Only Animals Allowed in Heaven

By Roger O. Williams

When an almost thirteen-year-old delinquent Jamaican boy died, his soul is denied entry to heaven. To his surprise, the boy ghost learns that only animals are allowed entrance into the Kingdom of God at that time. But most shockingly, the ghost boy also learns that for his soul to enter heaven, he must return to earth and save all the helpless animals . . . and he must accomplish the mission within forty-eight hours. Armed with just a small team of misfits (including a Rastafarian turkey vulture, a flamboyant male goat, a gospel-preaching cockroach, a ghetto-ish female mongoose, and help from a blind albino human girl), the ghost boy and his motley crew must race against time to not only save all the needy animals in the world but also to save ghost boy's soul from eternal damnation. 

 

 

About the Author:

Roger O. Williams is a former stagehand, stage manager, and props master in the theatrical field. He is also a U.S. military veteran, actor, and animal rights activist. He is the author of Turn Back Blow, Murder For Sale, and Only Animals Allowed in Heaven. He was born and raised in Manchester, a rural part of Jamaica. He currently lives in the United States.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roger O. Williams
• Release date: Oct 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781736239513

Book preview

tmp_2cb237411e2c8f1e0862b3e2daca261f_vvQlWc_html_7729c96f.png

A novel by

Roger O. Williams

Only Animals Allowed in Heaven

All Rights Reserved.

Copyright © 2020 Roger O. Williams

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, or events is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in any form—whether electronic, mechanical, or by any other or similar means of storage without the publisher’s written consent. However, brief quotations for crucial articles and reviews are allowed.

Publisher Roger O. Williams

ISBN: 978-1-7362395-0-6 (paperback)

Cover concept by Roger O. Williams.

Cover Designed by Michael Corvin

©2020 by Michael Corvin—used with permission.

Dedication

For all animals—especially those fur babies who have crossed the rainbow bridge.

Other books by Roger O. Williams

Turn Back Blow

Murder For Sale

Love Will Survive

Acknowledgments

Special thanks to Almighty God, who inspired me to write this fantastic book to continue to raise awareness of animal cruelty and bring attention to the plight that His voiceless animals go through daily. I would like to thank those who took the time out to answer some of my research questions. They are Kelly Gordon, Aston B. Wright, Balfour Anderson, and Horatio Williams. Special thanks to Mr. Damion Rose—a totally blind gentleman out of Kingston, Jamaica. Finally, thanks to my fans, friends, and family—especially my mom—who always encouraged me to keep writing and continue to be the voice for the voiceless animals.

Author’s Note

I have been an animal lover since I was a boy growing up in Jamaica. When I was four years old, I lost my pet pig under horrible circumstances, so animal cruelty awareness is personal to me. Every book that I write has an animal-loving message—no matter the book’s theme. Of all the ideas that I had for a fourth novel, I chose to work on this one because it is important to continue raising awareness of animal cruelty. I grew up on an island where it is not the culture to show kindness to animals. However, I am happy that my first novel, Turn Back Blow, has shined a light on the issue. The book has made an enormous difference by opening many people’s eyes in my country on the topic. Turn Back Blow has shown many people that animals have feelings too. The book also demonstrates the importance of animal and human friendship and much more. Only Animals Allowed in Heaven’s story is a stand-alone, but it is a continuation of my message and mission: to show people that animals need to be loved just like us, and for me as an individual to continue be the voice for all animals, especially the helpless ones. I am the first author from Jamaica (and possibly the entire Caribbean) to take on animal cruelty and write a book on the topic. I must point out that none of my two animal novels are graphic. Many readers say Turn Back Blow is one of the best animal stories that they have ever read. They say the book is educational and entertaining, and I am sure readers will also find Only Animals Allowed in Heaven instructive, enjoyable, and intriguing.

Thank you for buying a copy of this book, and I hope you enjoy the story. I also hope you learn a lot from it. Thanks again.

