01

Welcome to the Midway

An explosion. Wait . . . no. A car crash? Stabbed, or hanged? The details are muddled and are impossible to recall. You’ve moved so far away from the living. Everything is cold. So cold, right after the brief moment of shock. The one thought that passes through your shutting-down mind is, I’m dead. At this moment, your brain floods with a blast of chemicals. It is trying to cope with the fact that the body is indeed turning off forever. Life doesn’t end, though. You’re now seeing that the flesh isn’t you, as you experience weightlessness. The chill. The dark. An abstract sense of space, yet you have no body. Time is entirely still as the world fades away.

Linear thoughts are becoming more mangled. You try to pass a statement through your mind, tempted to ask, What is this? But ultimately, you feel no need to do so as dozens of expressions run through you. These ideas aren’t made up of the linear form of language, giving them more flexibility and potency.

Love. Peace.

Warmth. Wait a minute. Warm—that’s a refreshing change from the iciness of death.

Light.

An array of post-death colours blast by you, moving in waves outward, intricately overlayed with geometric patterns. The more closely you look at them, the more you discover tinier designs within them, continuing endlessly. The rays themselves are so vibrant you wonder if you could ever explain them. Your vision is seeing more within the spectrum of light than any human eye could. So many colours! In a strange sense, despite being so far away from everything and everyone that matters, you feel at home. It’s as if everything is going to be okay. Your consciousness has risen, broadening your understanding of life, the universe, and how everything so closely connects on a molecular level. The warm feeling is inviting, overpowering, and it pushes everything else aside as you experience the euphoria.

Call it Heaven, Nirvana—whatever human-bound word you choose matters not.

Life after death. Beautiful.

What’s that? There’s a black spot in the centre of the colour array. Strange. It’s growing. Even without a body, you feel a harsh vibration, like an earthquake. Disturbance. The black spot pulls apart, ripping the colours like fabric. It spins as it tears even more space, twisting around and around, sucking the colours into the unknown. Deep purple and blue smoke seeps from the centre of this new blackness. The rumbling you feel shifts into a sucking force, pulling you into the unknown. You can’t control yourself, helpless, being pulled into the black as all colours twist into thin lines until they’re nothing.

The welcoming feelings of peace, home, and oneness are foggy. You are stuck on this horror roller coaster of darkness, descending deeper into the abyss with no way out. The expanding consciousness is closing. The oneness you felt is gone as the regular, direct, word-based thoughts of your mind return. It’s as if you are alive once more. The black-and-blue spirals seem to go on forever. Lightning, purple clouds, and loud crackling are all around in this strange vortex. You swear you can see faces in the storm. Hands of lost souls reach upward, trying to pull you in.

New—or familiar, depending on how you look at it—senses come to you in the form of a body. Smell: rotten. Taste: stale. Touch: bitter breeze. Sound: groans of death. Vision: unfathomable. The spiral comes to an end with a loud thundering BOOM, pushing the clouds away, bringing the haunting ghost hands with it. You fall a few feet onto a rocky grey surface with a heavy thud, nose-first.

Nose first. A nose . . . yours. The body has returned to you. It’s healthier, at prime age. You’re able to push yourself up with arms and stand upright. The form is familiar, but so much better, making you wonder how this could be. You must be alive; otherwise, you wouldn’t have a body. Perhaps this is some strange form of reincarnation. If it is, we humans got it all wrong because this grey landscape is no part of Earth. You gaze out into the scene of nothing, reinforcing your thoughts. Everything fades to blackness beyond the edges of a strange oval-shaped plateau. The dark goes on forever, just below the not-so-ordinary sky. That black-and-blue vortex of spiralling faces is directly above. The damned vacuum that pulled you from euphoria is now hovering overhead, mocking you.

“How unexpected,” a growly, reverbing voice echoes. The voice is doubled, like two beings talking simultaneously. It comes from the dark, all around, and it is impossible to pinpoint the origins.

You want to respond, but are petrified. Everything is beyond confusing. One moment you were alive, and now you’re here, in some form of life after death.

“No mortal ends up falling into and out of Death’s Vortex,” the voice continues. “This may even be a first.”

