The Best Friend in My Life: Volume I

By Reader John

John Young has just died without a shave. As he watches his family, a police sergeant, and the constable crowd around his lifeless body on his kitchen floor, John curiously observes all the action, unable to communicate. Moments later, his body is placed in the undertakers hearse where he has nothing to do but wonder if he will see his beautiful Burmese Mandalay, Panther, who has already passed to the other side.

After John realizes he can communicate with other corpses and angels, he begins a journey to enter a new stage of life. When it is decided he is not good enough for heaven, John is renamed Adam the Lonely and released to a wilderness park where he and his beloved cat, Panther, can spend eternity together. As he and Panther embark on a quest to find and adopt misplaced animals, they transform into a close-knit family who encourages each other to develop into better souls.

The Best Friend in My Life is the poignant tale of one mans journey from life to death and finally to a wilderness park on the other side where he reunites with his beloved pet and finds the family he has always desired.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press AU
• Release date: Jun 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781504303019

Reader John

Reader John enjoyed the tales his Scottish grandfather told him when he was a wee lad. He has had many pets in his lifetime that include Panther, a Burmese Mandalay. Reader John currently resides in Bayswater, Auckland, New Zealand. This is his second book.

Book preview

Chapter 1

A T EXACTLY 1:00 p.m. on November 14, 2014, I died after consuming a more-than-heavy lunch. What a waste—but never mind; I hadn’t felt good all morning. Instead, I chose to stay cuddled up with heavy winter blankets wrapped around me—that is, until my sister Molly’s only son, Michael, yelled for me to get up. He came once a week with the understanding that he provides lunch. Today, he was warning me that my usual fish and chips were going cold.

Now there I was, lying crumpled upon the kitchen floor, my eyes and mouth stretched wide open. It was terrible, really. I was trying to blink and close my mouth and couldn’t do either. There was a massive fly climbing around the inside of my nose, its wings going ninety to the dozen, and I couldn’t seem to get my stubby fingers into action to grab it. It didn’t help that Michael was asking stupid questions.

What are you playing at, you stupid old bugger?

It was all too much at the moment.

I wished someone would answer the phone. My ears were singing. Mike’s wife, Maureen, had turned up and hadn’t stopped her continuous screaming in my ear. Now she was slobbering kisses all over my face, and I was trying to make sounds to tell her I was unable to move, let alone get up off the bloody floor. But of course she couldn’t hear me—could she? I was dead, and I had not yet had a shave. Oh, well. That wouldn’t be a problem from now on, I supposed.

Now the bloody brat of a cat, Aurora, was trying to get in on the action with her sharp tongue. She was attempting to catch the fat black fly, and she couldn’t quite get at it. Go on, go away, Aurora, I thought in frustration. Surely she understood I couldn’t get away from her—and she was enjoying every minute of it. Aurora had become part of my existence since I’d put my wee boy to sleep back in April from old age. He’d made it to seventeen, and he was the most precious of all my possessions (and that included my large collection of textbooks on Greek and Roman history, a treasure I had hoarded for years). Poor Aurora, I thought. I hope Michael will keep her; he fell in love with her when he first set eyes upon her. She’s a Maine coon, and now that she had reached two, she was starting to grow huge. She was a wussy-woo, just like Panther. She was very sweet but, like all women, demanding.

I could just see out of the corner of my left eye that the clock on the wall said it was 2:33 p.m. Am I to stay on the cold lino floor all day? Suddenly the front doorbell chimed. God, I hate that chiming noise every time the button is pushed. Voices were raised. Thank goodness, I thought, it’s the doctor.

He’s on the floor in the kitchen. Sorry to be such a nuisance, dragging you away from more important calls, Maureen said helpfully as she guided him into the kitchen.

That’s all right, he assured her. Now, let’s see. Did he suffer any pain that you were aware of before collapsing?

I wasn’t here; Michael was. He’d brought fish and chips for their lunch. I was at the hairdresser. Michael? Come here! she bellowed at him.