— Roger O. Williams

TABLE OF CONTENTS

tmp_2cb237411e2c8f1e0862b3e2daca261f_vvQlWc_html_m4ba5b7e6.jpg

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

EPILOGUE

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

tmp_2cb237411e2c8f1e0862b3e2daca261f_vvQlWc_html_m4ba5b7e6.jpg

Community: Hill Town

Distance: Seven Miles from Montego Bay

Date: Thursday, April 27, 2017

The hot afternoon sunlight bathed the front section of a yard in Hill Town—a small rural community in the parish of St. James, Jamaica. A one-bedroom concrete house sat in the middle of a piece of land. The exterior walls of the house were painted in light blue. A couple of cement blocks were strategically placed on the front part of its rusty zinc-sheet roof—to prevent the zinc sheets from blowing away during hurricanes. The front door of the house was closed, and its single-board window was half-opened. Three concrete steps were built on the ground in front of the door.

The front of the house was facing a small dirt road. About forty yards away, an old wooden gate and a barbed-wire fence secured the yard entrance. The yard was covered with small gravel and dark-brown dirt. An old zinc fence separated the left side of the house from a neighbor’s yard. However, the other side of the property had several thick clumps of bushes and trees. A human hand parted a section of one of the clusters of bushes, and the face of Wiggles—a delinquent boy—was revealed among the brush. Wiggles was almost thirteen years old, and he had dark skin and low-cut hair. He was crouching in the bushes while scanning the yard with a pair of dark brown eyes.

About one foot from where Wiggles was hiding, two adult lizards (a male and a female) sat on a low-hanging tree limb.

The female lizard was watching the boy with curious eyes. Look on dis human bwoy invading our space, she said. A wonder what him up to?

Him come around often, answered the female lizard’s male companion.

Is di first mi seeing him. What him normally do?

You soon see.

The loud cackling of a hen shattered the afternoon silence. The cackling came from a small square-shaped hole at the base, at a section of the house’s front wall. The small hole was ten inches in diameter, and it was about four feet from one side of the steps. Wiggles looked toward the sound, and a broad smile appeared on his face. The delinquent boy crawled out of the bushes and then stood his four-foot-five-inch slim body up. He was wearing an old brown T-shirt and khaki pants. Each pant leg was cut off below his knees. He had no shoes on his size seven feet. Even though he owned a pair of old sneakers, he seldom wore them. The delinquent boy loved to feel the pebbles and stones beneath his feet while walking. He was given the nickname Wiggles because he was good at wiggling himself through tight spaces. The delinquent boy scanned the yard with his eyes once more. Satisfied that no one had seen him, the boy tiptoed to the side of the house, where the hen was cackling. Wiggles stooped and then lay flat on his belly. He pushed his head and shoulders through the small hole at the base of the house.

The boy wiggled his slender body from side to side like a worm until he disappeared beneath the bottom of the house. About two minutes later, his two hands appeared from beneath the house. A large New Hampshire hen—with chestnut red feathers—was in the boy’s right hand and three large brown eggs in his left hand. Just as Wiggles began to crawl his way out of the hole, the front door of the house creaked open. Miss Lyza, a tall, sixty-year-old lady—who had a sour look on her face—stepped out of the house and stopped on the top step. The miserable-looking lady had an old wig on her head. The wig looked like Miss Lyza had not combed or brushed it for days (wild strands of synthetic hair were all over the place!). The wig looked like a bunch of dried coconut trash. A green and white floral dress hung on Miss Lyza’s slender body. A pink slip that she was wearing beneath her dress was partially showing at the bottom of the dress. The lady with the miserable look on her face wore an old pair of slippers. She was holding an old plastic bucket by its handle with one hand. The plastic container was half-filled with dark, dirty water. Wiggles’s movement caught the lady’s eyes. She turned her head and looked at the boy with surprise on her face.

