Struggling With The Afterlife

By Ronald Stanley Jr.

In this dark and twisted fantasy, a serial killer comes face-to-face with the supernatural as he seeks redemption in a world where all the rules have changed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9781543986969

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©All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

eBook ISBN: 978-1-54398-696-9

Contents

Troll, And Boy

The Healing Ball

Church

Jenny Goes On A Date

Johnny Hatches

Troll, And Man

The Doorway

Troll, And Man, Part 2

Billy

Restoring Balance

Chapter 1

Troll, And Boy

I’ve been waiting for you, boy! a familiar voice said to him from somewhere in the abyss.

He’d heard this voice many times in his dreams - in his past life. Telling him he was waiting for him on the other side when the time was right.

All he knew was there was a time in his life that he was happy.

How the boy being cut down from the noose he was hanging from knew that he didn’t know, any more than he knew how he’d gotten there in the first place(or what this place was for that matter). All he did know was that the noose was tight and hurt him so bad he couldn’t breathe. The troll had saved him by going up there and cutting him down.

The troll had the knife in one hand(a big hunting knife, the boy saw),the boy in the other. He/it had a beige trench coat, Safari hat, tan hair, olive skin with freckles, beady black eyes.. and a large nose that looked like a pickle.

Picklenose, the boy thought, even in a half dead state, and would have chuckled to himself if he was able. Picklenose continues to sing out of tune as he entered his house. It was an olive green in need of a serious paint job - chipped in various places with yellow sidings. It had a familiarity to the boy, though he wasn’t sure where exactly the memories came from; as far as he knew he was just a boy in this world and new here. Where oh where would these memories have come from? Picklenose was about 6’3" and very strong. Despite his funny and dorky look, the boy sensed there was a darker side to him.

He was right. Johnny was very right. Yes - his name was Johnny. He remembered now.

Picklenose opened the screen door at first without success. Then, sighing inward with frustration, practically ripped the door off its hinges. The next door - same thing. So, with his boots, he practically kicked the door in.

Fucking door, Pickle nose said, carrying the half-dead boy in and putting the knife on a nearby table. He then did something that frightened the boy horribly.

He took the boy through a nearby door leading into total darkness in the cellar. Somewhere, he heard a click as a light came on. A very dim light that showed very little.

As the troll took him down further, he saw fragments of things scattered here and there in the darkness. An old raggedy Anne doll, dusty bowling pins, a knickknack of a man with balloons..

Who did these belong to? Not the troll, not the boy.

Then who?

Then, in the corner of the cellar, the boy wet his pants at what he saw. The coffins. Many of them side by side in the darkness.

A blue one with chipped paint, a pink one at the end..

And the one in the center - a shiny black one with an image of a bird flying, gold painted, with 2 semi - circles in the center.

That one was for him.

The troll methodically un - knotted the noose for about 10 minutes, finally managing to do it. Johnny could finally breathe, but he used that breath to scream.

Scream so loudly as Pickle nose put him in the coffin.

The boy tried to fight but could barely even move - he was still half- dead and in a weakened state.

Even if he could fight, he would lose against the bigger, nastier beast. But in this world, the boy thought, weren’t there other, bigger, nastier beasts than this monster?

He had time to think so before the lid closed on him and he was in total darkness.

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No dreams , no consciousness - just a huge time gap when he had woken days later to find Pickle nose greeting him with a big smile as the coffin was open and he was carried out of it. You are my gift, boy, from the delivery of The Bird! the troll said, beady eyes gleaming. What gift? What bird? The boy thought.

The trench coat and safari hat were gone now, replaced by a checkered shirt, tan pants and belt, shiny shoes and somewhat combed hair (looking like the wind got the best of the comb at some point).

Then, with a tongue the boy despised, the troll happily stuck it out and made a farting noise, spraying him with spit , but happily(for the troll anyways , not the boy). The boy was still too weak to wipe the spit off, but the troll did it for him as best he could.

The boy saw his coffin open, as well as a new one added (light green). All except his were closed.

There were others, the boy thought.

What happens to the others?

What happened to the others? In the darkness, the boy saw something he hadn’t before among the pins, knickknack and raggedy Anne doll.

Among the shadows was an old-fashioned quilted highchair.

It had curli - cues and a rundown look. Dust covered it. Lots of dust. Barbed wire was woven in and out of it -the last chair anyone sane would want to sit down in. And was that blood he saw dried within the interwoven teardrops and barbed wire?

He thought so.

Was the chair always there, or had he missed it when he was first brought down here? He thought not.

Johnny.

The voice had a familiarity about it that the boy knew from somewhere but had no memory to put the finger on.

Not yet anyways.

It was a sinister voice, one that made his skin crawl. One word that came from the chair calling his name - that was it. But that was all it took. Then the growl of a dog. An angry, mean dog.

The chair moved forward slightly in the darkness towards him as the troll took him up the stairs. The boy screamed. The troll laughed. That’s nothing, Pickle nose said to the boy.

Wait ‘til you see the toilets! Pickle nose then chuckled. The chuckling turned to laughter. The laughter turned to hysterical bouts of shrieking.

The boy tried to scream but his voice was so hoarse nothing came out.

The boy also had to pee.

Wait ‘til you see the toilets, the troll had said.

When they got up the stairs, the boy also realized something: he was hungry.

The smell of nicely cooked turkey and ham filled his nostrils. His stomach churned and growled - worse than the furniture had done just moments before.

Johnny..

At this point he didn’t care how terrifying the furniture and toilets were.

He was fucking hungry and wanted food now.

As the troll brought him upstairs, to the left he saw a table with lots of food on it. There were what looked like bizarre, multi - colored drinks with different layers of color on it - 2 out (one for the Troll, one for the Boy).

To the right, he saw a hallway with a bathroom on the left. The hallway led out to a living room. There was a piano, an old -fashioned radio in the center, more of those curli - cued quilted furniture (these looking newer with no dried blood or barbed wire in them).

A big, thick black book lay in the center of the room next to the old-fashioned radio. It had the same shiny black his coffin had - with the golden image of the bird flying in the center of 2 semi - circles his coffin had as well.

Pickle nose let the boy down, and he felt a little strength start to return to his legs. Enough to explore a little, and pee.

Despite the fact that the troll had scared him with the news of the toilets, the one to the left in the hallway was nice and normal. A white marble one and sink - very nicely cleaned and shiny.

Someone else must do the cleaning - surely not the ugly fuck of a troll that thought this boy was his gift from a goddamned bird, the boy thought. Now - these were his own thoughts, returning to him. He was maturing mentally as well as physically. How to get out of this fucking shithole? He wanted the fucking food but was damned if that ugly bastard troll would fuck with him his whole life.

He wasn’t always a child.

Johnny.

The voice of the chair rang in his head.

He knew that voice.

The voice knew him as well.

Johnny pissed a fucking river in the normal looking toilet. Probably one of the few in this world that looked this normal. He guessed it was bullshit politics - toilets reserved for the special people in this world that pleased the bird just the way it liked. People - or living beings - like this troll that did things and favors for the bird.

Like what? The boy thought, going over to look at himself in the mirror. His face definitely was dusty and needed cleaning. His hair as well - he needed a shower. He washed both as best