re just in time. Get inside, three floors up, middle row.”
“I don’t think so,” Teresa remarked curtly. “We’ll be sitting on the top with the best view. We’d prefer a row to ourselves, but if we must share we’ll be taking those closest to the window.”
Mustached Man folded his hands behind his body and swayed back and forth on the balls of his feet. Noah keenly hoped that they wouldn’t be allowed on at all, and he looked around for George to tell him so. The old man was gone without a trace though, and in his place sat only Mrs. Robinson who must have followed Noah from the station. She looked a little bigger than Noah had seen her last, and in her mouth she carried her own ticket.
“Very well, the top it is,” the attendant conceded. “You’ll have the whole place to yourself, if that’s to your liking.”
“If that’s the best you can do, then we’ll take it,” Teresa said. “You’ll like that, won’t you Brandon? Not having to share with any of those dirty animals?”
Brandon screwed up his pudgy face as though trying to work out a particularly unpleasant math problem.
“The top is always the best,” Teresa reasoned. “Come on, sugar, let’s go check to be sure. If it isn’t everything you could have ever dreamed of then I’ll make sure they find you an even better spot.”
“You’d better,” Brandon snarled as he climbed aboard. “It’s your fault I’m dead in the first place.”
A few more stragglers came rushing from the station while they’d been talking. The attendant turned to take their tickets. Most of the human children were wearing plain white gowns made from a slightly shimmering material. Noah felt slightly out of place in his gray shirt and trousers, but no one seemed to be paying him much attention. Mrs. Robinson spat out her ticket distastefully and trotted at Noah’s side as he stepped into the vehicle.
The inside of the Daymare 7 wasn’t in the least recognizable as a bus. He used to ride the 247 city line when he’d had to let his car go. How was Mandy ever going to get by without him? Noah had been given his old job back at the veterinary clinic, despite being eight years into his retirement, and the daily commute had been the low part of his day. All the seats on the 247 were always mysteriously damp, and the windows were so filthy he could barely see out.
The city line would have been much more fun if it had a spiral staircase in the center with each step reminiscent of a coffin’s lid, as was the case with the Daymare 7. The steps floated unassisted in the air, although they did have a shining brass railing and a fine brass mesh between the steps to prevent anyone from falling through. On each floor was a wooden walkway that extended to a floating platform which was filled with dozens of nervously chattering children and animals. More sets of stairs peeled away from these platforms, with steps going sideways or even upside-down to seat people in such ways as to make a physicist extremely uncomfortable. The people sitting upside-down on the underside of platforms didn’t seem to mind, and their hair and clothing didn’t hang downward but fell naturally upward as if the people were right-side up.
Noah had never felt further from home than he did staring at the mad scene before him. He’d never felt further from his daughter, Mandy, who must have noticed he was gone by now and was going to pieces trying to find him. He’d never get to watch another movie with Lewis, or hear Mandy singing the songs his wife had once sang to her as a child. But how could he allow himself to stay morose with such a brilliant mystery unraveling itself before his eyes?
“I’m really dead,” he told himself aloud, the fact fully sinking in at last, “and that’s fine with me.”
Qari Olandesca Illustrations
Daymare 7
“May I hold your kitty?” a ginger haired girl asked Noah. He blinked in surprise, realizing that he had been blocking the traffic by standing and staring. He quickly stepped aside to allow the other children to pass.
“Go ahead, ask him for permission. Why would you ask me?” Mrs. Robinson lamented. “Why should I have a say when some stranger decides to grab me for her enjoyment?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the girl mumbled in embarrassment. She knelt down to speak to the cat directly. “I’m so used to—may I pet you?”
Mrs. Robinson turned to allow the girl scratch her back, which she did with a practiced motion that seemed to hit all the right spots.
“I used to have one just like you named Sebastian,” she told Mrs. Robinson. “Or is that rude? I don’t mean ‘have’ like a possession; I mean ‘have’ like someone has a brother, or a sister.”
“I shall choose not to be offended if you don’t stop until you’re told,” Mrs. Robinson replied, flipping onto her back to expose her tuft of white fur.
“My son got Sebastian for me after my husband passed so I wouldn’t be all alone. I hope someone is looking after the poor thing now.”
Noah studied the girl’s fair, smooth skin and tried to imagine her as a little old lady sitting alone with her cat. There was something wise and patient about her eyes that made the imagining easier, but the contrast still seemed too incredible to picture.