When he appeared, he told the doctor what had happened. We’d finished lunch, and he just gasped and fell on the floor. I tried picking him up, but he is too heavy for me. When I spoke to him, he wasn’t able to answer any of my questions. He just lay there, staring at me just like he is doing now. I rang your surgery, and the nurse said you were out, but she would notify you as soon as she could.

I was out doing some local calls. That’s why I have taken so much time to get to you, the doctor stated as he started his preliminary post-mortem examination. The doctor suggested to Michael that there would not have been anything he could have done. It appears his death was very sudden, he said. He continued to prod and poke at me. He opened my shirt and lifted my vest, prodding my chest with his knowledgeable medical fingers. Hell, he’s got cold fingers! They sent shivers right down my spine. I hope he is going to get that bloody fly out of my nose soon; it’s still waving its wings back and forward. Good, he has. Thank you, Doctor.

He’s dead, no doubt about that, the doctor concluded as he pulled my clothing back to respectability. When did your father last come into the surgery, Mr. Younge?

He’s my uncle, Doctor, and my name’s Michael Teele.

Some months ago—probably six months ago, yes it was, twittered Maureen, as if the doctor would remember the precise details of my visit from that long ago. I remember you were away. There was an Indian doctor there, and he gave him some sort of pills.

Oh, yes, the doctor said. Well, I would like another opinion. You want another doctor to have a look at him?

Is that necessary? Michael said. I mean, Doctor, you saw him regularly. Can’t you diagnose what made him collapse like he did? I mean, another doctor? Why? He won’t know, will he?

I am sorry, Michael, but there is nothing I can put my finger on. Therefore I don’t feel confident in signing a death certificate at this moment, since I last saw your uncle over six months ago. I think I will contact the coroner and get his opinion.

Well, whatever you say, Doctor, Michael offered as he showed him to the phone in the passageway. The family will abide by what is right.

After a few moments, the doctor returned to the kitchen and informed everyone that the police would be here shortly.

The police? gasped Michael. Why involve them? Has my uncle done something?

No, Michael, the doctor assured him. He was prepared with this sort of reaction of hysterics at the mention of the word police in these circumstances. It is normal procedure when a doctor can’t sign official forms for a sudden death. A post-mortem will be done to understand why your uncle died so suddenly. The police have their own official undertakers, and they will move the body to the mortuary, where a pathologist will perform the autopsy. It’s a simple procedure; rest assured, he will be treated with total respect and dignity during the whole procedure. Have you made contact with a local funeral director yet?

A funeral director? Goodness, Doctor, I hadn’t even given that any thought. I suppose I ought to ring one, Michael said, awaiting acknowledgement from Maureen, who chose this moment to embark on another high-octave shriek as she raced into the lounge.

Would you like me to do that for you, Michael? inquired the doctor.

Oh, would you? I don’t know any funeral directors. Since my grandparents passed away, my father looked after everything.

Yeah, Maureen chimed in from the other room, and he made a mess of everything. Typical of your father—he never could get anything right!

The doctor said, Have you made contact with other family members?

Yes, all the family except Brian, but he’s not home from college for another couple of hours. You remember Brian, Doctor? You delivered him.

Well, goodness, so I did, declared the doctor patiently.

He’s having his fifteenth birthday in a few days. Such a lovely boy, Michael said. He’ll take this hard; Brian was his favourite great uncle. They did many things together. Why, only last weekend, they went out fishing. Poor old Uncle really was a sweetie where Brian was concerned.

He will get poor old Uncle if he doesn’t shut up chattering away like a parrot, I thought. Honestly, one would think that after all these years, he would have been able to hold his tongue, but he got excited and rambled on and on. I was touched by his genuine concern over what had taken place this afternoon. He was a poor bugger, nervous as hell and in a state of shock, really.

