The Many Afterlives of John Robert Thompson

by Valerie Lioudis

  As explosive as his death was, his afterlife was worse. It began with a bang as he was thrown head first through a wall of lava. Excruciating pain ripped through his body as his entire existence melted away along with anything that would have been recognizable as John Robert Thompson. Coming out of the other side, all beings were now a burnt, melting mess with charred crusty bits. They were no longer man or woman, just wrinkled masses of scars and open wounds.

  “Next!” an angry pint sized demon yelled at John. As John painfully shuffled over to the podium, a much larger, much angrier demon kicked him squarely in the ass. “Move faster meatbag! No one has time for your nonsense. Name?”

  “John Robert Thompson.” he managed to croak out.

  Click, clack. The demon typed away at a tiny keyboard. “Hmmmmmm,” he muttered. “What a waste. You, sir, should be ashamed of yourself. I bet you’re wondering why you ended up here. You never really did anything bad,” the demon hissed.

  John tried to nod, but his skin felt like it would rip on half if he attempted to do anything other than shuffle.

  “Well, Mr. John Thompson, you have been tried and convicted of being a pathetic waste of space. That is one of the worst sins you can commit. You have basically spit in the eye of the creator. But don’t worry, John, we have plans for you. BIG plans.”

  With that the large angry demon knocked John Robert Thompson squarely on the top of his noggin causing him to black out. When he awoke, he was seated in a dimly lit red room. He was slumped over in a hard wooden chair. It was the kind of chair that was uncomfortable the minute you sat in it. But John had just been booted in the rear repeatedly by a monster sized demon and that made the chair even more painful. Across the room, in a large glass case, was a well-worn leather lazy boy.

  John recognized the chair immediately. It had belonged to his grandfather. John had spent much of his childhood planted firmly on his grandfather’s lap listening to the stories that grandfathers tell their grandsons. Tales of childhood hijinks, teenage love, and adult exploration. All of the ambition and adventurous spirit that John lacked was overflowing in his cigar smoking mountain of man grandfather. He shifted uncomfortably from one sore ass cheek to the other but relief was not going to come.

  The chair was there to toy with him. To make him long for the days past, for the comfort of a loving father figure, and for the opportunity to go back and change it all, this time leaping head first into life. All of this was lost on John. He hummed a tune his grandfather would whistle while working on the classic cars in his garage and promptly fell asleep.

  On the other side of a two-way mirror stood Baalberith and Belphegor, the two demons from John’s arrival. Their job was to find the perfect torture for each soul they greet, and then to leave them there for an eternity. So far, things weren’t working out as they had hoped. Normally they can come together to dream up an appropriate and slightly poetic punishment that reflects the dearly departed’s sins. Baalberith could not believe the nerve of this guy. Who falls asleep in Hell?

  He was sure the grandfather’s chair would have done it. It should have eaten away at John’s soul like water slowly etches rock. The cut becoming deeper and more painful as time went on. Baalberith had searched John’s memories to find something, anything, that John cared about. The best memories the man had centered around the few years he spent with his grandfather before he died. Everything after that was just John coasting from one thing to another. The years ticked by without anything of real significance happening. There was nothing to pull from to help find this mortal’s weak spot.

  “Elevators.”

  “Elevators?” Belphegor asked.

  “Yeah, no one likes elevators. Let’s put him in one while I think. Maybe we can wear him down a bit.”

  A door blinked into existence in front of John. Seconds ago, he was unable to move out of the chair. Not that he a had bothered to try, but he would have found his rear glued to the chair if he had. Now he was free to shuffle into the slowly separating doors. John, a man who always disappoints, just kept sitting.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Baalberith grumbled.

  John was thrown out of the chair by an invisible force. A smile crept across Baalberith’s face, a wicked little grin, as he contemplated their next move. Torturing the deserving gave him a sense of joy. The more ideas he had to work through with a person, the more devious he became. Murderers and thieves had weaknesses that they wore on their sleeves. All you had to do was turn the tables on them. Kill them again and again the way their victims perished. With a thief, you taunt him with the most coveted items and make them unable to steal them. As they are turning themselves inside out to get close to the precious item, you secretly take all that they hold important, one tiny piece at a time, whittling away at who they are until they feel like they are a shell of nothingness.

  John was one of those special cases where his sins weren’t so cut and dry. These were the cases that Baalberith enjoyed the most. They were a puzzle to be solved. He would find the thing that would cause this mortal to crumble. Those in Hell are there for all of the time that exists forever, so no rush. John could get nice and cozy in his nightmare elevator ride.

  Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. John made his way across the last bit of floor that was left in the chair room. The door snapped shut behind him nearly cutting him in two, and for the briefest moment John was allowed to feel perfectly safe and comforted. It started with his toes. They began to burn. Like acid and lava wrapped around each tiny digit. Escape alluded him, and the more he squirmed, the more intense the feeling became. “Pussycat, pussycat, I’ve got flowers and lots of hours to spend time with you, so go and powder your cute little pussycat nose,” Tom Jones melodious voice softly called to him.

