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Where Souls Go

A Mishap Encounter

By James SlocumPublished 5 years ago 9 min read
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Angela McBriant was sitting in the gravel on the side of the road. Her hands were lazily drawing shapes in the dirt. She had tan skin, thick, bushy, black hair, and a very vibrant yellow dress on. The dress had an equally as vibrant green stripe around the middle, with a big bow on her left side. Her dress was now dirty from crouching in the messy gravel. Angela felt fine and dandy sitting there, though it was a little too hot for her taste. Right now her bushy hair was pulled back into two thick braids that ended in two big puffs and sweat was beginning to collect at her hairline.

Angela’s parents, David and Patricia McBriant, were arguing with each other under—and on the side of—the hood of their broken down car. During their drive the car had started to smoke, so the small family had pulled over, and to their dismay when they tried to start the car again it didn’t make a sound. Now her father, David (or Dave as her mother called him) was shoulders deep in the hood, shouting something at her mother, Patricia (Trish as he liked to call her), while she leaned against the side of the car, a cigarette in her hand.

“What am I supposed to do Dave? Walk thirty miles to the next gas station in heels?!”

“I don’t know!” Cried Dave, hitting his head on the hood as he popped up to look at her, making him grunt.

Angela turned around to look at them.

“You ok daddy?” She called.

“Yeah sweetie,” he muttered while rubbing his head. “I’m fine…”

Something should be known about this model of car. Angela had no idea what kind it was. Who could care about cars when they could care about cameras and puzzles? You could take those apart and put them together again without it being too dangerous. If she were to try and take a car apart, she thought, she’d probably mess it up. Badly.

Something else to know about this model of car is that it was extremely poorly made. The engines were known to suddenly combust, and the little hooks that held the hood up were known to be a little loose at times, especially when the hood was banged really hard by someone’s head. Unknown to the family, however, we’re both of these facts.

It happened quickly, these things do. Just after her father had said that he was fine there was a sound of bending metal. A high pitched creak, one that would haunt Angela for the rest of her life. Then all at once, there was a loud BANG! Her father’s body went limp. Trish shrieked as she scrambled away from the noise. At first her shriek was small but then as she noticed what had caused the loud Bang she began to scream in terror.

“Angie!” she cried. This family was fond of loving nicknames. “Angie baby don’t look! Oh my God…”

Angie did not look away. Her eyes were fixed on her father’s body and she couldn’t hear her mother very well. The Bang was very loud after all. Once she was able to pull her focus and look at her mother she noticed that she was hunched over, mid wretch and then everything stopped. For a split second Angie didn’t notice but then she realized that her mother wasn’t moving, that the breeze wasn’t blowing, and that the birds weren’t chirping.

“She’s late…” came a feminine voice from behind her. It had come so suddenly that it startled Angie a bit. She turned to look at who had said it.

A very tall pale woman in a pristine white jumpsuit was standing behind her. The pants of the suit were very wide at the bottom and they were pleated perfectly. Dark heels could be seen underneath. Around the woman’s middle was a lime green belt. The suit cut off sharply at her shoulders. In fact, Angie noticed, everything about this woman was sharp. Her face, her eyes, her hair—which was the same lime green as her belt—her shoulders, her clothes. If Angie was asked to describe this woman in one word, she would answer “Sharp.”

All Angie could think to say was, “I—I like your belt. My ribbon’s just like it.” She pulled at the vibrant green ribbon to more plainly show it to this strange new woman (It was not, in fact, just like it. Angie’s had a bow). How had she gotten there? Thought Angie. She didn’t remember seeing any cars pass by, and she hadn’t heard her walk up. Strange.

The woman looked down at her. Her facial expression seemed to show that she hadn’t noticed the little girl in front of her, but it quickly changed to one of blank indifference. As the woman looked at her directly, Angie noticed that her eyes were a deep reddish brown. Almost unnoticeable unless the sun glinted across them in a certain way.

“That’s nice,” said the woman. Suddenly Angie heard a very loud engine rolling from down the road. It was steady and constant. Something, or someone, was driving toward them.

“Oh good,” said Angie. “Maybe they know how to fix our car.”

The woman behind her sighed, rolled her eyes, and put her hands in her jumpsuit pockets. Angie thought that they were pretty cool. Her dress didn’t have any pockets. She hadn’t even thought that girls could have pockets.