Lightning and thunder erupt from above, catching you off-guard. You take a step back, walking into a light blue smoke channelling below your feet. You move. It follows, growing larger. You try to shake it off as it spirals up your limbs. Maybe swatting will work. Nope, your hand goes right through it, and you hit yourself in the junk. It looks like you can feel pain again, too.

The animated fog swirls away from your lower region and into open space. Dark blue-and-black smoke follows, appearing from the unknown as the elements clash together, moving through and around each other. They compress and mould into a torso, lean arms, and a skull with an extended muzzle; sharp teeth, white eyes, and tentacle-like black hair form. The being’s inner core contains the bright blue vapour, while the other smoke transforms into a translucent outer layer, like the white of an egg. Even without pupils in the glowing white eyes, the being is undoubtedly looking right at you. There are no legs. It floats effortlessly from the dissipating smoke below, endlessly channelling from the body. The tentacle-like hair flows up and down in a zero-gravity state, unlike your body, which is clearly bound by gravity.

“Well?” the being says, folding its arms, exposing the crosses scarred on his wrists.

You are speechless, uncertain how to reply, and you say, “Am I dead?”

The being laughs. “Am I dead?” it repeats. “I’m guessing you were a comedian in your past life.”

“I . . .” You pause, thinking about the question. Were you a comedian? Now you’re uncertain. You try and think back to the jobs you’ve had. Blank. Nothing. There is a giant gap in your knowledge. This is disturbing. You try and recall anything else about your past. Loved ones. Your first kiss. Family. Places you’ve been. The food you like. All of it—gone. You’ve forgotten every memory and everything you knew. Yet, you’re you. You know it.

“I . . .” You look down at your hands. Yes, those are yours. “I don’t remember . . . anything?”

“No, you wouldn’t,” the being says.

“What do you mean? I know I had a life. I was there.”

“Yet you can’t recall a single memory.”

The thought annoys you. Lacking memory is frustrating. It’s there, like a dream fading away while waking up, leaving you with nothing but vague feelings. “What is happening to me?”

“You are dead. You got that right. So keep observing your surroundings.”

Dead. The being confirms it. You had a life, one that has slipped from your memories. A brief moment of sadness washes over you, for all the things you cherished in life are now gone. You can’t recall any of them, no matter how important they once were. You want to freak out and scream in horror. Your lungs tighten as you forget to breathe. Your hands are shaking. Energy hums through you as you’re about to have a conniption.

The being speaks, pulling you back into the moment. “What interests me is how did you end up here?” the being asks, coming closer to you, only an arm’s reach apart.

“This . . . this can’t be. I’m dead?”

“Yes, we just discussed that.”

You rub your fingers together, feeling the texture and pressure of your skin. “How?”

The being extends one of its long claws, poking your forehead. It hurts. The skin is punctured. “That is what makes you a fascinating anomaly.”

You touch the pierced spot on your head. There’s a small bead of blood. You can feel pain; you have to be alive.

“I’ll ask again,” the being says. “How did you end up here?”

You scratch your head, trying to breathe calmly. “I don’t know. There were colours, brightness and—”

The being interrupts you. “Yes, yes. Home. Warmth. Broadening of the mind. All that typical nonsense that you experience when you die. Every mortal feels it. I want to know what was different, because that was supposed to continue until you’ve become one with it.”

“I was supposed to?”

“Yet you were pulled into and out of Death’s Vortex.”

“Death’s Vortex?” you ask.

“Yes.” The being points above. “An endless spiral moving inward; the resting bed for souls once they’ve lived out all their needed lives.”

“Those are souls . . . people?” You take another look at the vortex above, examining the wraith-like faces coming and going through the spirals. You’d think they would be in fear, but their expressions are neutral. Those hands are still trying to reach for you.

“Observant,” the being says.

“What happened?” you ask. “Who are you?”

“I should really have a welcome brochure,” the being mumbles to itself. “Even if I did, you’re no normal case. Your soul’s trajectory was interrupted.”

“What? Who would do that?”

“Might not be a who but a what,” the being says.

“Okay, so, what did it? Where are my memories?” you ask.

“Gone. Perhaps it is related to how you died, or your soul was in mid-transition of entering its next life, which would have erased them. Memories are always wiped when your next life begins. Let’s see if there’s any drop of knowledge in that primitive brain of yours. Answer me this: were you practicing any forms of magic?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Dark arts?”

