The alarm sounded at about 2:30 AM, "Shit!" Nelson shouted as he sprang from the covers, "Shit! Shit! Shit!"
Late again! This time would mean a nice write up would be waiting for him upon arrival at the office; his boss would give him that look, that tone of voice, "Nelson," he would say in a nasally high-pitched assault on the ears, "what are the three points of success? You do want to succeed don't you?" Gilbert Winston, that sniveling heel, would be right there, just out of sight to revel in his misery.
"Alexa!" Nelson called out, "Play daily News!" No reason to rush, he thought as the news began playing through a small echo on the corner of the bathroom counter.
He turned on the shower, attempting to get the temperature just right before slipping passed the curtains.
"This just in," The News Anchor stated, voice almost in a panic, "The meltdown occurred at approximately 12:30 AM this morning, several workers are in the process of being evacuated with approximately ten workers suffering from exposure to high levels of radiation."
What the hell? Nelson thought, was she talking about HIS plant? It couldn't be. He reached for the bar of soap and began to lather, taking in the warmth and steam it produced.
Lathering up the soap he closed his eyes tight and began to vigorously wash his face, "You know," came a man's voice from just beyond the curtain, "I have always found human inventions quite intriguing."
Nelson stopped dead, opened his burning eyes as he cautiously pulled the shower curtain aside to reveal a tall pale-looking man in an old 1920's business suit and bowler hat stroking a black gotee using his toilet as a chair.
Nelson let out a high-pitched scream and slipped backwards into the bath tub, smacking his head on the wall and ledge in the process of finding the ground, "Oh dear," said the man, "was this not the proper place to talk?"
"Talk?!" Nelson shouted, fighting shooting pain in the back of his head along with burning eyes, "What the fuck are you doing in my bathroom?! How the hell did you get in here?!"
"Yes, yes," The man replied, "always the same. My bathroom. My kitchen. My bed. Some awkward, some not, I can never keep track of which is which. Its' all a jumble of niceties, we don't really have much time for that anyway."
The man casually checked his watch, "Time," he mused, "I am not even sure how you people live with it."
Nelson couldn't bring himself to move, "Look man," he said, panting, "just tell me what you want, money? I don't have much, just please take whatever it is and get the hell out!"
The man stood up, towering over Nelson, "It isn't about me, Nelson," he grinned such a big grin it seemed almost inhuman, "it is about you."
Nelson was visibly shaking as he followed the man's long index finger to the Echo in the corner of the room, still playing the News Broadcast regarding the melt down at the Nuclear Power Plant.
"You see, my dear friend," The man said, "you were correct to question the News Broadcast. The News Anchor was, indeed, referring to YOUR Power Plant."
"Wh-what are you saying?" Nelson managed.
"Nelson Jacob Jensen," The man replied, "You died in that melt down at 12:30 AM." The man let the real news sink in. Humans, he thought, such fragile creatures, even when they transition to the realm of entities.
He watched as Nelson shook his head in disbelief, "No," Nelson retorted, "No, there's no way! I'm in my apartment right now! I can feel the hot water! The steam! My alarm was set! I'm already two hours late for work!"
The man sighed, "Oh Nelson," he offered a hand to the trembling fool before him, "I wish it were easy to explain to you, but it certainly is true, and I am to be your... Guide, if you will..."
Nelson clasped hands with the man, as if something within had compelled him to do so, something beyond his control, "Guide?" He replied, "Guide to where?"
The man hoisted Nelson to his feet and held up a hand, "To where your journey really begins," he snapped his fingers, "Buckle up."
The room seemed to swirl, round and round, a blur of color, of white, of blue, of silver, shimmering, the man seemed to phase out, everything swirling, Nelson felt a strange nausea come over him, but as he attempted to put his arms over his stomach... It was strange, there were no arms, only swirls of color and light, a shimmer.
In another instant, everything was gone... Darkness.
***
Nelson found himself fully clothed in a a dark gray jumpsuit made of a material he had never felt before, every sense seemed heightened, including the nausea he felt before... He lurched over to vomit, "Mind the floor, good fellow." The man called out from his right.
Nelson simply could not hold it back, he let loose, a green slimy substance exploded from his mouth, "Damn you first timers!" The man reprimanded him, "Now I am going to have to call maintenance, and I hate having to deal with maintenance! Funny little people they are, not in a good way mind you!"
The man flipped a switch on a plain white wall that seemed to appear almost out of nowhere, "Clean-up in Back Room Two Thousand Forty Seven!" He flipped the switch again.
