From the Alley, Part 1 (A Garden Story)

A story from The Garden series.

“Why can’t I get out of here?” Simon screamed. “I hate this place.”

He slid through the trash bin and out into the alley. It was darker than normal. Turning toward the streetlight at the end, he could barely see it because of the mist and light rain falling. Lifting his hands, he wished he could feel moisture again. Oh what he wouldn’t give to feel rain. Or touch the walls. Even smelling the rotting garbage would be better than nothing at all.

Glancing up at the dark sky just barely becoming visible between the two tall buildings, he couldn’t fight the sadness overwhelming him. And anger. Anger at himself. Stupid! Why did he try to fight off those muggers? He should have just given them what they wanted. But no. He thought his fists could fight against knives. He had gotten up to a green belt in karate when he was in high school, so he believed he was tough. He thought he could beat them and keep his wallet with sixteen dollars in it.

Yeah, right. The fight was over in a matter of seconds. The next thing he knew, he was lying in a pool of his own blood, trying to make sense of what happened as they ran away with his wallet while he stared at the trashcan.

For hours he laid there. Thinking about his stupidity. Thinking about all his mistakes.

That was nearly two weeks ago. Or maybe three. Time is different now. He can’t control when he goes to sleep or when he wakes up. It can be daylight one moment with the streets full of people and cars going by, and then it all goes black. Later, he finds himself back in the alley where it all happened at a different time of the day. He had no control over it. Currently, it appeared to be almost dawn, though it was hard to tell with the rain.

Walking to the end of the alley, he looked down the empty streets one way and then the other. Turning south as he usually does first, he stopped in front of Harris Furniture Store and looked at the reflection in the large window. He could see the lights behind him, store fronts and neon signs, but not himself. He wanted to punch the window, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. He would just swing right through it.

Instead, he slid through the window and went into the store. Finding his favorite chair that faced the street, he sat down to watch the rain. It was weird how he could sit in a chair without falling through it to the ground, but he couldn’t feel it or move it. He couldn’t even move a piece of paper. Those stupid TV shows and movies lied. Spirits couldn’t move crap.

“I hate this place!” he screamed again.

“Oh, so do I,” came a low voice from somewhere in the store.

Simon jumped up from the chair and spun around, peering out into the dark showcase room. “Who’s there?”

“Just a friend. Someone like you.” A figure emerged, seemingly out of nothing. As it moved closer, it took the shape of a man wearing a suit similar to the ones the salesmen in the store wore. He adjusted and smoothed out the jacket before sitting on one of the couches. Stretching his arms out across the back of it, he smiled. “See? I’m just like you.”

He couldn’t believe it. Someone to talk to at last, even if the man did give off a weird vibe. “I’ve seen others like me. Passing by in a car or following someone in a store. You don’t look like them, though. They have these strange lights around.”

The man nodded and crossed his leg over his knees in a casual motion. “Those are called auras. Your life force. Your aura is yellow, although a bit murky.”

“Murky?”

“Yes. Yellow is generally associated with an enthusiastic personality. Out going. Confident. But when it’s murky, it usually means the opposite. A lack of it.”

Simon thought about the muggers in the alley. “I had confidence I could beat them.”

“Beat who?”

“Two thugs who tried to mug me a couple of weeks ago. Left me on the side of the store back there to die.”

Simon tilted his head a little. “Tried?”

“Well. Succeeded, I guess.”

“Tragic.” The man stood up and walked to the window, sliding his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “The world has gone to hell, and we’re left here to watch it burn and there’s nothing we can do.”

“Tell me about it.” Not feeling he was a threat, Simon went to the window and stood next to him. “I’m Simon. What’s your name? How did you…you know. End up how you are?”

He smiled. “My friends called me Deacon.”

“Deacon?”

Nodding, he said, “Yes. I like to help people. It’s what I do. Kind of like a deacon of a church. I’m not the leader, but I do know the answers to many different types of questions.”

Simon frowned. “I was never much of a church goer.”

“No?”

“Nah.”

“But, you do know what a deacon is?”

“Oh, yeah. I went to church with my mom a lot when I was a kid.”

“And you, just kind of quit going and you don’t know why? Is that it?”

“Sort of. I guess.” Simon shrugged, not sure if that was the reason or maybe something else. He was having a hard time remembering. “You know. You just, kind of forget to go when life gets busy.”