There went that bloody chime again. I knew that footstep and voice anywhere. It was Molly, my youngest sister, and her husband. This would be fun. For years, Molly and her husband, Ted, had come for tea on Sundays, played cards, and drunk all my booze. Hell, I hope they don’t let her see me like this; she will have a blue fit, worse even than Maureen. Me, lying here on the floor, eyes and mouth still wide open? She won’t be able to take that lightly.

I could hear Maureen and Molly talking quietly in the passageway. The doctor was again on the phone, organising my removal. When he finished with the arrangements, he explained what would happen next. The police will be here shortly, and they will do everything that’s required to remove your uncle to the mortuary. Now, don’t you get too agitated. Everything will be taken care of. The doctor’s calm assuredness seemed to have the required effect on poor Molly; she seemed to be visibly pulling herself together.

Yes, Doctor, she replied with a much greater degree of composure. My son and his wife will keep me company until Brian and the police arrive. Would you like a cup of tea? Or something stronger?

No, thank you. I have surgery shortly—which reminds me, can I write you a prescription for some sleeping tablets? He made this offer to each of them, one at a time.

That’s all right, Doctor. If we need one, Uncle has a couple of bottles in his bedside drawer. He won’t need them anymore, Maureen added.

That’s not a good idea, the doctor said. This new prescription will be a more soothing tablet that will also help settle your nerves as well. The doctor scribbled out the prescription, handed it to Maureen, closed his bag, and donned his hat and coat. I will let myself out. If you need anything, call the surgery or my home anytime.

You have been so kind, Doctor, a great help. Thank you. Michael offered his hand, and the doctor made his way out.

Well, he was gone, so now we hung around waiting. Brian was taking a long time. I wondered where Aurora had disappeared to. The neighbours would start jabbering when they saw the police vehicles pull up outside. Nosy buggers, all of them—never got on with any of them, really, except old Bill, a real moaning Pom none of the neighbours liked anyway. When he snuffed it, he was so mean there wasn’t even a funeral. He told me one day, There won’t be any funeral when I go. I am not paying for people who I don’t know coming to say, ‘Bugger off, you old grump,’ and then having to shout for them. Forget it, I say. Wonder if I will see him? Wherever I was going to now, I would find out if there was such a place called heaven or hell, or that other place—what is it? Purgatory that was it.

Oh no, Molly she wants to see me, my mouth and eyes open, staring into no place. Well, I supposed I’d looked worse. I remember the day I had my teeth out, and she came for dinner, laughing her silly head off all the way through dinner, especially when I pulled faces at Brian. Maureen caught me and clipped me around the ears, making everyone scream with laughter. We’d had a lot of downs, Molly and me, however for some reason we had always hung in there as a well-knit family.

The door squeaked open, and Molly and the rest stood staring down at me. I don’t know, Michael, if I can bring myself to look at him. Molly trembled.

Of course you can, Mother. He just looks like he’s sleeping.

He always looks like he’s sleeping, piped up Ted.

Oh, Ted, don’t say things like that. Keep your voice down.

What did they hope to achieve by keeping their voices down? I couldn’t hear them if they started whispering. So speak up! Probably just as well they couldn’t hear me. Poor Ted would run a mile, and Molly would collapse. As for Michael and Maureen, they appeared shattered enough as it was, and Maureen was about to start screaming the house down and end up on the floor with me.

Doesn’t he look so peaceful, Michael? Just like he was on your wedding day. You remember? Molly started rambling between tears coming down her cheeks. Even Ted was wiping his hand across his cheek. All of them gazed fondly at my poor, frozen countenance. I wished I could poke my tongue out—that would make them jump!

Ted, where have you gone? Get back in here, and let’s see if we can make him more comfortable.

I suppose so, he grunted reluctantly.

Don’t put yourself out, mate, just because I beat you last Sunday with nine hearts to your eight clubs. One thing about our Ted: he hated to be beaten, which in this house was often.

He’s cold, Molly, and stiff and going blue in the face. And look at his fingertips—they are going blue as well. He was visibly moved by my deathly pallor.

