No one has found my body yet, so the angels won’t take me to heaven.
Until a human lays eyes on a corpse, that corpse’s soul stays on Earth. Most of us go immediately because someone is with us when we die. Others seem to never leave. I know one Native American who’s been stuck here for hundreds of years. Another guy, a hunter, bragged that he died over thirty years ago. He spent two of those years pulverizing his bones into dust. However, I haven’t seen him in nearly a year. I figure someone saw the dust of his bones, and that was enough for the angels.
I died in a cave. Jean and Annie argued about who caused it, but someone dislodged some rock, causing a major rockfall and blocking our exit. Our family and friends knew we had gone into that specific cave, but we hadn’t told them we had decided to take a different path. No one expected to hear from us for a week.
On the sixth day, Harry and I decided to find another way out. Jean, Fred, and Annie did not share our naïve hope and decided to stay. After the eighth day, the three completely gave up and turned off all sources of light. They couldn’t stand to watch each other waste away. Meanwhile, Harry and I wriggled through tight tunnels, encountered endless dead ends, and grew feeble. On the ninth day, he slipped into a crevasse, managing only to yelp before he smashed his head open somewhere in the black abyss. On the tenth, too sickly to move, I died while lodged in a narrow tunnel. Shortly after, the others starved to death in complete darkness.
As a soul, you don’t feel much different from when you were alive. You can’t go through walls, fly, or lift objects telekinetically. You can’t really lift or move much of anything. A pebble needs a few kicks before it rolls a few inches. Typing a single letter on a keyboard takes 30 minutes. Pushing a door open can require days. You do keep the clothes and tools on your body when you died, and if it wasn’t for our headlamps, Harry and I would have been lost in the cave forever.
The two of us managed to leave our mangled corpses, meet each other, and return to the group. They were excited to see us, if only because we could stave off the boredom. Without hunger, thirst, or other needs, we just sat around and talked. About a month after our deaths, a team of cavers broke through the rock wall. With gasps and wretches, they discovered the decomposing bodies of three people. That’s when the angels came.
They entered through the cavers’ opening, unfolding and filling the small chamber. They stood above us with wings of white feathers and thin, spindly bodies of porcelain. Their skin clung tightly to their ribs. They were headless. Confronted by these skeletal creatures—unseen by the living cavers—we froze.
Languid in their movements, the angels approached Jean, Fred, and Annie and grabbed each by their shoulders. A portal cracked open in the ceiling of the cave, bathing the chamber in its glow. Its brilliance stung our eyes. I felt a tinge of jealousy when the first angel took flight, lifting Fred toward the blinding light. He seemed at peace as he ascended, but then his head passed through the portal. His screams echoed through the cave as the portal devoured the rest of his flailing body.
Jean’s angel carried her away before she could react, and just like Fred, her shrill cries pierced our ears as she connected with the light. Annie panicked and lashed at her angel, scratching at the stump where its head should have been. She fought to escape its grasps, but none of her actions fazed it.
As the angel beat its wings, Harry latched onto Annie’s legs to save her, but the added weight didn’t slow the creature. Annie writhed and shrieked like the others, and Harry did too as one of his hands entered the portal. He let go before any more of his body could be consumed. He slammed against the ground, groaning and seizing as he cradled his hand before him. It was entirely blackened, seeping pus from cracks across the back and palm. Most of his fingers were little more than sizzling muscle and burnt bone.
Above us, the gateway to heaven closed in on itself like a blinking eye.
We fled that cave, leaving the cavers to deal with the dead bodies. We didn’t know how far they’d explore, but we were too shaken to stay. In the woods surrounding the mountain, we mourned for our friends and for ourselves. When our eyes dried, we left. Over a few weeks, we slowly stumbled back to civilization.
We learned to live as souls. We passed through doors others had opened. We snuck into movies, buses, strip clubs, and concerts. We found others like us, people we could embrace and love. We learned of whole settlements of souls in coastal states, filled with thousands of individuals once lost at sea.
We also watched as the angels took friends, lovers, acquaintances, and strangers. The portals splintered the sky, and we witnessed each soul struggle to escape the angels’ three-fingered talons. None ever did.
A woman once tried to save her child, and she held on until her head and arms entered heaven. After she fell, she screamed for three hours straight, her face and arms charred like the wooden dregs of a bonfire. She lost almost all the features on her head except for her eyes and mouth. They were untouched, unlike her mind which was shattered.
Harry and I never escaped the horrors of the angels, but after two years, we began to think we could remain on Earth for a few decades. Then an angel came for him. He begged for mercy and for help the moment he left the ground. Once, he had told me how heaven had mutilated and burned his hand for an eternity in that second it was in there. I imagine this pain consumed his mind until the portal consumed his head. The next day, a small article in the paper explained how cavers found his body after exploring more of our tomb.
I returned to my body then. The cavers had moved onto other sections by the time I had arrived, entirely missing my grave. There wasn’t much left of me to find, just slimy, brittle bones and pieces of clothing. Fueled by fear, I began shoving my remains deeper into the tunnel until I had brought them to a far, nearly inaccessible dead end. When I had finished, no one had returned to the cave in almost a year.
Despite my work, I don’t know how long my body will remain hidden. I think of the hunter and wonder when my dust will betray me. I have days in which I will hide from everyone and grieve for myself. Even if I can barely interact with this world, even if I can’t eat, sleep, or drink, this purgatory is better than whatever is up there. Heaven is burning, and no one wants to go, not even those who have remained here for hundreds of years.
Death is damnation. A murderer robs a victim of life, then makes way for the angel. If you ever sat with loved ones as they passed, you’re not much better than the murderer. Mourn for those who have died because by the time they’re buried or cremated, their souls have long since “moved on.”
No one will escape heaven and its angels. You may be able to hide, and ironically, you may do well to simply crawl in a hole and die. Devote your life to finding some hidden place in the world and then destroy the entrance. Find a way to sink to the bottom of the ocean. Even better, if you can, build a rocket and hurl yourself into space. You may spend eternity in your grave, but it’s better than spending eternity up there.
I’ve spent a little over seven months typing this, pressing against each key until it finally gave. This is a memoir, an exposé, advice, a warning. My story may be ignored by most of you, much like we souls are. I hope some of you will listen.