“I understand that.” Deacon looked over at him. “Life can be a bitch sometimes.”

Simon laughed. “I’m sure I would have ever heard a deacon say that!”

Deacon let out a little chuckle and turned back to the window as a car slowly drove by. The sound of the wet tires going over the pavement echoed off the buildings. He waited for it to pass, and once it was quiet again, he asked, “Do you think that is why you’re stuck here? Because you quit going to church and are now being punished for your many sins?”

He hadn’t really thought about it. At least, not the church aspect of it. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’ve tried thinking of the different reasons. It might be because I stole a dude’s wallet when he was drunk one time. Or because I drank and got in fights a lot. I guess not going to church and asking for forgiveness might be it.”

“Hmm. Sounds like you have quite a list of reasons. What else?”

Simon shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve walked out of restaurants a few times without paying. I cussed a lot. I never helped others because I don’t really care for people. I didn’t call my mom after our last fight? I don’t know. It could be a lot of things.”

“Wow. The list piles on.” Deacon turned and walked back to the couch and sat down, stretching his arms across the back again. “Well, if you’re tired of being here, I could help. Help you find a better place than here. Sounds like there’s not going to be a light for you.”

A fear began to rise in him. “No light?” Simon turned around. “You mean, like I’m going to be here forever?”

“Probably. That big guy in the sky you once believed in probably doesn’t want your kind up there. That’s why there was no light for you when you got stabbed.”

He hadn’t thought of that. “What do you have in mind?”

Deacon shrugged. “It depends on what you want. A cabin in the woods where it’s quiet? An apartment where there a lot of television choices? A bar in New Orleans or Las Vegas? There are many choices. Some cost more than others.”

“Cost?”

“Yes. Transfers are not easy. It takes a tremendous amount of energy.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“A transfer is when a soul gets transported to a new location. You don’t have a body anymore. You’re pure energy now. That’s why you can walk through walls and windows. Why you can picture yourself sitting in a chair, knowing you could sink to the floor if you wanted. The only thing you can’t do is move from the location or object you’re bound to.”

“Bound to?”

“Yes. The spot where you were killed. You were either looking at the trashcan or the wall or something there in the alley. Maybe the rain gutter. Who knows. But the point is, you’re bound to that area and only have about a three-block circle you can travel. Sometimes, though, a person might be looking at a necklace or a ring when they die, and they become bound to it. It becomes what some call a haunted object. It’s why you see people like you from time to time following others around who come to the stores here on main street, but don’t stay. They can’t, because they are bound to something a living person is carrying with them.”

This was too much information too fast. Simon shook his head. Or, at least, he thought he shook his head. Or was he just imagining he was shaking it? Willing it? Does he even have a head? “This is crazy.”

“No crazier than waking up under a trash can every day.”

He had a point.

Simon sat in a chair across from Deacon. “What did you mean by cost?”

Leaning forward, Deacon rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. “I’m talking about energy. You don’t seem to be afraid to do things. Things that are necessary. All I need for you to do are a few little tasks to help gather energy. The more energy you gather, the quicker you can be transferred to your place of preference. A lake. A big city. Wherever you want to go.”

That sounded nice. Getting away from the trashcan would be awesome. He hated waking up in that filthy alley every time. “What are the tasks?”

“Simple. I need you to change people’s auras. You probably haven’t noticed, yet, but the living has auras, too. And when those auras change, they set off a sort of energy that can be collected.” Deacon stood up and said, “I know sounds crazy, too, but come on. I’ll show you. You know that little cafe a block up the road from here?”

“Yeah.”

“They just opened for the morning. Let’s go have some fun, shall we?”

Simon stood up and nodded. “Yeah. This sounds promising. Sure. Let’s go.”

Deacon gave him one of the most beautiful smiles he’d ever seen. “That’s what I’m talking about. Enthusiasm. Confidence. Look at your arms. Your dull yellow is turning brighter already. See?”

Simon lifted his arm and looked at it. Sure enough, it appeared to be coated in a thin yellow light. “Amazing.”

“Amazing, indeed.” Deacon went through the window and out onto the sidewalk. “Come on, dear boy. I have lots to show you about being dead.”

Simon didn’t know if he was grinning with excitement or not, but that didn’t matter. He felt as if he was grinning, and that was all that mattered as he slid through the window and out onto the sidewalk next to his new friend.

(End Part 1)