by Andy Morris
the edge of his awareness as his slowly began to rise up through the murky swamp of oblivion.
He couldn’t open his eyes.
Muffled sounds warbled in the distance as if from the end of a very long tunnel. He felt weightless but was thankful that he couldn’t feel any of his injuries. When he tried to move he didn’t know if he actually was moving his limbs or not but that was part of the concussion, he guessed groggily.
Although he didn’t feel anything now, his jumbled mind knew, as he became more awake, he would start to feel the pain from his broken bones and ruptured organs.
As if in readiness, fragmented images of the assault danced at the back of his mind worrying him at his sudden vulnerability. Dale Tanner knew where he worked and now he knew where he lived. The realisation sent a jolt of panic through his senses. His nice happy life had been shattered and his world was no longer a safe place. He never felt this vulnerable before, this weak. He knew that if his fears of Dale Tanner took hold they would drown him in a sea of anxiety from which he may never recover. He pushed them aside and focused instead on Grandmother Nnedinma.
If he opened the door into the other world his mind would be focused so much that he may not feel the full pain of his injuries. Maybe it would help him shut out the agony from his wounds in a similar way to those monks who were able to focus their minds to such a level that they could shut out physical pain as they hammered nails into their flesh. It was worth a try at least.
There was no way of knowing where he was or what was going to happen to him but in that moment he no longer cared. The outside world ceased to be relevant in his pre- sentient state as he felt his consciousness slipping away. The dim glow of consciousness was quickly fading.
Before he tumbled into oblivion again Connor turned in his mind and saw the door hanging silent against the primal blackness of his subconscious. The eerie pale glow of light surrounding it was warm and cold; familiar and alien all at same time. Connor thought of the Afterlife as if summoning it through the doorway. It only took a moment and then it was there. Connor sensed it on the other side of his doorway.
He briefly considered the prospect of something waiting for him again on the other side but as his consciousness faded he couldn’t develop the thought any further. The paid was increasing, burning and freezing him at the same time. He felt more pain than he had ever thought possible and in that moment he didn’t care what lay beyond the doorway and in a desperate attempt to shut out the pain he pushed the psychic door.
It opened, spilling its supernatural light into his mind and enveloping him in its glare. His entire body ached and throbbed and shivered and bled. He was aware, somehow of his blood tricking around him but couldn’t detect where it was coming from. He had to withdraw from the waking world. It was the only way to stop the intense agony raking his broken body.
He hovered on the threshold and for some reason his mind chose this moment to realise that in the past he had only looked through the door but he could actually do so much more. He sensed rather than saw the outline of his body floating just beneath his vision as if he were a ghost. He held his hands up before his face and marvelled at the ghostly features; know that on the other side he would feel no more pain. The pain receptors in his brain would simply no longer be able to reach him. He had read about people projecting themselves out of their body and he guessed this was something like that as his astral form stepped from the confines of his physical mind into the hostile nightmare realm of the Afterlife.
He had never consciously looked out upon this other world before outside of his nightmares. Terrible images from this place often leaked into his mind taunting him with the brutality and sheer terror of what awaits all human beings when they die. Regardless of the dangers and what may be lying in wait of him he had to find his grandmother.
Connor paused contemplating where he was about to go. Before he had only looked through the door but, he reasoned, if he was going to find Grandmother Nnedinma he would have to actually pass through the doorway, projecting his mind across the threshold. The void of unconsciousness was spreading behind him threatening to swallow him up. He had to go now before this part of his mind blacked out again.
“Grandmother Nnedinma!” Connor shouted into the light from the other side wondering if anything so basic would summon her to him. “Grandmother Nnedinma!” he repeated.
There was nothing, not even an echo.
Connor inhaled deeply, although it was only in his mind. He held his imagined breath for a moment before blowing it out slowly between gritted teeth. Then he stepped forward out of his body.