The old lady rested the bucket at her feet and then quickly descended the steps. Miss Lyza pointed at the boy. Thief! Put down mi fowl! And mi eggs! Thief!

With the panic-stricken and cackling hen in one hand, Wiggles quickly crawled out from beneath the tight space, pushed himself up, and ran . . . with the fowl and the eggs. The delinquent boy accidentally ran in the wrong direction by running toward the old zinc fence. He ran to that side of the house, but there was a very tall, closed zinc gate at the back of the house—that blocked his way. Wiggles stopped and turned around to face a furious Miss Lyza. The angry lady was standing a few feet away from him, blocking his only escape route. Wiggles backed up until his back was literally against the tall, closed zinc gate. The almost thirteen-year-old thief was cornered like a rat.

Miss Lyza pointed at Wiggles. Who you? So, is you thieving mi eggs? And where you going wid mi fowl, eh?

Ahm, ahm, said Wiggles, the high school putting on a fundraising drama play up by the community center, month-end. And the drama teacher give mi a part in the play.

So, what part you going to play in di play—a fowl thief?

No, ahm. Mi, mi, mi going to play a fowl.

Miss Lyza looked at the three eggs in the boy’s hands. So what di eggs dem for?

Ahm, ahm. Is a female fowl role them give mi to play, so mi have to practice to lay egg.

You liar’d little retch! Watch mi and you in here today!

Miss Lyza used her two hands and clutched each side of her dress above the hip. She rocked her waist two times to pull up her slip. Then she took off one of her slippers and pointed it at Wiggles. A going beat the thief-ness out of you today! Miss Lyza moved toward Wiggles. The delinquent boy looked at the foot of slipper in her hand and then ran toward the lady. While running, the boy threw the frightened hen toward her. The female fowl flew and landed on top of the lady’s head. The fowl tried to fly away, but some of its toes got caught in the lady’s wig.

Miss Lyza immediately dropped the slipper that she had in her hand. She used her two hands and grabbed the scared hen. However, it was difficult for her to hold on to the chicken. The frightened bird was wildly thrashing about on top of her head. Miss Lyza tried desperately to separate the fowl from her wig. While she struggled to free the domesticated bird from her wig, Wiggles dived onto his belly and slipped between the lady’s two legs. All three eggs fell from the boy’s hand and broke upon contact with the hard dirt. Wiggles quickly got up and then ran toward the gate at the entrance of the property.

The large hen freed itself, but it accidentally pulled Miss Lyza’s wig off her head in the process. The frightened fowl flew away with her wig still attached to its toes. The angry lady tried to run after Wiggles, but she slid on the slippery contents of the broken eggs and landed flat on her butt. She looked at Wiggles, who, by now, was in the process of climbing over the closed gate. The angry lady pointed at the delinquent boy and cursed at the top of her voice.

CHAPTER TWO

tmp_2cb237411e2c8f1e0862b3e2daca261f_vvQlWc_html_m4ba5b7e6.jpg

Somewhere in Hill Town

Brown paint covered the interior walls of a room. A single low-wattage lightbulb in the middle of the room’s ceiling barely illuminated the interior. There were two windows in the room, but both windows were covered with a thick piece of black cloth. A small, rectangular-shaped iron table was in one section of the room. One of the longer sides of the table was resting against one wall in the room. There were two red candles on top of the table. Both candlewicks were lit, and a single flame of fire danced lazily on each wick. An old, iron coal stove was sitting between the two burning candles. Bright, red-hot coals glowed inside of the stove. An adult-sized human skull was fixed to one section of the wall above the table and the hot stove. The skull was spray-painted black, and a US twenty-five-cent coin was placed in each of its eye sockets. A small, white horizontal banner with bright, red-colored words read: "Money Make The Heart Glad" was pasted to the wall below the human skull.

