Holy Fudgesicles

By Jason Bougger

Getting run over by a bus can ruin your day, but it doesn't have to ruin your summer. The accident leaves ninth grader Kyle Hickman seemingly dead at the scene as he makes a quick visit to an unexpected afterlife. He awakens unscathed with a new sense of being, an unclear mission, and mystical healing powers. Holy Fudgesicles follows Kyle as he comes to terms with the new life resulting from his powers, while taking on the increasingly difficult tasks of covering his tracks and fulfilling his purpose.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: May 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781613092330

Book preview

One

"W e’ll never get laid playing Dungeons and Dragons ."

Those were the words my pal Chris used to convince me to put down the dice and pick up the pigskin.

The words that so eloquently hit me over the head, telling me I was a dork.

They were also, of course, the words that ran through my head as I died.

I suppose it shouldn’t have come as a big shock to anyone. I always did lack the basic coordination required to succeed in any kind of athletic activity. But on that infamous Sunday afternoon, when Zack and Mike reluctantly hit the backyard to throw around a football with me, I knew something great was about to come down the horizon for all of us.

Our gaming group consisted of Zack, Mike, and Chris, but it was Chris who was the first to drop out. He was right, of course. It was time to give up the silly kid’s stuff and start trying to fit in if we wanted our lives to amount to anything.

It was time to put the days of role playing and video games behind us. In their place: sports, beer, and girls. We were, after all, entering our final summer vacation before starting high school.

So with a canceled gaming session, I felt we had no alternative but to try following the killer advice given to me by Chris just an hour earlier. I dusted off the unused football my dad bought me for Christmas last year and brought it over to Zack’s house.

What the hell are we supposed to do with that? Mike asked, using the same tone he might have used to ask why someone would bring an antique porcelain statue to a pre-school birthday party.

I don’t know. The thing still felt awkward in my hands. Throw it around, I guess.

Why would we want to do that? He grimaced, backing up a few steps as he said it.

I thought about it for a couple of seconds, looking at the way he wore one of his too-tight-shirts tucked into his too-short-shorts really making his gut stick out, and then the correct answer came to me: Because it’s what the cool kids do.

Zack poked his head out from around the corner. What? We’re not cool?

No. We’re not, I said, staring squarely at his mullet.

"But I’ve got a Monty Python’s Flying Circus DVD on in the living room as we speak."

"You know what? We’ll never get laid watching Monty Python’s Flying Circus." I didn’t let the fact that I was standing in his front door stop me from throwing the ball directly at him. Or at least attempting to throw the ball directly at him. Since that was the first time I had ever actually thrown a football, it just kind of spun out of control in his general direction.

He didn’t try to catch it; he probably wouldn’t have even known how, but he did manage to jump toward it and swipe it away in midair, sending it flying off into the living room and bouncing off the TV just as John Cleese appeared on it, entering a pet shop to return his dead parrot.

It seemed like the football was following my line of thinking.

Sorry if I almost grazed your mullet. I laughed while Zack scrunched up his nose and broke eye contact. He was so easy to piss off.

He pouted as he picked up the football. We really shouldn’t be throwing this thing in the house.

Before I could respond, I felt Mike’s meaty hand on my shoulder. You know, maybe you’re onto something. Maybe we should give this thing a try. Anything that pisses Zack off like that can’t be all bad.

I shrugged. Very hard to disagree with that logic.

Zack thoughtfully walked to us and I prepared myself for a scolding, or a whiny lecture, or whatever else he had in mind.

Instead, he handed me the ball and said, We’ll never get laid reading Tolkien, either. Let’s take this outside and learn to be cool, boys.

"I’m pretty sure the Urban Dictionary lists the three of us in the antonym section of the word ‘cool,’ so I’m by no means an expert, I said, but I’m glad to see you came around so quickly."

How do you think it works? Mike asked.

I held the ball up with my left hand, my fingers on the stitches. I think you hold it like this when you throw it.

You think? Zack sneered. You clearly have no idea, judging by how you threw it a couple minutes ago. Just give me that thing and I’ll show you how it’s done.

Have at it, I said with a smirk, holding the ball out for him to grab.

He slugged me in the shoulder and then grabbed it with his other hand, just before taking off running out the front door.

I chased him, with Mike stumbling behind me.