It was just as he pictured it in his dreams: all around him the woeful panorama of the Afterlife stretched out around him like a dead lunar landscape. The desolate alien scenery rolled on for endless miles, stirring in Connor a bleak sense of hopelessness and depression. Weaving through this feeling of isolation was an eerie stillness that hung in the air rendering it as quiet as the grave. The atmosphere seemed to press in creating a mild claustrophobia in the sepulchral silence.
Connor felt as if the Afterlife knew he didn’t belong here and was aware of his trespassing. As a result, a feeling that something was waiting for him bubbled at the back of his mind, but what it was he could not tell. There were no people that Connor could see, no structures, nothing in this lost lonely place. In his dreams he never saw many people; only the odd unfortunate spirit running terrified as they were pursued and inevitably caught by one of the many demons. The unfortunate victims screams no longer sound human as their souls are consumed by the ravenous creatures that prowl the afterlife.
There were no ghosts or demons in sight but if he did get even a hint of danger he would flow back through his door and close it without hesitation. Behind him the doorway floated, suspended in the air, spilling out the black light from his cavernous subconscious mind into this bleak world of forgotten souls. Wherever Connor moved the door followed behind him like a shadow. He closed it for the moment shutting out its dark light while he focused on finding Grandmother Nnedinma. The longer he remained here the greater the chance of running into danger.
He concentrated on his grandmother; picturing her in his mind and he imagined himself floating towards her. His incorporeal form sped forwards, racing over the unending terrain and again reminding Connor of how he sometimes travels in his dreams; running at great speed but hardly moving his legs at all.
Gradually the light began to fade as if some unseen sun was sinking below the horizon.
“Grandmother Nnedinma!” he shouted again wondering if there was even any point in trying to shout for her. He pictured her in his mind: she stood strong and proud, smiling at her only grandson. Her image was like an anchor, drawing him towards her or so he hoped as he sped on.
After an unknown period of time he eventually saw a figure approaching him. Someone was coming through the spreading darkness and he willed himself to slow down. Connor’s first thought was of danger and he almost sprang back through the doorway but hesitated a moment, just to be sure, such was the desperate urge to see his grandmother. The figure was still a little way off and it was hard to be certain of their identity in the fading light. The outline of the figure swayed gently from side to side as they came closer. With each moment it appeared more human-looking and Connor felt a flicker of hope spark inside him.
Connor had never spoken to anyone from the other side before and he called out a greeting while conjuring the doorway again in case he needed to open it and fly through. The figure was about average height, a little shorter than Connor himself, and very much rounder that him. It was not a demon, he concluded.
All the demons he had seen had been tall mighty creatures that moved with a graceful quality that could almost be beautiful in the same way a scorpion dances a beautiful ballet as it duels with its prey before stinging it into submission.
As the figure came within a few meters her features became clearer. She carried herself with an air of hereditary pri
de and self-assurance that was born of a life-time of hardships over-come. Connor could hear the clacking of beads knocking together and he grinned in childlike recognition.
“Connor, my boy” snapped the thick Nigerian accent. “What are you doing here? I told you never to open that doorway again, you foolish boy” Grandmother Nnedinma scolded.
Connor’s heart swelled as his grandmother waddled her huge frame through the gloom. Her flamboyant red and yellow headscarf or gele that she always wore was still tied about her head. Grandmother Nnedinma took him in her arms and squeezed him tightly, noisily inhaling his scent. Then she stepped back and looked him up and down appraisingly.
“You are still a very handsome young man Connor” she said nodding proudly to herself. She hadn’t seen him in the flesh for a few years.
“You have certainly not lost your mother’s looks” she continued her appraisal. “And that is why I cannot understand why you have not married yet? You will have some beautiful babies to make your mother so proud. But…” Her eyes were immediately narrow and suspicious as she peered closely at him. “You should not be here, my boy, it is too dangerous!” she scolded him again. “Now, tell me why you have come here?”
“I’ve come to