"Where," Nelson started, trying to compose himself, "Where are you?" The man continued for him, "Interesting response, very interesting. Most start with 'what' as in 'what is this green goo that just exploded out of me.' Well THAT, my boy, is what was remaining of your living essence."
Nelson stared at the gooey puddle, seeming to almost slither to and fro on the plain white floor before him.
This is insane, he thought, I must be having a terrible dream! This has got to be some sort of dream! Maybe I slipped in the bathtub and knocked myself out cold!
"I assure you," The man replied, "this is no dream, Mr. Jensen, this is very real, perhaps more a bit more real than you are used to, having lived in that...place...for so long."
Nelson was awestruck, "You can read my mind?!"
"Mind," The man replied, "is, technically, all you are at the moment. Well, something like that anyway, it is not easy to explain using this primitive mode of communication, but I have found it is a mode of communication that you creatures seem comfortable with."
At that moment Nelson's attention was drawn to a slit in the wall, having slid away to reveal two small black figures pushing a mop and a bucket.
They seemed to only be silhouettes with no real features, other than pure shadow; one of the figures stepped over to the man and seemed to make a few 'warbling' sounds similar to a turkey, "Yes, yes you terrible little trash weasels," The man seemed to reply to the figure, "over there in front of our new arrival, make it quick, as we have much to discuss and even more to do!"
The figure seemed annoyed with the man, giving a dismissive 'humph' as it waived its' companion over with the mop and bucket.
The man remained silent as the two 'shades' made quick work of the goo and exited the way they had arrived, leaving the two alone in the plain white room.
"Smelly little devils," The man sneered, "now then! Back to the business at hand!"
"What were those things?" Nelson could not help but ask.
"Nevermind them," The man replied, "They are about as dimwitted as they come! I have not properly introduced myself. In this form I am called 'Reginald,' but YOU may call me Mr. Hatman," he pointed at the bowler hat on his head, "mainly because I like the hat!"
"Mr. Hatman?" Nelson laughed, "What sort of weird crap is this?!"
"Everyone's a critic," The man's grin vanished, "as I said before, I have been assigned as your Guide, you are 'dead,' whatever that means to you, but it isn't quite what you think it is."
"I can see that," Nelson replied as he looked around the plain white room, "what is it then? What is this place, and WHAT are YOU?"
"*I* am harder to explain," Mr. Hatman replied, "this place is one of the back rooms between the world you knew and the world that IS. The life you once knew, all that jazz about time, space, going to work, paying your bills, whatever those are, that was all just a staging area... A testing ground, if you will."
"Testing ground? Testing for what?" Nelson squinted his eyes as an old dusty file cabinet appeared out of nowhere in the center of the room. A shock to senses he could hardly manage.
Mr. Hatman opened the top drawer and pulled out a thick stack of old brown papers, "Testing to see where to put you," he replied as he started thumbing through the stack.
"What do you mean?" Nelson inched his way closer to catch a glimpse of the stack.
Mr. Hatman pulled away, "No peaking!" his voice boomed, reverberating off the walls, "It is all about the type of life you lived, sir, and these papers are the notes that have been taken by your assigned Watchers... They are for my....eyes...and mine alone."
"Why? If it is about my life then shouldn't I have some input? And what do you mean Watchers?"
"Nelson," Mr. Hatman started, "It seems a trip is in order."
"No wait!" Nelson lunged at Mr. Hatman in an attempt to stop him, but it was too late, Mr. Hatman snapped his fingers and the room began to swirl... There's the nausea again.
***
"Oh I do hope I got the order right!" Mr. Hatman said as a room materialized around them, "This whole time thing always gets me! I am not even sure I pulled YOU from the correct moment."
"Wait, what?!" Nelson cried, "so you are not even sure I am really supposed to be dead?!"
"No matter," Mr. Hatman said as he looked at his watch, holding the file in his left arm, "this should be 1980, some Hospital named after a Saint or someone you creatures revere as important."
Nelson looked around the room, a small room, a single bed, a Doctor, a Nurse, and one female occupant breathing heavily with a man to her side holding her hand, "You've got this honey!" he encouraged with gusto, more than a hint of nervousness in his tone, "Push!"
"Dear God! Please tell me this isn't what I think it is!" Nelson screamed.
"Don't you tell me to push," the woman screamed an almost demonic scream, "you did this to me!" She squeezed his hand as she let out a blood-curdling scream, the Nurse dabbing the sweat on her forehead with a small blue cloth.
"I see the head! Just a bit more!" The Doctor informed the couple, the man seeming to have gone pale from the pain, "Aah, we may have to look at that hand when all this is over!" The Doctor snickered.