An old, burgundy-colored three-seater sofa was at the opposite side of the room. The back of the sofa was resting against a wall. A twenty-year-old, light-skinned thug was sitting on one end of the couch. He was a bit on the skinny side, and he wore a large pair of eyeglasses on his nose. Everyone in the community called him Nuff Eye because his two eyes looked super huge when he wore the large pair of eyeglasses. Nuff Eye had on a blue T-shirt, blue jeans, and a pair of black sneakers. He had a smartphone in his hands, and he was holding the mobile device close to his face. His large eyes were focused on a hockey game that he was playing on the cell phone. The game’s volume was turned up, and the commentator’s voice in the game filled the room. The light-skinned, glasses-wearing thug was a huge fan of hockey. He was one of only a few persons in the community who stuttered.

A short, chubby, twenty-five-year-old thug was sitting on the other end of the sofa. His nickname was Sweet Gut, and he had a huge belly. Sweet Gut wore a tight, cream-colored T-shirt and a pair of black jeans. An old, red baseball cap sat crooked on top of the chubby thug’s fat head. He was holding a tin of sweetened condensed milk in one of his fat hands. He loved to drink extra sweet liquids—hence, the nickname Sweet Gut. The fat thug put the can of condensed milk to his lips and sucked some of the thick liquid through one of two small holes pierced on the top of the can.

Suddenly, a door was pushed open, and Dregs, a thirty-year-old thug, entered the poorly lit room. He was about five foot ten with a medium-built body. The skin on his face, arms, and legs was bleached white from bleaching cream. However, places like the back of his ears, elbows, and knuckles had his naturally dark skin tone. Dregs was dressed in a green short-sleeved shirt. The shirt was opened at the front—revealing a white tank top. He had on a pair of green, straight-fitted jeans. Both legs of the jeans were rolled up above the knees. Most of the skin on his two legs was bleached white. However, the skin on his ankles and his two kneecaps did not give in to the bleaching cream so well (they were still dark). The skin of his two legs looked like a piece of tie-dyed cloth.

Several bulgy, twisted blueish varicose veins covered his legs. A pair of name brand green-and-white sneakers fit comfortably on his feet. His hair on the back of his head was braided in a cornrow style—known colloquially on the island as cane-row. He had a large dollar sign tattooed on the right side of his neck. The thug had a white plastic bag with a paper fried chicken box inside it in his left hand and a broadsheet newspaper and a red-colored plastic yo-yo in his right hand. His lips and the area around his mouth were oily, and he smelled of fried chicken. The string of the yo-yo was attached to his right index finger.

Dregs was the black sheep in his family. He had been in and out of jail for various offenses since he was eighteen years old. Dregs had never worked an honest job in his life. The tall, bleached-skinned thug did not believe in a nine-to-five job. Both Nuff Eye and Sweet Gut had been working for him for a little over two years. They were a small team of lottery scammers. Dregs and his small crew would often illegally gain access to people’s (mostly elderly people) phone numbers in the US. The thugs would call their victims and tell them that they had won a lottery. They always told the person they called that in order to collect their winning prizes, they must send money to them (the scammers) to deal with taxes and various fees. The scheme involved putting on an American accent—something that Sweet Gut was good at. Nuff Eye would get the list with the multiple names and telephone numbers, Sweet Gut would make the call using an American accent, and Dregs would collect the money at a specific remittance outlet.

At the sight of Dregs’s presence, Sweet Gut used a hand and slapped the sofa’s seat to get Nuff Eye’s attention, but the hockey-loving thug was too busy playing the hockey game on his cell phone. Dregs ignored both young men and walked to the table. He rested the plastic bag with the fried chicken box on the table directly in front of the coal stove. Then he rested the newspaper close to one of the burning candles. Dregs turned and faced the sofa. He correctly positioned the yo-yo string on his right index finger and then tested the yo-yo with a downward flick. The yo-yo dropped vertically and flicked back into his right palm. Dregs walked to Nuff Eye and flicked the yo-yo with