Blue Light In A Jar

By Brick Marlin

A villain called the Shepherd has lost one of his flock, a soul who he has collected and has stuffed in a jar, placing it in his room in Purgatory. A kind-hearted, plump fellow named Vergil is the flock's only hope not only to escape the Shepherd, but to find the way to Heaven. Follow along as the world shifts into odd scenery of the afterlife where one encounters the dead - but not long forgotten. Don't miss the thrilling sequel, NETTIE AND THE SHEPHERD!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Whiskey Creek Press
• Release date: Jan 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781611603781

Book preview

Chapter 1

At The Grocery

Vergil Grey was not a gaunt-looking fellow. He wore his flesh heavy around his bones and his cheeks were plump. Whenever he had to belch, or had a sour stomach, and blew both of his cheeks out, they looked about as big as Dizzy Gillespie’s when he would blow into his trumpet. Vergil’s nieces and nephews would giggle when he did that. His wife, Wendy, did not. She found it obtrusive and silly.

Vergil had blue eyes sunk back into his head. Lines from age cut into the skin on his forehead and around his eyes; there, they connected together like spider webs. Whenever his hands would swell, his wedding ring would be taut around the skin. Whenever they wouldn’t, his wedding ring would be loose and show the calloused indention——a canal—run full-circle around the finger.

And the very best thing about Vergil was his smile, spread from ear to ear. It was continuous. Most of the people who Vergil came in contact with immediately noticed the smile—whether he was having a bad day or not; which, having a bad day was usually the case for Vergil.

In his earlier years when he was growing up he was the kid who had sat there, quiet, sort of nerdy, with glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. Vergil was a bookworm, and loved to read. Some of his classmates had picked on him at times, asking him why on earth would he want to read? That was for dorks. Asking why he would be dumb enough to use a fork to eat a piece of pizza? That was stupid. Telling him he had a plump rump and looked like a Weeble and followed it with: Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down.

His parents were good to him and loved him to death; there wasn’t anything that they would not do for him. And being the only child, his Christmas, his birthday, and his Easter holidays were exceptional.

They hated that their little Vergil went through tough times in school, but it just seemed as if there was only so much they could do. His parents sure as heck could not fight his battles for him because Vergil had to learn how to defend himself, both verbally and physically.

His parents had talked to the principal of the school until they were blue in the face, hoping that this man could possibly do something to ease Vergil’s problems. But it was like pulling teeth. The guy would not listen and couldn’t get it through his thick head about the matter.

The principal would politely reply: Mr. and Mrs. Grey, your son does very well here at Jackson High, all kids go through this. It’s normal. I had the same thing happen when I was a young lad. It’ll all blow over eventually.

Of course it did not; it became worse, until he finally graduated from school. Vergil did have a couple of friends throughout the years who would be nice to him, hang out, and play games and things—the nerdy group who loved to read sc-fi and fantasy novels, played the game of Dungeons and Dragons, and so on. But as the years passed they moved away, starting other lives for themselves, fading out of the picture like a rainbow does right after it makes its brief appearance in the sky.

Vergil was a little lost after that. Later, while he was working at the library one day, he met Wendy. Their relationship started out fine; they fell in love, and their wedding had been grand. She was actually his first, since Vergil had always been a virgin. Wendy, on the other hand, was not.

Things went very well for a while, until the real Wendy surfaced, becoming very demanding of Vergil. She nagged him to do this, she nagged him to do that, and so forth.

Lately, Vergil had to pull his trousers up from time to time because he was losing weight—just a little, not much—thanks to Wendy. She was about his size, weight and all—except for Vergil’s pot belly—and decided herself that since she put herself on a diet, Vergil was going to do the same.

So far, the diet was working for Vergil. For Wendy, not so much.

As Vergil’s tale starts, he stands in the aisle full of candy at the grocery. He stared at the dark, succulent chocolate wrapped in paper and foil. It was his favorite. If he bought it, Wendy would hit the roof.

But if he bought it, ate it on the way home, would she smell it on his breath? Or maybe see the crumbs that would be smudged into his shirt, leaving little polka dots of chocolate?

Decisions, decisions, decisions.

His eyes lowered to the grocery list. Only a few more items to get? The shopping cart was full of healthy foods: oranges, grapefruits, a bag of spinach leaves, a bag of iceberg lettuce, a bag of raw carrots, a bag of Romaine lettuce, skim milk, fresh salmon, ten different kinds of yogurt (including the chocolate swirl that Vergil never thought tasted like actual chocolate), six cans of spinach, six cans of carrots, six cans of corn, and a box of wheat pasta with a bottle of sauce with a famous actor’s face smiling at the consumer.

There was no red meat in the cart since it was now forbidden under his roof. The only two meats that he was allowed to enjoy were chicken and fish. He didn’t mind either one but he grew up eating thick steaks marinated in teriyaki sauce and grilled hamburgers dripping with A1 sauce.