“Not sure what the difference is.”

“Quantum experiment? Particle smashing? Wave manipulation? Deal with a demon?”

“No. No. No. No. I can’t remember anything.”

“Most interesting.” The being strokes its long jaw, staring at you, not blinking.

Many questions run through your mind. Where are you? What happened to your memories? Who are you? What is the meaning of all this? They spin around in your head until you finally blurt one out, saying, “What’s your name?”

The being breaks from its thoughts and introduces itself. “I am Malpherities. Seeing how useless you are, you probably don’t know yours.”

“No, I can’t say I do,” you reply.

“All right, then we’ll call you the Nameless One.”

“That doesn’t have a ring to it,” you say.

“Come up with a better name then,” Malpherities says.

At the moment, you can’t. It’s tough to think of a new name when you’re completely flustered with not knowing anything about yourself. So, you say, “We’ll work on it. Anyway, what are you?”

“I am a ghoul, a being birthed of Death’s Vortex. Unlike your carbon-based life, I come from the nether.”

“The nether?”

“Here, where we are. I’m one of many ghouls. We’re the conscious state of Death’s Vortex, expressed through individual entities.”

“What? This just gets more confusing.”

“Let me explain in a way you’ll understand. What period were you alive in?” Malpherities asks.

“I don’t know.”

“Of course, useless. All right, judging by how you talk, you probably were alive during some technological advancements. I am a piece of a hive mind. A projection of a larger consciousness with a twist of my own. Do you know what the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit are? In human religion, Christianity?”

“I think so.”

“Think of me like that. All three are one, yet each has their own personality, or ego, if you will.”

“Okay, so if you’re this Death’s Vortex, can you take me out of here?”

“If only it were that simple. You see, you’re now encased in a body again. You have flesh. I could kill you if you’d like; that would work.”

The thought passes through your mind. Considering you died once and don’t remember how, dying doesn’t seem too bad. Then again, experiencing the pain at the moment doesn’t sound appealing. You scratch your head, unsure what to say.

Malpherities raises his claw. “But you’d be thrown into Death’s Vortex. It’s a magnet for souls when you’re here. You won’t go back to the soothing colours that will transcend you into a new life.”

“Reincarnation?” you ask.

“Quick learner.”

“Fair enough. What is ‘here,’ anyway? You said ‘the nether.’”

The ghoul hovers away, presuming you will follow. So, you do. With each step you take, the darkness moves away from you. The vortex above behaves like a spotlight, beaming directly over you and the ghoul.

“Here is the Midway,” Malpherities says.

“Like purgatory?” you ask.

“You do have some knowledge in that brain of yours, after all. But no. Purgatory is a simplified explanation mortals have come up with for multiple realms you can end up in post-death.”

“Dimensions?”

“Sort of. Not overly relevant right now. Dimensions make things too complicated. What we’re interested in is knowing what happened to you.”

“What about realms?” you ask.

“You’re mortal; therefore, you’re from the mortal realm. It’s simple,” Malpherities says.

The two of you reach the edge of the oval plateau.

“What else is in this realm?” you ask, looking out into the vast darkness.

“Don’t bother. This plateau is all that matters,” Malpherities says, hovering towards a stone spiral staircase off to the side, leading down. Over the edge is a vast black sea thousands of feet below. The water is so still, it almost looks like a mirror. One can only wonder what lies beyond, if anything. You stare at the ocean for a moment and shake your head, realizing you’d best follow Malpherities until you have some grasp of what is happening. You hurry to catch up to the ghoul, following him down the stairs and into a vast cavern where large stalactites hang from the dome-like ceiling, covered in condensation. The sandy ground inclines to the centre of the cave, where a matted black pedestal rests, topped with a smooth golden bowl. Droplets fall from the large stalactite directly above, dripping into the dish. The distance of the droplets’ fall is so precise that nothing splashes outside of the bowl.

Malpherities moves up the hill and to the bowl, saying, “Come. We must find out why you’re here. If you did something in your mortal days to pierce through the soul’s natural passage, that is an extraordinary power that is unfathomable.”

“I’d have to be pretty smart to be the first to do that.”

“You would, which seems unlikely. I propose it is a series of events that managed to jolt you from your soul’s trajectory. A freak scenario of the cosmos, if you will. Or, someone else has unlocked an exceptional power.”

