It had been three days since Matthew Blake died. The coffin seemed more cramped than ever before. Here, there was nothing, no sound, no light, just the coffin and his rotting cadaver to keep him company. Here in the dark, six feet under, Matthew waited- for what, he didn’t know- for three days, two hours and forty-two minutes- he didn’t know how he knew that either.

            The coffin was suffocating, despite the fact that Matt no longer breathed. His spirit rustled around in his corpse like a fly trapped in a jar, banging against the glass to get out. He could feel the hole in his chest where he’d been shot. The autopsy had removed the bullet- it felt like a missing piece now. He tried miserably to recall those final moments. The broad daylight slapping him as he stepped out of his flat for the last time. The paparazzi tackling him with questions and blinding lights. And a small man pushing his way out of the crowd, pistol carefully tucked in his pocket. That brute…

That bloody arsehole, he’s gonna pay when I…

…When you what?

            Matthew sighed, and sunk in his body. This was a mess. darn it all, as if everything else wasn’t enough. His girlfriend left him, his band broke up, and now his foot was being dragged out of the coffin- hang on. Matthew looked at his leg, and there was that glowing blue string again, tied in a hasty knot around his ankle. It was being pulled taut, and now his spirit was being separated from his body. Matt couldn’t help but smile. This had to be it.

            Matt was dragged once again by the blue string, this time willingly, until he was right outside of his coffin swimming in the dirt. He hadn’t swum in a long time, so Matt continued to doggy paddle until he noticed another blue string around his wrist, the one that had dragged him down the last time. He looked back at his ankle, and saw the blue string drifting in the dirt like it was underwater, though he couldn’t see where it led to. All he knew was that as the string pulled him further along, his wrist’s blue string tightened, threatening to split his soul straight down the middle. The two strings continued pulling in their separate ways, his wrist to his body, and his ankle to who-knew-where. More and more the strings pulled, and through the darkness Matthew saw a glint of silver flash, and suddenly the wrist-string faded into nothing.

            The other string began pulling him down faster now, further and further down. Matt was momentarily overjoyed to not have his soul ripped in two until he realized he was heading down. He had never read anything that associated Heaven with down. Matt panicked again. Trying to slap that priest had probably cost him a couple points. He fought against the string, kicking and screaming and punching dirt, but it was useless. Whoever was pulling him had a death grip on it.

            Eventually Matt grew exhausted from struggling and simply let himself be dragged. It was fairly relaxing, as long as you didn’t pay attention to how fast it was going. Matt wondered if he should have already passed the center of the earth. It was then that he noticed a subtle change. Now the string was pulling him up; more specifically, it had gone so far down it now was heading up again. Matt wondered if he would come out in , and his laugh echoed in the darkness.

            Now there was a tiny pinpoint of light, from where the string was wildly swinging- their destination. But is it heaven or hell?, he thought, and laughed again. It didn’t make a difference to him anyway. Things were already looking up, and like he said, it couldn’t get any worse, could it? Even flipped upside down, Matt closed his eyes as the comforting light flowed over him, enveloping him in warmth. Matt’s moment was rudely interrupted with a heavy jerk. He hung in place as he heard two voices argue.

            “Oy! The wheel’s jammed!”

            “Whaddya mean, it’s jammed? Ach, just pull him up, for Death’s sakes. He’s not solid yet.” Matt felt himself being pulled up as the two voices grunted and heaved. He came closer to the top, and one of them whispered.

            “Alright, heave! Right, here comes the boss, just let him do his thing and let’s get outta here!”  Matt heard footsteps, and a door slammed as he dangled in mid-air again. He squinted up to see what was beyond the light. He couldn’t see much, or maybe there just wasn’t a whole lot there. His eyes followed the blue string at his ankle, up through and wrapped around a bamboo fishing pole. Suddenly a long spindly hand pulled out his body, and dropped it on the floor of the room. A slender scythe shredded the rope around his ankle and it dissolved like the other. Matthew brushed himself off, and saw he now had on his original clothes. Yes, his beloved jeans were back, now without that nasty blood stain, and his hoodie was intact as well.

            The room was fairly blank. In the middle was the well from which Matt had been yanked, and next to it laid the broken fishing pole. Aside from those, there was nothing in the room; it was simply four white walls, with a white floor and ceiling. He turned around and there was the spindly white hand, tucked under a black robe, tattered and worn from ages of wear. The other hand in the robe wielded a scythe. At the top of the robe was a hood, concealing a head. Matt nearly fell back into the well behind him. There was something familiar about this fellow. The thin man- almost skeletal, he noted- lifted the hood on his robe to reveal a grinning skull, although it was possible it just always looked like that. The thin man spoke, his words echoing like twin tombstones sliding on top of another.

WELCOME MISTER BLAKE, TO THE LAND OF THE DEAD.