Molly piped up as she bent down Around his ears as well. Poor dear.

What do you expect? I’ve been lying on this bloody floor practically all afternoon, and there’s a draft coming from under the kitchen door, which I was always going to fix. I’d probably catch my death of cold if I was alive. Maybe it will be some other disease now I’m dead.

The kitchen door squeaked open, and once again it was Michael and Maureen’s son, Brian. I’d known that step. Brian always came into a room with a hop and a skip, much to the annoyance of Aurora.

Brian! shrieked Maureen as she ran to grasp him in her arms, moving him away from where I was lying.

Mum, I am all right, breezed Brian. Has something happened to Uncle?

He’s dead, darling. Didn’t they tell you at the school? The secretary said she would pass on the message.

The lad stood still, and the colour drained from his face as his look indicated that maybe he hadn’t heard his mother. All I was told was that Uncle was sick and to get home as quickly as possible. His hands gesticulated in an appeal to change the circumstances. However, the look on his mother’s face told a different story. Brian dropped his hands to his side and looked at his mother with tears falling down his face. What happened to Uncle?

Maureen explained, Your father and uncle had just finished their fish and chips, and your uncle stood up and crashed to the floor. He lay where he is now, dead.

With that, the most persistent door chime echoed down the hallway. That will be the police. I’ll let them in, said Ted.

Brian looked at his mother and demanded, What in the hell do they want?

Maureen gently explained to him the procedure. The poor lad started to cry. Ted escorted two policemen in uniform into the kitchen. The older of the two addressed the family.

I am Sergeant Hannah, and this is Constable Brown. I understand there has been a sudden death in the household.

Yes, my uncle, Michael informed the big fellow. And these are my parents and my wife, and our son. My mother is Uncle John’s sister. I am sorry we haven’t been able to get him off the floor; he is rather too heavy for us to move.

Speak for yourself, blurted out Ted.

Be quiet, Ted, whispered Molly. Ted moved to the other end of the kitchen. The policeman suggested that they would take a quick look at me and then explained the procedure that would follow.

What a huge cop this one was. He leaned down to take a look at me. Maybe it was just the angle as he bent over me that made him look huge. The younger constable appeared more frightened than Ted appeared to be when he first saw me; this one was going all shades of grey and white before my very wide eyes. He’s dead, all right, said the sergeant. He instructed the constable to check for any bruising. Constable Brown suggested that I had fallen on my head because there was a lot of bruising in that area. The sergeant reflected, Probably when he collapsed; it’s not uncommon. There don’t appear to be any other injuries.

Sir, what happens now? the young constable stuttered.

You sit down in that chair, lad. You’re going white. Just relax, son.

The sergeant turned to the family and informed them that this was the first time his colleague had ever been involved with a sudden death. It was part of their training to attend. He wished to use the telephone to make contact with the undertaker and organize my removal to the mortuary. He left instructions with the young constable to get the blanket from the car and cover me up, keeping the flies away from my orifices that were wide open. I thought, Why the kids hadn’t thought of that? I wouldn’t have felt so embarrassed these last few hours, staring every time someone entered the kitchen. Anyway, maybe I could have some fun with this young constable. However, I don’t know how I could go about it. If I was able, I could scare the pants off him. A good boom would really do the trick. Will have to give that a lot of thought.

The sergeant returned, seated himself at the table, and directed some questions to the family before the undertaker arrived. Do you realize that our involvement is only a precaution to protect the doctor? In no way are we here because of any complaint we have received.

Yes. I had everything explained to me by the doctor, replied Michael.

Good. Now, I’ll just jot down a preliminary statement for the coroner, and by then the undertaker ought to be here. By the way, the undertaker we use is contracted by the police department, and you are in no way obligated to continue with this particular company.

Well, Sergeant, stammered Maureen, the doctor has already organized with our local funeral director, who is coming at seven tomorrow night to talk to the family.