Vergil’s tongue ached for the taste of a fat steak. While licking his lips he hadn’t realized that he was standing there, solid as a statue, with drool sliding down his chin.

Are you okay, mister? a small voice spoke beside him.

Vergil turned his head, looked down, and his eyes found a cute little girl about six or seven years old. She had pretty blonde hair, blue eyes, and she wore a red dress. In her right hand she held a doll with frazzled blue hair as if it had placed its plastic finger in a light socket.

Vergil gazed at her, trying to return back to reality. A smile grew across his face and he said, Oh, I’m okay. He wiped his chin with the back of his hand. How are you today?

The little girl smiled and before she could respond a woman walked up behind her, grabbed her small arm, and said, Isabel! Don’t run off like that! And stop bothering this, her eyes slid up and down Vergil, poor man. Those people can’t help that they have mental problems.

Is that what you and daddy call retarded people?

Hush! she scolded her daughter. C’mon! We need to buy the rest of our groceries and go home and fix dinner. The woman told Vergil: Sorry with half of a smile on her red, thin lips.

The little girl was dragged around the corner and managed to wave ’bye and say, See ya later, alligator!

Vergil waved but the girl was dragged around the corner so quick, she missed his response. He stood there holding the small piece of paper in his other hand that told of Wendy’s List of How to Make Vergil Starve to Death.

The only thing left on the list to get was tomato juice. He realized that he had forgotten bananas. Instead of turning right, he turned left.

Watch out where you’re going, sir, a tall man in a long gray trench coat with a scar right under his right eye said as he pushed the front of his cart out of his way. His nose was pointed and his face looked hawkish; that is, like a predator seeking its prey. Black pupils sunk back into his sockets and he had a long line for a mouth and straight black hair tied up in a pony tail.

Vergil was about to apologize, but the guy was long gone.

Making his way over to the produce, he saw that every pile of bananas was yellow and ripe. None of them had the shade of green on their skins. Wendy wanted the ones that were green because, otherwise, they would start to get dark splotches long before she could consume all of them—which took her a week to do.

She wouldn’t be very happy that he had the ones that were yellow. She’d throw a fit. But Vergil didn’t want to go home empty handed. Nope. The last time he forgot something at the grocery, World War III broke out, there was a nuclear strike, an explosion, and afterward there was a casualty—a glum and scolded-like-a-puppy Vergil.

Vergil picked up five bananas all attached together at the stem and placed them in the basket. He was about to head toward the cashiers when he noticed a small dark-haired boy run past and hide behind the place where the tomatoes, green peppers, and red onions sat.

Vergil found it odd. Then again, he thought maybe the kid was playing hide and go seek. Perhaps his parents should get a hold on the kid.

He rolled the cart full of groceries up to the front of the store and stopped behind a line that was five deep of customers. Only three lines were open and full and compact, like a can of sardines, with people waiting to checkout. Vergil couldn’t figure out why a store this big had ten registers; always, with only three lanes open.

Today was Saturday, about nine o’clock in the morning, and the busiest time of the week. It seemed like a ghost town on the employees’ end because they were short workers for the registers.

Or could the rest be in the back on a smoke break, lunch break, or both? Vergil wondered.

The line that Vergil stood behind was at a snail’s pace. The woman who was in front of him wore her flesh over her thin frame. There were wrinkles that sat on her face, as if she had soaked her face in water for hours. Her strong perfume found Vergil’s nose and made his eyes water—as if the lady had emptied the whole bottle on herself before she left home. And he also wondered if her home had the strong aroma of a perfume factory.

To Vergil’s left, magazines sat in racks that had pictures of celebrities cut out of photos and paired up with others. Gossip about who was sleeping with who, who cheated on who, or was that his baby or hers were written right under the titles.

Other magazines, ones that you almost had to laugh at, informed the world that when the aliens landed last week in Minnesota they had kidnapped a woman and operated on her.

Now she had a lump on her back that looked like an exact replica of what the Hunchback of Notre Dame wore on his. It was supposed to be a mini radar to tell her when to expect the missile from planet Vengot-9, that will blow up planet Earth in the near future.

Vergil shook his head. He never believed a word of what the publications said. Wendy sometimes did, though, and almost had a library of them.

Another magazine caught his eye and showed a blown up picture of the face of a baldheaded man with a thick beard, along with the shadow of a dark figure dressed in a trench coat and a hat in the backdrop of the picture. The caption off to the side of the page said:

MY INNER CHILD WAS STOLEN

Inner child? Vergil questioned his brain. What’s that all about?

The line moved forward. The lady who was in front of him slowly started unloading her cart.

The cashier was a young girl about sixteen years old with long dark hair. She was chewing gum and popping bubbles every so often. Her gaze fell on the old woman and she rolled her eyes.

The woman did not even notice.

The cashier chomped and smacked on the gum as she scanned each object, then sent it down to the bag boy. The girl looked at the bag boy and smiled just enough to stop chomping. The gum was squeezed between her teeth like a turtle’s head sticking out of his