The formerly-old-lady made the bold move of picking Mrs. Robinson up, and after the initial suspicion the kitten settled quite comfortably in her arms. Noah was beginning to feel a little jealous that the cat preferred the newcomer to him after everything he’d gone through for her.
“Maybe Sebastian will find you again when it’s his turn,” Noah said.
“Do you really think so?” the girl asked hopefully. “My name is Jamie Poffin, by the way. I’d shake your hand, but I don’t want to let go of…”
“Mrs. Robinson,” Noah said. Then quickly added: “That’s the cat’s name, not mine. I’m Noah.”
“You didn’t strike me as a Mrs. Robinson,” Jamie smirked. “Could I sit with you, Noah? I don’t know anyone else here.”
“Let me check my seat number…” Noah replied, but Jamie didn’t wait. She was already leaping up the stairs, still cradling Mrs. Robinson.
“It doesn’t matter, there are lots of empty seats,” Jamie called back. “Oh, hello there. What are you supposed to be?”
Noah had to climb the stairs to see the thing Jamie was addressing. Only about a foot tall, it looked rather like a stuffed animal covered with soft red fur. Along its back was a line of hard ridges that looked like a series of shark fins, and its face was coarse and broad like an ugly little monkey. Mrs. Robinson was beginning to squirm, so Jamie set her down on the ground where she made a low growling sound at the furry red creature.
“Do you think it’s a spirit?” Jamie asked. “Maybe an old one, something from an animal that doesn’t exist anymore?”
“I don’t think it wants you to pet it,” Noah warned.
Jamie was already reaching for it though, her palms facing upward in a harmless display. The monkey-faced creature snarled and seized one of Jamie’s hands with its stubby black fingers, biting viciously. Jamie howled as she jumped back. Mrs. Robinson hissed and all her fur stood on end, apparently scaring the creature which scampered down the wooden walkway. Mrs. Robinson sprang into action, chasing in hot pursuit.
“Don’t touch the imps, please,” shouted Mustached Man from below. He’d just closed the door behind the last children.
“Sorry!” Jamie shouted back. Her index finger had two prominent holes in it, but they weren’t bleeding.
“Don’t shout either!” roared the attendant.
“Sor—” Jamie began to yell, cutting herself off when she thought better of it. She gave the man a thumbs up with her free hand instead.
“No blood,” she whispered enthusiastically. “We don’t bleed anymore! That’s fantastic, I always hated blood!”
The attendant moved toward the front of the bus where he seized a long brass tube, the other end of which connected with the brass railing around the stairs.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he announced into the tube. The sound was amplified into a magnificent booming echo which radiated throughout the railing all the way to t
he top of the bus. “My name is Mr. Ludyard of the T.D.D., and welcome to Daymare 7, destination the island of Barbaros. We will be departing in a few minutes as soon as the last luggage has been stored.”
“Were we supposed to pack luggage?” Jamie whispered, distraught.
“He means our bodies, I think,” Noah whispered back.
“But I was cremated!” Jamie hissed. Noah shrugged.
“The Daymare 7 will depart at 10 PM and take approximately seven hours and twenty five minutes to arrive at its destination. To those of you who recently died in your previous life, congratulations for making it here in one piece. Please save any and all questions relating to the nature of death and the eternal secrets of the cosmos for your professors at school. Make yourself comfortable, and feel free to ask one of the imps for help if you need anything.”
Mr. Ludyard dropped the brass tube and saluted to no-one in particular. He turned and made his way farther toward the front of the bus where a dark wooden door concealed the driver’s compartment. Shortly after, the whole place began to rumble, and thick clouds of grape-flavored smoke began to flood past the windows outside. They were beginning to move.
Noah and Jamie climbed to the fourth level where there were more open seats. An imp dashed across the aisle in front of them, making odd panicked chittering noises with Mrs. Robinson in hot pursuit. There were more imps up here, grinning, and leering, and sticking out their tongues at the children as though daring them to do something they would regret.
“Do you want to sit in one of the upside-down ones?” Noah asked.
“No thanks,” Jamie said. “I already get travel sick without hanging like a bat.”
“Do we still get sick? Now that we’re dead, I mean,” he pondered.
“We’re not really dead at all. We’re just alive somewhere else. Didn’t you read the pamphlets they have at the station?”
“No, I didn’t have time,” Noah said. “There was a man who helped me find the place though, and he explained some of it to me.”