You seem to have everything under control, Mrs Teele, the constable summed up. That’s good. It’s important to have your family around you at this sad time. There was a genuine touch of concern there for the family.

That bloody chiming front door went again. That will be the undertaker, the sergeant informed everyone. May I suggest that you all move to the lounge? We will do what we have to, and I’ll see you just before I leave.

Good afternoon, said Peter, the police undertaker, who had just poked his head through the kitchen doorway.

We are in here.

Peter walked in with his colleague carrying a stretcher and quickly laid it beside me.

By the way, Peter, the family have arranged their own undertaker.

That’s cool, Sergeant. We are pretty busy at the moment—haven’t stopped since I came on duty this morning.

I often wondered what an undertaker looked and acted like away from the public. Now all would be revealed. The heavy blanket had been removed, thank god; I was feeling claustrophobic. By golly, that young constable looked really sick. Anyone would think I was really scary or was going to hurt him. I am really harmless, young man, I called out. Then I realized I couldn’t be heard by any of them. He even cringed when he had to touch my flesh while placing me not very ceremoniously onto the stretcher—dumped, more like. Then he strapped me extremely tightly; one would think I was going to escape or something. How stupid the human mind is at times. I was carried out of what had been my home for many years, thrown into the back of this huge black hearse amid stares of peeping toms crouched behind half-open curtains. Maureen held onto Brian while Ted and Molly stared into the air.

The back of this hearse stank, and it’s totally dark interior didn’t lend itself to what I would expect from an undertaker. Anyway, I probably wouldn’t be in it too long, and at least I was going on the beginnings of an unknown journey. I wondered if I would meet up with my beautiful Burmese Mandalay, Panther.

Chapter 2

I T TOOK HALF an hour for the boys in blue to reach our destination. They got a puncture and had to call another car, so my mate wasn’t in a very good mood. After wheeling me into what appeared to be a freezing chamber that stank something awful, some fellow with a pair of large scissors started into me. Before I knew it, my trousers were lying in pieces on the concrete floor, and my shirt and singlet joined the rest of my clothing. I was stark bloody naked. Why couldn’t they leave me with my undies on, allowing me some dignity? All of a sudden I was freezing cold. A hell of a racket went on around me, and there appeared to be a lot of unfortunate characters, with everyone chattering at ninety to a dozen.

When I was wheeled in, I was slung onto a stainless steel table. Ouch! I nearly hit the high roof because it was so cold. Of course it was all in my mind, because my body was now inanimate, but nevertheless, my dead body must have reacted, because the young constable received a fright and raced off through the open door. This caused much laughter amongst my deceased companions. I heard a bloody chiming clock somewhere in the building, and the slow dongs stopped at six, so I had been dead around six hours. That wasn’t long in human terms; however, it sure had been a long drag for me. Silence seemed to be the order of the day, so I lay back and waited for whatever took place on the menu, making myself comfortable for a long night.

A voice from the next table asked, Hey, mate, when did you snuff it?

At one this afternoon, I replied with a feeling of surprise. Hell, I have just spoken to a dead person. When did you die? I asked.

On my way to work, said my neighbour. Tried to swerve around an old lady. She’d walked straight out in front of me. She’s asleep over there in the corner, I think. Poor old thing. Can’t help feeling sad, but probably better than dying in God’s waiting room. I am told they aren’t much chop. Have you ever been in one?

No, I haven’t, but I have heard some of them need a shot up their backsides.

Hey, I like that.

Who’s that? I asked.

The name’s Billy Carpenter, mate, came the introduction.

Are you the footballer? I asked. I remembered seeing him on television; it looked horrific, the way he had been booted in the head during a rugby league match. It seemed weird, meeting him here in the morgue. Funny—I was only thinking last night I hadn’t heard how he was.

Billy informed me of his predicament. I got kicked in the bloody head during the game. Been in hospital all of last week and couldn’t pull through. The effort was just too much for my tired body, so I decided to chuck it in. Thought if I can’t play footy again, and listening to the doctors suggesting I could possibly be a vegetable, I decided to see what’s on the other side. There is a fellow next to me who’s been here about five years.