"Yes, Nelson," Mr. Hatman replied, "we are witnessing your birth, I think, that is your Mother and Father, two people, it seems who died when you were very young."
"Push!" Everyone in the room coached.
The woman's screams went to a low moan as she focused down and pushed again. "Almost there!" The Doctor exclaimed.
"I don't want to see this man!" Nelson cried, "This is unseemly!"
"You came into the...world...on July 14th, 1980," Mr. Hatman started, "such promise, such potential, alert, screaming, crying, kicking, like every other member of your kind, but YOU, Nelson, YOU were different."
"Its' a boy!" The Doctor shouted as the he slapped the back end of the newly emerged baby causing its' screams to fill the room.
"He's beautiful!" The woman began crying as the nurse wrapped the baby and handed him to her.
"What are you going to name him?" The nurse asked.
Nelson stood motionless, in awe, "See the love in her eyes?" Mr. Hatman asked, "the purple in your Father's face from a broken hand? Nevermind that. Do you think they would have been proud of the life you led?"
Nelson gulped loudly, a feeling of shame coming over him, "No," he gave a low reply, "No, I don't imagine they would have."
"Why is that, do you think?" Mr. Hatman seemed genuinely curious.
"I am going to name him Anthony." The woman smiled, looking deep into the wide eyes of the baby in her arms.
"Well shit." Mr. Hatman said dryly as he snapped his fingers again.
***
The Hospital scene, having faded to swirls, was replaced with a park bench, trees, a warm breeze and a cobble stone path near a large river, "You son of a bitch!" Nelson shouted out of the ether as they both sat gazing out on the river surface.
"Well," Mr. Hatman said, "It served the purpose it was meant to serve."
"What kind of a 'Guide' are you?" Nelson slapped him on the shoulder, "That wasn't even MY birth! I doubt it was even the right Hospital!"
Mr. Hatman flashed Nelson a Menacing look as he brushed off his shoulder, "I don't imagine YOU have the ability to transmute through time to key points?"
Nelson gave a blank stare in response.
"No? I didn't think so," Mr Hatman continued, "now, here we are, I am certain of it, the trail to... What do you call it? Deep Creek? So creative with the names you give things! Anyhow, this is 2002, the day you..."
"Met Claire." Nelson cut Mr. Hatman off.
"How rude," Mr. Hatman responded, "but yes, you are correct."
At that moment Nelson saw her, Claire, beautiful flowing brown hair pulled into a pony tail, a dog on a leash just slightly ahead of her, jogging passed the bench, "Oh God," he thought out loud, "not this again."
In a flash he saw himself careening down the hill on a skateboard, no helmet, screaming at the top of his lungs as he tried to keep his balance, "Look out! I can't stop this thing!"
It was not enough warning, he thought, never enough warning. He watched himself smash into Claire and her Dog, the Husky seemed to yelp, then began to growl.
"Oh God!" His younger self exclaimed, "I am so sorry!" He came to his feet and helped her up as the Dog viciously pulled on the baggy pant-leg of his jeans, "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine!" Claire shouted, forcefully pulling her hand away from his, "I've got it! Just what the hell do you think you were doing?!"
"Sorry," Nelson replied as he yanked his leg away from the Dog, "a friend said I should try something new, this seemed to fit the bill, obviously I am not cut out for it."
"Obviously not," Claire agreed, "Koda! Heel!" The Dog sat next to Claire, a piece of Nelson's pantleg hanging from its' mouth as it glared at him.
"I remember this day," The older Nelson said to Mr. Hatman, "it was a disaster, but she had dropped her wallet, I had to chase her down to return it."
Mr. Hatman waived his hands about, causing the scene to shift by about ten minutes. Younger Nelson was now at the mercy of the Dog, laid out, cowering, trying to show Claire he had merely ran after her in order to return wallet.
Mr. Hatman paused the scene, "What could you have done differently in all this?"
"I could have treated her better," Nelson responded, his head hanging low, "I could have been more available to her emotionally, she might have stayed."
"And?" Mr. Hatman pressed.
"I could have given Claire what she wanted," Nelson mumbled, "children and a mariage."
"Claire?!" Mr. Hatman laughed, "No you idiot! I meant the Dog! Who cares about all that?! What could you have done differently with the Dog!"
"The Dog?" Nelson replied in confusion.
"You creatures really are dense, you know that?" Mr. Hatman snapped his fingers again.
***
Nelson found himself standing in his boss's office looking at himself once more, "Late again, Mr. Jensen," the high-pitched nasally voice caused both Nelson's to cringe as though fingernails had just been dragged, very slowly, across a chalk board, "I am VERY disappointed!"