We’ll never get laid watching anime! he yelled and threw the ball at my chest.

I lifted my hands to catch it, but failed miserably. In fact, it bent my index finger backward and hurt like serious hell.

Ooh, did baby break a nail? Zack said, laughing.

Mike picked up the ball and tossed it to Zack, pretty pathetically, but a big grin appeared on his face when Zack caught it.

"We’ll never get laid watching Dr. Who either," Mike said, holding out his arms for Zack to throw the ball back.

No way. I want this one, I said, holding out my arms. "By the way, I’m pretty sure listening to Rush doesn’t do much for our cause either."

"Or Weird Al. Now go out for a long one," Zack yelled.

I nodded and started running backward as quickly as I could. Repeating what Chris told me to start the silliness, I rose my arms into the air and yelled, "We’ll never get laid playing Dungeons and Dragons."

A compelling argument, Zack said just before launching the ball into the air.

He overshot, so I ran a bit further. I almost tripped over the curb going onto the street, but I regained my balance and kept my eye on the ball. It had a perfect spiral. I watched it linger in the air...

Kyle!

I lifted my arms, grabbing the ball in mid-air. I barely heard Mike shouting my name and then I didn’t hear anything at all.

Two

Everything was white . And everything was...nothing. As far as my eyes could see, nothing but empty white space surrounded me. It went on forever, but if I tried to focus my eyes off into the distance, it seemed to get brighter.

I closed my eyes, but nothing changed; the bright whiteness remained and I wondered if I had even shut my eyes at all. I opened my eyes, and slowly closed them again, but had the same result. Maybe I had gone blind and was seeing what blind people see...not dark nothingness, but light nothingness. I looked up, hoping to see some kind of sky or ceiling, but the empty space extended over my head as well. I looked down...

What the hell?

The fact that there was no ground only momentarily distracted me from the fact that I had no feet. And then I saw that it wasn’t just my feet that were missing.

Where the hell am I?

Don’t worry, it’s not Hell.

After getting over the initial shock of hearing a familiar voice, I turned toward where the voice had come from. As I turned, it occurred to me that I wasn’t even sure which way I was turning. Or even which way was up or down, or if up and down even existed anymore.

I could see a figure emerging in the distance. Soon, I could see arms, legs, and a head appearing on her. I wondered how she got off having a body when I was stranded there floating bodiless in the middle of nothing.

I also started getting a much clearer understanding of my fate. And I was sure not happy about it.

Shit.

Hi, Kyle.

She looked great. She wasn’t any younger than when she died, but all of the pain was gone from her face. She wore a long, white gown that seemed to block out just enough light to avoid blending in with the surroundings.

Grandma. I couldn’t believe what I was saying. So this is it? I’m dead?

She smiled, revealing teeth that were clean, white, and straight. And real. I always told you to look both ways before you cross the street.

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Everything started coming back to me. I was running to catch the ball after Zack threw it too high. And I ran straight into the street. And then...

Holy shit, I’m in Heaven!

She reached out and put her hand on where my right shoulder would be if I still had one. "We’ve really got to do something about that mouth of yours."

So this is it? I’m actually dead? And I made the cut? I looked past her into that weird brightness that made my eyes burn. I’m sure it beat the alternative, but at the moment, Heaven seemed to be a bit of a letdown. Where were the angels? And harps? And ninety-nine virgins?

She smiled again. No, no, Kyle. It’s not like that. It’ll be years before you’re ready to enter the Pearly Gates. Right now, we’ve got other plans for you.

Plans? What plans?

You’re getting a second chance. Somehow the love and calmness in her voice balanced out all of the craziness of the situation and I felt just as calm as her voice.

You mean, like, a second chance at life? Like I’m not going to stay dead?

She chuckled. She held out her arms with her palms facing upward. This place is more like a rest stop on the way to eternity. A tunnel, as some people perceive it. But what’s important is that you understand we’re sending you back with work to do. Hard work at times. And you’ll have to make some difficult decisions.

Work? I didn’t want to work. Although I suppose it was a better option than being dead. What kind of decisions?

You’ll know what is needed of you when the time is right. And you’ve really got to watch your language. Everybody can hear you up here, you know.

I wasn’t sure how long it had been going on, but blood had begun flowing from wounds on her palms. Grandma, you’re...you’re bleeding.

