With Planned Escape and Bargain’s Worth completed, I turned my attention to my patrons’ last tale for the month, a ghost story. As I started thinking about the story, my brain wandered to the world of Beetlejuice for a moment. But that singular moment was all my imagination needed. To be honest, I also funneled a little of Roz from Monsters, Inc. into the concept. Armed with those ideas, I wanted to highlight the most dangerous situation imaginable in an afterlife driven by bureaucracy. As a result, I added a little Hermes from Futurama and got to work creating this tale.
Some waiting rooms seem designed to make every minute stretch longer than the last. Rows of chairs fill every available inch while counters line the opposite wall, ready to process whoever steps forward. Aside from the clatter of keyboards, the only sound comes from the occasional announcement that someone is ready to be served. Somewhere beyond the people waiting their turn, unseen machinery keeps everything moving according to rules nobody truly understands.
Most systems function best when everyone arrives where they belong with everything required to move forward. A number leads to a counter, paperwork answers the necessary questions, and another person eventually takes the empty seat. When the process has existed long enough, following those steps becomes less of a choice and more of an expectation.
Elias awakens beneath a ceiling of dull white squares with no memory of how he arrived. Around him sits an endless collection of strangers while a distant clerk calls another number. With nothing in his hands and no idea what he is waiting for, Elias must figure out where he is and what he has to do next.
Excerpt of Pending Soul
Elias wiped his face and looked at the sea of dull white squares overhead. He blinked, then glanced to his left. Arrayed beside him were countless figures. Some of them appeared normal, but others were maimed or missing limbs. Startled, he twisted to the right, observing a similar line.
He hopped to his feet and backed away from the silent wounded. His eyes swept about them and noticed some were clutching numbered slips, file folders, or a handful of crumpled and yellowing papers.
A chime tore through the silence. Elias whirled toward an older woman sitting behind a counter. The woman’s attention remained fixed on her screen as she said, “Nine hundred and fifty-seven.”
A young man hopped up and shuffled to the woman’s station, waving his ticket in one hand as he gripped his file folder to his punctured chest. Something poked his ribs, and Elias jumped, then turned toward the jab.
“First time?” the strange lady asked, gripping his shoulder with a burned hand as a soft chuckle tumbled through her blistered lips.
Elias clutched his chest as he stared at her burned side. “What are you talking about?”
Her fingers tightened on Elias’s shoulder while pity crossed her face. “I’m sorry, it’s a poor joke someone threw my way when they dropped me off here.”
“Where’s here?”
“What’s the last thing you remember?” she asked as she patted Elias’s cheek.
“Headlights… screeching metal and tires… and there was something hitting my car… I think.” Elias’s hands turned toward him, then down to his body. “But I don’t see any broken bones, oozing blood, not even a bruise. What’s happening?”
“Where’s your paperwork?”
Another bell broke the silence, and a second clerk spoke moments later. “Now serving number nine hundred and fifty-eight.”
Elias looked down at his empty palms. He shook his head and raced toward the vacant counter, cutting off a figure missing an arm. “Can you help me?”
Without looking away from her terminal, the elderly clerk asked, “Number, please?”
“I never got one.” Elias frowned, lifting both hands to show the clerk. “I don’t even know how I got here.”
The clerk pulled her attention away from her monitor and stared straight through Elias. “Do you have your paperwork?”
“Don’t have that either,” Elias said, spreading his fingers wide as if to emphasize his words.
“Mmm hmm…” She tilted her head to see the individual she should be serving and rolled her head. “What’s your name?”
Elias gripped the desk’s edge as he leaned closer to the woman. “My name is Elias Mercer.”
“Back away, sir.” The clerk’s fingers typed away at her keyboard. Then her eyes went wide. She shook her hands and bent nearer to the screen as her typing resumed its cryptic dance. Moments later her jaw dropped with a pop. She pushed it back into place and looked at Elias.
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