"I'm sorry sir!" The slightly younger Nelson replied, "I slept through my alarm, it won't happen again Mr. Ditmer!"
"Nelson," Mr. Ditmer continued, "What are the three points of success? You do want to succeed, right?"
"Dear God!" Slightly older Nelson blurted out, "I hate that man, please tell me he died in the melt down too!"
"Be early," Slightly younger Nelson began to reply, "be ready, and always strive for excellence."
"Those seem reasonable," Mr. Hatman mused, "smart little bald nose-speaking man."
"Are you serious?" Slightly older Nelson retorted, "What is the point of bringing me here? What sort of ridiculousness is in store for me now?"
"This is the day you die," Mr. Hatman replied in a flat tone, "if I am not mistaken."
Mr. Hatman waived his arms around once more causing time to jump ahead by about an hour, the scene, now, was of slightly younger Nelson in a Radiation suit near a control at one of the reactors, "Clearly a place you had no business being, am I correct?" Mr. Hatman asked.
"I don't remember any of this! Why am I in here? Why am I wearing that?!" Slightly older Nelson was clearly bothered as he watched his younger self run his fingers over the control console, "What am I doing?"
"Well, it would seem I did make a miscalculation after all," Mr. Hatman said, scratching his head, "you certainly should have... What did you call that? Memories? You should have memories of this."
"Are you saying I'm not dead?! You screwed up again?!" Nelson exclaimed.
"No," Mr. Hatman said, "No, it isn't that at all... I think all this jumping around has made you forgetful. You are a first timer after all."
They watched as slightly younger Nelson's fingers worked the controls and alarms began to sound, "Dammit Jensen!" Mr. Ditmer gave a high-pitched squeal from behind Slightly younger Nelson, "What do you think you are doing?!"
"What is the miscalculation then? Mr. Hatman?" Slightly older Nelson asked unable to hide the nervousness in his voice.
"Well," Mr. Hatman replied, "it would seem YOU are a mass murderer, or at least an attempted mass murderer, you always seem to do things half assed don't you?"
"Oh, that's just great!" Slightly older Nelson exclaimed as the room started to go white.
Mr. Hatman snapped his fingers before the scene could come to completion... Nausea of a different kind now.
***
Nelson found himself standing in the plain white room again, Mr. Hatman towering with a grim gaze upon him, "What was all that supposed to teach me?" Nelson asked.
"Nothing really," Mr. Hatman replied, "Your Watchers had already determined you were not fit for higher tasks."
"Higher tasks?" Nelson asked.
"Yes, higher tasks," Mr. Hatman replied, "they had taken to calling you Mediocre Mr. Jensen, but it seems even they had miscalculated."
"How?" Nelson asked.
"You see," Mr. Hatman began, "it had been determined you were to be sent to Record Keeping to push paper for what you would call an Eternity, a Paper Monkey, very literally."
"Well that sounds slightly awful" Nelson mumbled.
"They had determined your life to have been mediocre," Mr. Hatman stated matter-of-factly, "and it was. That Dog loved you! You couldn't even get that right!"
"Dog?" Nelson was confused again.
"However," Mr. Hatman snapped his fingers as he continued, "it seems this one act has changed all that."
Nelson winced at the snap, but nothing happened, the room did not swirl or fade, nothing happened save for the opening of the same door, revealing those same black creatures, "I didn't throw anything up," Nelson said, "what has changed?"
"You committed murder," Mr. Hatman replied, "you had intended to kill everyone in that Power Plant, you did it without much of a thought, and this carries a heavy price."
"Heavier than being a Paper Monkey?" Nelson asked.
"Yes," Mr. Hatman replied, "heavier indeed... You see, the effect of such a deed has turned your soul black and caused it to shrivel up."
"Oh God! Not that!" Nelson cried as he looked from Mr. Hatman to the two little 'shades' at the door.
Mr. Hatman waived his arms over Nelson causing him to wrench over in severe pain, his skin seemed to melt away, the light darkened to shadow, Mr. Hatman grew taller and taller... Or was Nelson growing shorter?
"It seems Management has a sense of humor," Mr. Hatman said, "they know how much I hate you little trash weasels!"
Nelson tried to protest, but all that emerged from within was that 'warble' sound he had heard the 'shades' make earlier when they came to clean up his 'essence.'
"The price, I'm afraid," Mr. Hatman concluded, "is that you are to push mops and shovel shit for the rest of what you call eternity."
Nelson tried to scream as the other two 'shades' pulled him kicking and screaming through the door towards a mop and bucket.
"Clean-up in Back Room Twenty Thousand Seventy One!" An unfamiliar voice called from somewhere overhead.
-END-