The person driving toward them had reached them by now and they pulled over on the opposite side of the road. They had been driving a sleek black motorcycle with a yellow line riding along it from the front to the back. They parked the motorcycle and took off their black helmet showing dark skin. This woman also had braids in her hair, except hers started from the top of her head and ran all the way back. Angie saw that she was wearing all black except for her boots, which were bright yellow, and her shirt, which had yellow stripes on it. She was also wearing a black leather jacket that cut off nicely at her waist. As the second woman walked lazily across the road toward them Angie could see some pins on her jacket. The biggest one was purple and said in white lettering: Ride or Die.

The second woman waved as she walked and the taller woman said, “You’re late, Shava.”

“I was hanging out with some friends. A few seconds won’t hurt anybody.”

Angie looked at the shorter woman. Shava was a very interesting name. She had never heard it before and she quite liked it.

The green-haired woman sighed again and walked forward, past Angie, and pushed Shava toward the car.

“Whatever, just do your job. I don’t want to be here any longer than I have to. The air here is too humid,” she said prissely.

“My, my, Niyah. So handsey today.” Shava grinned and looked at the taller woman.

'Niyah?' Thought Angie. That name’s even weirder. She had definitely never heard that one. Angie shook her head to clear her thoughts then spoke.

“Are you going to fix our car?”

As soon as she had said something, Shava—the one in black and yellow—swiveled her head around to look at her. Her face was one of surprise.

“Who’s she talking to?” She asked Niyah.

“You most likely. She complimented my belt a minute before you arrived. It seems as though she can see us…” she paused in thought and then turned away from Angie. “I suggest we ignore the child. Maybe she’ll forget about us.”

“Niyah, that’s rude,” Shava stated, flatly. “Her dad is about to die.”

“He’s what?” Angie’s voice felt small and weak. Her hamster had died a few months ago. She hadn’t liked when that had happened. One day he was there and then the next day he wasn’t. She hadn’t seen that hamster since. Was that what was going to happen to her dad?

Niyah pursed her thin lips. “What’s his name?” She asked, nodding her head toward Angie’s father.

Suddenly there was a clipboard in Shava’s hand. It hadn’t been pulled from anywhere, it had just showed up. She flipped through a few pages and ran her finger down one. Angie finally stood up and walked over to the two strangers. She peered over the clipboard and watched Shava’s finger run down a list of names. There were dozens of them. Each one had a time stamp next to it. Eventually Shava’s finger got to the M’s. It stopped on McBriant. Her last name.

“David Roy McBriant,” stated Shava. “Husband to Patricia Anning McBriant, formerly Patricia Anning Pecker. Father of Angela Sherry McBriant. Dies at 3:47 PM”

Niyah suddenly had a pocket watch in her hand. “It’s 3:49, Shava. They’re not going to be happy we’re late again.”

“Oh please, they love me. We’ll be fine.” Shava waved her hand dismissively and the clipboard vanished after she crossed off David Roy McBriant.

“Are you going to kill my dad?” Angie asked.

“I don’t have to do that,” Shava answered walking over to Mr. McBriant. “He’s done that himself. I’m just here to reap his soul. Niyah over there.” She waved her hand at Niyah again while looking at the situation Mr. McBriant was in. “Is going to lead his soul to Heaven or Hell. Or Purgatory, if he’s been real bad.”

“We don’t have clearance for Purgatory. Do you want to know why?” said Niyah, as she leaned forward. “Because you’re always late. If we had a good record we could have clearance for Purgatory.”

Shava was the one to roll her eyes this time. She didn’t give an answer, only swished her hand through the air again. A scythe materialized. It was plain black, standard issue. Shava had decorated it with some cool stickers she had found over the years. Niyah had always told her that it was childish. Shava didn’t mind, she always retorted with, “It's not childish. It’s stylized.”

Angie’s eyes widened. This time she did look away. Niyah had kept her pocket watch open and as Shava swung her scythe down the watch began to glow. Stringy golden lights and orbs began to flow out of Mr. McBriant’s body and into the pocket watch. It only took a second. Once all of the light had been collected, Niyah closed her watch with a click. Angie opened her eyes again.

There was a pause. She could hear her mother throwing up. As she looked around, she noticed that the two strange women were gone. She hadn’t heard them walk away but she did hear the distant rumble of a motorcycle becoming more and more faint.

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About the Creator

James Slocum

Some people don't think it be like it is but it do

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