Gee, I bet he stinks a bit, I said.

No, mate. He’s been embalmed.

What’s embalming? said the guy next to me, whose name was Mike Roberts.

The reply came from Billy. Don’t actually know, mate, but he tells me that it has been a great experience, and if it’s offered to you, grab the opportunity.

Where is he now? I asked.

He’s gone to look at some shrubs out at the botanical gardens, which he planted just before he was murdered, Billy replied.

Not quite grasping what was going on here, I asked Billy another question. How come he hasn’t been buried or cremated like we are going to be?

Well, mate, said Billy, it seems they are waiting on some decision from the coroner’s court, which takes a long time.

I interrupted Billy. Who murdered him?

Billy was silent for a few seconds and then continued. It appears his wife and her new lover, from what I have been told.

Really? I was intrigued.

Billy filled me in on the latest gossip. It goes like this, mate. It started when his wife’s father died, and they couldn’t pay for the funeral. The undertaker agreed to a special arrangement which, unbeknown to her hubby, required that she pay for the funeral on her back. She appeared to be very keen on the arrangement—until the time came that they fell in love. They decided to do in the husband. The undertaker gave the wife some stuff which she put into her hubby’s booze. He couldn’t taste whatever it was, and one night he went arse over tip and ended up in here.

I said, What I would like to know, Billy, is how come his body is here but he isn’t?

Well, mate, it’s like this, he explained.

When you have been dead for twelve hours, your inner spirit is able to float outside your human body. It allows you free movement to go wherever you wish, but you have to come back to your human form every six hours whilst you are still in this world. That’s what I have been told.

Oh, that’s great, I cried out in disbelief. You mean I can do all of that? Just leave my body and fly around?

That’s what we all do since we’ve been here. Then when you get buried or cremated, you wait until the big chariot comes for you.

I lay on the steel table for a while and then said to Billy, The chariot? You’re bloody nuts. That kick in the head has affected you.

No, mate. It comes every Friday, just like the rubbish cart comes once a week. It arrives at the cemetery gate, where you are waiting, and you hop on board. The chariot does all the rounds and then goes somewhere. No one knows where.

What if you’ve been cremated? I asked.

Billy chuckled deep down in his chest. Well, mate, when you get burnt up, you go straight up the chimney spout to a halfway house, and the chariot picks you up from wherever that is.

Billy, you’re full of shit. You’re having all of us who have come in today on. We’re taught that when we die, our soul goes to hell, heaven, or purgatory depending what good things we have done on this earth. On a chariot? What a joke. I laughed incredulously.

Billy replied, To tell you the truth, I don’t really know any more than you do. It’s just what I have been told since I arrived. However, that’s what Homonus tells me. He’s some spirit thing, and you will meet him later. He is hanging around for a coroner’s report or something like that. He comes in and tells us what is actually going to happen to each of us. Nice guy—I’ve chatted with him a couple of times. Anyway, my dad reckoned that when you died, that was that. I don’t believe that. Otherwise, how come we can communicate the way we are doing now? It all seems queer to me. Hey, here comes Homonus now. He’ll tell you himself.

I never thought I would be chatting to an angel. Bloody weird, really. He stood large as life and had wings attached to his back, and he was a rough diamond to boot. Other than the wings on his back, there was little to differentiate him from another human being. He had a white gown that went down to his ankles, and he had sandals on his feet. He flew into the chamber straight through the wall. How scary was that? One feature that captured my attention was his carefree manner. He appeared free from the burdens of the world he had left behind.

Hi, everyone. I hear Billy Carpenter has been having a chat with you. Yes, my name is Homonus—or rather, my new name. Now, you have found yourselves on another stage of your life, and you also will be given new identities and names. You get to wear wings that will be electronically arced to your shoulders. You will find them a wee bit uncomfortable for a few days, but you will love them in time.