Before I even finished that sentence, it started gushing from holes formed at the top of her bare feet too. I looked her in the eyes, and watched blood start pouring down over her face from a large jagged cut across her forehead. A giant red stain appeared on her white gown, directly over her heart.

The stain continued to grow. Now go. And sin no more.

I gasped, helpless and suddenly unable to speak. I wanted to shout Grandma! but before I could get any words out, she was gone.

In her place, standing face to face with me was...

JESUS, I SAID, OPENING my eyes.

Yeah. Jesus Christ, Kyle. You ran right out in front of the Senior Bus, Mike said, squatting over me with his face about an inch and a half from mine. Don’t move.

I ignored his order and sat up. The Senior Bus took the old ladies to the casinos in Sloan, Iowa the third Sunday of every month. But it had taken me a lot farther than Sloan.

Looking around, I saw about a dozen old ladies standing in a circle near the bus, which was pulled halfway up the curb. I recognized a few of them as the blue-haired ladies that didn’t like my attitude in church. No doubt they were thinking I got exactly what I deserved.

The bus driver nearly knocked Mike down running toward me. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I couldn’t see ya! he shouted over the approaching sirens. Please be okay, kid!

I’m fine, I said, trying to wave off his advances.

An ambulance pulled up and parked on the curb next to the bus.

Dude! Mike grabbed me and placed both of his hands on my shoulders. You were hit by a bus. Stay put.

I... I stayed put, just like Mike said to. What just happened to me? Did I actually get spared from death because Grandma, or whoever was pulling her strings up there, wants me to do something here? Does that even happen? I couldn’t have actually died. I didn’t even feel like I got the wind knocked out of me, let alone the life. Maybe the bus didn’t even hit me and it was all just an optical illusion or something.

But something did happen, that was for sure. My shirt was nearly torn in two, and looked to be held on to me by only a few strings. Both knees had been blown out of my new blue jeans. And I was missing a shoe.

At that moment, I didn’t know what to do. With all of the chaos going on around me, I knew the situation was more serious than I would have liked it to be. If things weren’t already crazy enough, they’d only get worse if I started talking about white tunnels of emptiness and my dead grandma.

So instead, I asked, Where’s Zack?

Mike pointed to the large tree in Zack’s backyard, just past the group of old ladies. He’s over there, crying and throwing up.

The bus driver grabbed me again. Please, kid. I’m sorry. I just couldn’t stop in time. You ran out after that football and...oh, Jesus. I’m gonna lose my job over this.

His job? He may or may not have killed me, and he was worried about his job? Still, for some reason, I felt compelled to comfort him. It’s okay. Look at me. I’m fine. I’m walking. I certainly didn’t die or anything like that. The poor guy had begun sobbing so uncontrollably, I wondered if he even heard what I said. It’s not your fault, I added, hoping that at least that message could enter his ears over his own babbling.

Clear the area! Jimmy Van Sutton, chief of the volunteer firefighters, yelled at the other two men with him as they rushed toward me. Where’s the hurt kid?

It’s me, I said, raising my hand to identify myself. I’m not hurt.

Take a seat, kid, Jimmy said. You’re not going anywhere until we get you checked out.

I sat down on the curb and suddenly all three of them were shining lights in my eyes and ears and listening to my pulse. Jimmy Van Sutton rubbed his oily hands all over every square inch of me.

Stop that, I snapped. Nothing’s broken.

Jimmy Van Sutton turned to the bus driver, while the other EMTs continued their attempt to fondle me. What exactly happened?

I was driving the ladies to Sloan. Not drinking, or fiddling with the radio, or anything. Going twenty-five, the posted speed limit, you understand, when I saw a football fly past the windshield. Old Rosa Swanson hollered ‘kid!’ but before I could even hit the brakes, he was right there. He just... and with that, the old man’s words morphed into another mess of sobbing gibberish.

Jimmy patted him on the shoulder. It’s okay, Berks. It’s okay. Just catch your breath and go on when you can.

The old man, Berks, seemed to be on the verge of hyperventilating, but continued pushing words out between sobs and deep breaths. I ran right over him. Slammed on the brakes and stopped on the curb. Kid should be dead. The bus went straight over him. All the way. My God!

My God indeed. I should be dead. The EMTs had given up on their conquest of my body long enough for me to