  At first it was soothing. The familiar notes and tones caused him to smirk ever so slightly. Tom repeated his song again, then again, and then again once more. By the time he was on his 15th go around John was beginning to hate Tom Jones. There had to be some way to drown out the noise and discomfort. He had spent a lifetime pushing out external forces. Retreating into himself, the burning that was now reaching all the way to his thighs and the mind-numbing repetition of the classic song faded off into the nothingness and John’s eyes glazed over.

  It was days, maybe even years, before Baalberith checked back in on his least favorite ward. He was sure his next plan was going to bring the man to his knees, especially since he had allowed him to rot alone in such a small and horrid space. Baalberith was knocked back when he slid the privacy screen away to peek in on John. There was no change. He wasn’t even sure if John was still in there. The body stood on the floor braced by the wall.

  There was no expression on his face. The spots were eyes should be bottomless black circles stared out. It was in that instant that he knew he was beat. No amount of tax filing and auditing would make this man cave. Endless lines that close just out of reach or waiting rooms where everyone gets called except for you would do nothing to this man’s spirit. Baalberith made an executive decision that he may not have really been authorized to make and slid the screen shut again.

  He was going to leave that horrid man in the elevator forever to exist in his nothingness, and Baalberith would forget they had ever met.

  Movie Screening

  “One tripping” it. This is an ability that many people take pride in. For John, it was less a goal of showing strength or being in an internal competition and more about the laziness of not having to head out to his car a second time. This time he brought new meaning to the phrase “one tripping”. As he climbed the stairs with all his grocery bags carefully grasped in each hand, balanced between his right and left side so not to throw off his ability to climb the stairs, he failed to notice that the rug had shifted ever so slightly about three quarters of the way up.

  Thunk! He banged his head four times before he landed at the bottom. The first smack was the
death blow, though, so John wasn’t aware of the other three. He was split in half as he stood and dusted himself off, yet still lay very awkwardly on the ground at the foot of the stairs. The absurdity of this was lost on John Robert Thompson. Just like most things in his life had been.

  The smell of popcorn filled the air and John was drawn towards a set of swinging doors that had formed where his front door used to be. As they swung open, the sounds of a crowd loudly conversing knocked him back. He spun around and scanned the room. The doors through which he had entered were now gone and had replaced by a generic movie theatre hallway wall. He headed slowly down the hallway towards the commotion.

  People were pouring out of a screening room into the concessions area. A woman was standing proudly at the door way, shaking hands and chatting happily with each person as they left. Smiles stretched widely across each of their faces. John stood silently and observed them until every person had their chance to congratulate the woman, at which time she joined them in the concession area. Movie posters lined the walls of the room.

  As he scanned them, he was surprised to see a very familiar face on the last one. “The Life and Times of John Robert Thompson” it read with his school picture from Mr. O’Sullivan’s third grade class.

  “You’re up next kid,” a portly man said as he patted John on the back. “I wouldn’t want to follow Sandra. That woman was fantastic. I know it’s just a highlights reel, but oh boy! The places she went, and her sense of humor. And what a love story!” His blue eyes twinkled under his thick glasses as he gave his review.

  “I know, man!” a young man dressed in hockey gear said enthusiastically. “What a woman! I wish I had known her when I was still alive.”

  “Easy there, boy,” purred the woman who had been at the theatre entrance. Her voice was like silk that flowed over you as she spoke. Blonde hair fell well below her shoulders onto her very formal, yet, somehow not out of place attire. Her stare drifted to the poster behind John and her perfectly shaped face lit up with recognition. “Oh, John, welcome! We just viewed my life and it looks like you are next! How wonderful! We are just taking a short break to stretch our legs. You are in for such a treat. The experience is so fantastic. I am so excited for you. Save me a seat next to you so I can watch the movie and your reactions.” She seemed genuine about her request as she wandered off mumbling, “how wonderful,” to herself over and over.

  “Name’s Frank,” the portly man said firmly as he reached his hand out and embraced John’s. “You missed my movie, and Mark’s too. They were pretty great but nothing compared to that woman. Skydiving, mountain climbing, trekking through the jungle. She single handedly saved a village from starvation. It also helps that she looks and carries herself like a movie star. She is going places. Who knows where, but when we do move on, she is headed up, up, up.”

  “You ever wonder what’s next Frank?” Mark whispered.

  “For a minute my boy, then I figure who cares. We’ve got to enjoy where we are at while we are there. At least, that was how I was in life. Wish I had that gal’s guts though. Watching her do all of that makes me wish I could have been there a bit longer. Weird thing about these movies. When you watch them, you feel like you lived it. You’ll see, John. You’ll get to relive the highs of your time there, and we will get to with you. That’s why we were all so hyped up leaving. We got to experience how it felt to do all those amazing things. What do you have in store for us, John? God, I am excited. I can’t wait. Tell me one big thing we are going to do. Nah. Wait. Don’t. I want it to be a surprise.”

  “A surprise is better,” Mark agreed.

  “There’s nothing like it, John. Nothing in the whole world,” Frank said, motioning towards the growing lines. “Let’s get our treats and head into the theatre. Since it’s your movie, there is a reserved seat in the middle for you but the rest of us have to get in there as quick as we can.”