You mean they are actually welded to our shoulders? someone called out.

Yes, that’s the way it’s done. But don’t worry, you won’t feel any pain. That’s something that you will never fear again. A number of voices thought this was great. Someone hinted that he had great knee and hip pain and hadn’t felt anything since he was brought into the chamber.

I was unsure about what was transpiring here in the chamber. Excuse me, Homonus, I said. This whole concept of what is about to happen to us is rather strange. For example, most of us here are people who were taught in Sunday school or church about what happens after we die.

Sorry, friends. I can’t tell you exactly what will happen to each of you because I don’t know myself. Everyone’s circumstances are different. It depends on how you lived your life, I reckon. But I do know one thing: you won’t need any more food for the moment, but when you feel hungry, just take a deep breath, think of your favourite foods, and bingo, that’s it.

What about taste buds? I asked.

That’s easy, he replied. If you want a smooth mellow taste, take long and slow breaths. If you want spicy tastes, take short sucking breaths. It is fun, and you get the hang of it after a while. The angel named Candelas should be here soon with your wings.

There was a flutter, and a second angel appeared. Good evening, everybody. Please excuse the pun, but I still get a kick out of saying it, especially to new candidates. My name is Candelas because they say I was a bright cookie on earth. It is my job to rearrange your new names for those who have just joined us. So without further ado, I will get started. Once I finish here, I still have a few more chambers to revisit tonight. Is there a Billy Carpenter here? Billy said that he was and was given his new name, Spiritum. I was to be named Spiritus, Nana Kelly was Spirataum, and Mike Rogers was Spiramentum. There will be certain events that will take place on your last days on earth. Don’t allow yourselves to be too confused; it is a very temporary phenomenon. Any questions?

Yes, I said. I don’t like this new name, Spiritus. Any chance of it being changed?

I am sorry, Spiritus, that’s the assigned name you were given way back at your earthly birth, so just accept the fact you have owned the name for many decades. It will grow on you. When you have been judged at the gates of judgement, you may be given a new name. Now, let’s get on with putting your wings on your back.

We were made to form a line, and white wings were placed on to each of our shoulders, to be swiftly arced into place by the two angels. I braced my back thinking they would be extremely heavy, but to my surprise they felt totally weightless. Not too bad, Candelas approved. The guys back at the factory have made great improvements, and I must congratulate them for their workmanship upon my return. Candelas called for quiet, and he wished to speak to the future. This is what happens from now on. First, you may leave your remains anytime you like for a maximum of six hours. Second, if you fail to return, there will be a judgement at the end of your journey. Third, on the day you leave earth, a chariot will await you at the cemetery gate where you have been buried. You need to swiftly flutter your wings because you will have too much dirt on them, and if you take dirt aboard the chariot, it will possibly get into the ultrasonic rays swishing around, causing them to clog and making the journey long and laborious. Now, if you are to be cremated, be sure you take many deep breaths when they apply the gas jets; there is a tremendous amount of hot air and combustion, and that is what will send your spirit directly up the chimney spout. However, if you don’t follow these instructions, it requires one of our chaps having to crawl down the spout and drag you up to the chamber, where you will await the chariot. Everyone got that? Any questions? No? Good. By the way, Homonus, be ready to catch the chariot on Friday. You’re been released from the chamber. Your results have come through from the coroner’s court. Petrus mentioned it just before I came away; he’s really looking forward to catching up with you at long last. So long, everybody. See you shortly. He disappeared, and a light breeze was left behind, reminding us of his existence.

The big clock down the road struck 1:00 a.m., which signified I had been dead exactly twelve hours. Homonus had been flitting around the room with gay abandon. I precariously ventured around the room a couple of times with my beautiful wings flapping, suddenly coming a cropper against a heavy door. There was an art to swinging these flippers two and fro, but I was determined as I always had been to master a new challenge.

There had been a conversation about one of the people in the chamber named Spiritas, who came into the chamber a couple of days ago. The police had spent a long time cleaning