“I did see the center tear apart before coming here.”

“Interesting, and it brings you here,” Malpherities says.

“The Midway,” you say.

“Correct. The Midway was built by us ghouls, to allow us to phase in and out of space-time.”

“Space-time?”

Malpherities sighs. “You are a puddle of uselessness, aren’t you? We aren’t going to have a science crash course. Time and space are interchangeable. We ghouls shift through them, letting us feast on the dead, bathe ourselves in the dying.”

“So, you’re like the Grim Reaper?”

Malpherities snorts. “Grim Reaper. No, I’m not.”

“Sounds like you are,” you say.

“I am only an observer of death; it feeds my life force. Despite being connected to the larger hive mind, we ghouls possess our own personalities. I, for one, relish in schadenfreude.”

You reach the shrine beside Malpherities, who is standing directly beside the golden bowl. The ghoul looks into it. “For your overly simplified thinking,” he explains, “this Midway lets the users enter and leave periods. You can exist within the space, or simply observe through the mind of another.”

You lean over the bowl, looking into the black liquid that sits peacefully within. How strange, for you just saw a droplet land inside. It seems like there are more otherworldly mysteries to be discovered. You point at the bowl and ask, “Through this bowl?”

“Exactly. Dunking your head right in will send you into a specific time and a precise space. Depending on the potency, you may be a spectral, like a ghost, or a fully-formed being. Sprinkle a few droplets over your eyes, and you’ll be an observer.”

“An observer?”

“Well, we can adjust where and when you end up observing. This will aid us in trying to figure out how you died, when you died, and who you are. These answers will give us a sense of how you ended up here.”

“And you want to help me?”

“Whatever means that got you here disrupted a delicate balance for souls. I for one, don’t want any more of you showing up in the Midway. Or if someone did do this, they may be a threat. This place is for us ghouls, not mortals or anyone else.”

You look around the cavern, unsure about this whole bowl concept. The space is large, and the cavern descends deeper into darkness. At the edge of shadows, you see another sandy hill with a matte red pedestal and a golden bowl resting on it. “What about that bowl?” you ask.

“Again, we don’t need to get into dimensions. Everything gets . . . sticky,” Malpherities says.

“What if something from another dimension did this to me?”

“Let’s start with the practical, shall we?”

“And there’s no way you can put me back to that peaceful state?” you ask.

“No, unfortunately not. Your soul is here now. Death’s Vortex awaits.”

“But this bowl sends you to different places?”

“Yes,” Malpherities says.

“So I could just dive into it and live a new life, forget all of this?”

“You could, but you’re inexperienced and have no knowledge of controlling the Midway. You could end up in a torture chamber, or maybe on a planet filled with flesh-eating man-rabbits, nibbling away at you.”

“Gross.”

“Very. Let me control the bowl.” Malpherities dips one claw into the black liquid, scooping up a small amount. He uses his other two claws to rub the fluid around his palm, gently poking it. It’s unclear what he is doing. Maybe he is adjusting that space-time thing he talked about. Malpherities stops, then rises above you. “Open your eyes,” he commands.

“What?” You take a step back.

“We’re going to find out what happened to you. This will let you observe another’s life. We’ll shift between time and space to find out who you are.”

“You’re just going to make me observe someone’s life? Will I feel anything?”

“You will. You’ll experience everything the other soul does, as an observer. We’ll throw you into a person’s experience, letting us gather any sort of clue that will spark your memory, if there is any. A simple process of illumination.”

“How many times are we going to do this?” you ask, looking up at the ghoul. A droplet of the black liquid dangles from the tip of his claw, soon to fall on you.

“Hopefully, not many. Human minds are frail.” Malpherities taps his claw, forcing the droplet to separate. It falls directly into your eye, followed by a couple more drops in the same socket. You close your eyes, feeling a sting, now a burning sensation. You try to rub them, but it makes the pain worse.

“This hurts!” you shout.

“Embrace it. Let go of yourself,” Malpherities says, his voice fading. “Accept the passing and become the witness of another.”

Your eyes fly open. The cave, the shrine, and the ghoul begin to dissolve into white. Weightlessness returns to you. This time, it’s different, for there is no cold or warmth. You’re losing your thoughts as you enter a trance—an observer of another place and time.

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