  John ordered a small popcorn and a root beer from the creature behind the counter. The best description of it would be to call it a living statue, but softer. There was a blurriness around its face that made it impossible to focus on any of its features. John thanked it and headed into the screening room. The chairs faced out into the abyss of space. John’s chair was glowing brightly in the middle of the rows of other seats. There was no mistaking where the star of the show would sit.

  Sandra kept her word and was seated directly next to his chair. Beside her was another woman around the same age. They were speaking faster than any man could ever hope to keep up with, as if they had been friends their entire lives. Frank and Mark were sitting together a few rows down from John. They turned and waved as he sat down. John wondered if this was what it felt like to have some real friends. People who were actually excited to see you when you arrived somewhere.

  As the last people found their seats, a mist filled the abyss. It became so thick that it eventually turned opaque and could be used as a screen. The music began to play softly, building gently as the title sequence played. “The Life and Times of John Robert Thompson” flashed in bold formal writing. Starring: John Robert Thompson, his mother Rita, father Bo, grandfather... one by one, the names of those he held dear flashed across the screen. Their pictures and video clips were shown along with their introductions.

  His father was only in one clip. He held John right after birth. He looked down at the boy and whispered something in his ear, then promptly left, never to return. Grandpa filled in after that. His clips were numerous and filled with love. The air filled with the smells that John associated with each memory. His grandmother smelled of lilac, a smell he always took a second whiff of when he had been alive. His mother brought back the scent of freshly cleaned laundry. He took a deep drawn breath and his skin felt as though a fresh-out-of-the-dryer blanket was wrapping him tightly in a hug. His eyes closed and he fell into his mother’s embrace one last time.

  Then it went downhill. The memories started to feature less people and more moments of isolation. There was an entire year of him just staring out into nothing. John started to hear the breathing of the room slow together into one collective quiet snore. And as the lights rose again with the event that ended it all, his comically timed fall down the stairs, John looked around to see that everyone had been bored to sleep.

  All but one. Sandra was wide awake and staring straight ahead. Tears rolled down her cheeks, staining her dress as they fell off her chin. “Oh John. So much potential. I’m so sorry my dear friend.” As she buried her face in her hands and cried softly, John couldn’t figure out what the fuss was about. His hand scraped the bottom of the popcorn bucket, and he wondered if the refills were free as he wandered out to the lobby.

  The Bridge

  Sleeping soundly in his bed, John was unaware that his last moments alive were about to pass. Nothing can prepare you for that concept anyway, so it was probably better that it happened this way. Desk jockeys and couch potatoes everywhere seem unaware that their bodies can be ticking time bombs full of blood clots. And so, John breathed his final few breaths, imagined his last dream, and drooled his last little bit. Then it was over. Painless.

  It felt like a dream at first. Like he was floating in a pool of nothing. None of his sensations had returned just yet, because he was yet to fully materialize. He tried to rub his eyes clear except he didn’t have eyes or hands yet for that matter. Willing them to appear, they shifted into his view. The rest of the world around him cascaded down from the heavens. Shimmering into the realm.

  John felt something cold in his right hand. It felt familiar, not just in the sense that he could tell what it was, but that he knew it belonged to him. An old worn skeleton key poked out of his clenched fist. He rubbed his palm against the metal key and was comforted by the feeling of it’s coldness against his now existent hand. This was his key, but to what?

  The ground below appeared thick with grass. Behind him there was an ancient forest, thick and
lush. In front was a clearing, surrounded by a ring of towering trees. In the center of the clearing there was a series of concentric gates that were positioned around a large chasm with a floating island in the center. John was compelled to head toward the gates. Behind each gate there was a bridge, like spokes of a wheel, that led to the center island.

  The bridges were in different states of maintenance. One was modern and pristine. It had more than enough room for a traveler to walk easily from one side to the other. Another was a rickety set of thin and broken slats. All John knew was that he wanted to get to the other side of one of those bridges. There was a tea house calling to him from the center that had a beacon shining through the roof to the heavens.

  People were wandering from gate to gate testing their keys. John decided to walk around the perimeter hoping he could sense which gate was his. When he lost count and it felt like the gates were never ending, he gave up that plan and stepped up to the nearest set of iron bars. There was no line at this gate, and for good reason. No one wanted this to be their way of passage. The bridge that was on the other side was constructed of playing cards.

  The faces on the high value cards stared menacingly at him through the openings between the bars. John could have sworn he heard them hissing at him. As he slid his key in the lock, he prayed that it wouldn’t turn. His movement was met with resistance, and he let out the air he didn’t know he had been holding in. He shoved the key in his pocket with shaking hands. This was going to be a nerve wracking test.

  At the next gate, there was a line of people 20 deep. They all were waiting patiently at the chance to turn their key on one of the better bridges. Plain, simple yet solid rock. This bridge looked like a dream compared to the nightmare he had just avoided. One by one the line tried and were turned away defeated. A small older woman with hunched shoulders was standing just a few spaces ahead of John in the line. When her turn came, it took her much longer than the others to get her key lined up and in the keyhole.