The Life and Afterlife of Charlie Brackwood (The Brackwood Series Book 1) (2 page)

Before I knew what was happening, the edge of the bank crumbled and I plunged head first into fast-flowing waters.  At this point I wasn't worried; I was a strong swimmer and had been in the river many times before.  I only started to panic when I saw myself drifting swiftly away from the spot where I had been kneeling only moments before.  I was rapidly carried downstream.  I was now quite sober and realised this was a serious situation.

As I stared at the spot where I had been kneeling just moments before, I thought I saw a figure standing there.  I flung my arms into the air and shouted for the figure to help me, screaming with all my might. I was quite sure the shadow by the water’s edge could save my life.  Then I was pulled under the black water and tossed around like clothes in a washing machine.  When I fought my way to the surface again the mysterious figure had disappeared and I convinced myself whoever it was had gone to get help.

It wasn't long before the undercurrent started to pull me under.  I saw an overhanging branch and grasped it.  Unbeknown to me the branch was dead and it snapped away in my hands.  I tried to swim towards the bank with my last remaining strength but to no avail.  My head was frequently pulled under by the current and I would be cast up again at random intervals, spluttering and gasping for air.  Not wanting to give up, I gave it all I had.  My instinct to survive was strong.  I lunged for every overhanging branch I could see; each one just a little too far out of my reach.  In vain I lunged for the riverbank many times, with all the strength I could summon, but God was not on my side that night.

Although my mind was strong, my body was not. The river had won its cruel game and claimed my body as its prize.  I was pulled under for the last time, never to rise to the surface again.  My final thoughts were of Lucy and the future we would have had together.  My lifeless body was washed downstream along with the promise of our joint future. The promise of children.  The promise of growing old together with my wife.  The promise of life.

Chapter Two

My body was found the next day by a member of the public, or so I gathered from conversations I was later privy to from my vantage point in the afterlife.  I don't know how my family were told or how they reacted, I missed that part, too preoccupied with my difficult transition from Earth to Heaven.  The new world I so unceremoniously found myself in contained none of your stereotypical heavenly features, no pearly gates rose up to meet me and there certainly weren't any feather-winged angels singing beautifully as a glorious bright light burned my eyes.  In fact all I remember is a feeling of weightlessness as though an invisible entity was lifting me up.

I still remember my first few days in Heaven with blinding accuracy.  My introduction to this new world was not something I was likely to forget.  At first, it felt like an adventure.  With the callowness of youth I had never given death much consideration; therefore I had no expectations when it came to Heaven.  I was surprised to learn that death is similar to life, in that you still feel things in the same way, you have no physical body yet you can feel the ground under your feet, the rain on your skin, the touch of another's skin on yours.  I am told that this is a trick of the mind, a mind that still remembers what these things felt like while your soul was linked to a physical body.  The need to eat, drink and sleep is also strong for the same reason.

Heaven is spectacular, some would say paradise.  A magnificent city surrounded by walls of gold and rainbow paths all dazzling in God's light.  There is no fear in Heaven, nor is there pain, and most really have found serenity there.  Colours are brighter too, which helps to define everything you see with a mysterious ethereal glow.  The beauty I witnessed on Earth a few hours before I died is magnified here.  Everything I took pleasure in on earth is so much more remarkable and poignant here.  Seas and rivers of a shade of blue I've never seen before contain the most peculiar of aquatic species; whole meadows of flowers in fantastical colours never die; birds with a glorious array of plumage swoop and weave their way through them. All these sights and the powerful sense of magic in the air contribute to the wonder of the afterlife.  I couldn't help but imagine the look on Lucy's face if she were here with me.  She would have marvelled at the sights I saw.

Unlike Earth, there are no seasons here and I am in complete control of my surroundings.  If I want it to snow, there is snow. If I want bright sunshine with clear blue skies all it takes is a swift thought process and my wish is granted.  I can change my outfit in the blink of an eye, my appearance is whatever I wish it to be, I can be any age I like.  Nor do I have any injuries or scars from my past life.  You could say I was perfect, as is everyone I meet here.  A perfection that will wear thin over time.

I realised an adventure had begun for me and roamed around my new world with the curiosity of a child.  After what felt like days of exploration of this vast, magical place, I was approached by a man and a woman.  Both of them were dressed in what appeared to be clothes from the 1940s and the woman’s hair was stiffly waved in an old-fashioned style. She wore bright red lipstick and looked to be in her forties. 

Their eyes shone with excitement as they moved towards me.  I didn't recognise them at first, they looked different from the memory I had of them.

The woman spoke first.  "Charlie?" she asked excitedly.

I looked at her, trying to place those soft features and kind eyes.

"You’ve made your way back to us at last," she said, opening her arms wide and gesturing for me to step into them for a warm embrace.

I obliged the kind woman and as her warmth seeped into me I wondered how it was that I could still feel every nerve ending in my non-existent body.  She clasped me tightly and a multitude of memories began to envelop me, flashbacks of times gone by.  Myself as a small child watching the metallic flash of a grandfather clock’s pendulum as it caught the light mid-swing.  I cried out in fear as the clock started to toll loudly, causing a shadowy figure to appear and scoop me up in the safety of their arms.  Picnics on the green on sunny days, memories of jam sandwiches handed to me by two smiling figures.  Lucy and me being called in from a game of tag in full swing in a large garden full of brightly coloured flowers.  Each of these memories featured the two mysterious individuals in front of me…

I suddenly recognised them.  They were my Gran and Gramps, my mother's parents who had died when I was eight.  I realised that they must have changed their appearance so that they looked as they had when they were younger, perhaps in a happier time. 

My grandparents were childhood sweethearts but they did not grow up in our village.  They were from two different cities, and up to the age of eight years old had never once visited a small country village such as Burnsall.  However, fate brought them together at a time when their lives were fraught with danger and fear of the unknown.  In 1939 the Second World War broke out and at eight years old my grandparents found themselves parcelled on to their respective trains and forced to say goodbye to their tearful mothers.  Their destination was unknown, the train ride through bomb-damaged suburbs and out into the Yorkshire Dales long and daunting.

They first met in Burnsall village hall, eyeing each other nervously amongst a large crowd of other children who had arrived there from a variety of urban locations. They were waiting to be picked up by kind country folk, who had volunteered to take care of them until the danger in the cities subsided.

My Gran and Gramps were both picked up by a young, unmarried woman who was living in her uncle’s house while he fought in the war.  Her name was Patricia Darlington and her family were as wealthy as they were important.  The house my grandparents lived in during their stay in the village was named Norton Hall; it was a huge property with vast gardens.  This was the only time in their lives they found themselves in such a setting and they made the most of it.

By the time they were allowed to leave, heading back to the desolate cities they had left, it was 1944 and they were both thirteen.  They had grown so close that they were sad to leave one another, but they did remain pen pals for many years.  At the age of twenty they arranged to meet back in the village where they had spent their happiest years.  This became a tradition with them, and before long they were meeting in the village every three months or so until, when they were both twenty-two, my grandfather proposed marriage. The ceremony took place a few months later in the church of the village that already felt like home to them.  They found jobs there, bought a rundown two-bedroomed cottage, and the rest is history.  Their love story was told repeatedly at family gatherings and it was one that I‘d never tired of hearing.

I had worshipped my grandparents in my youth and seeing them again, especially after all I had endured, brought me immense relief.  Gramps patted me on the back and smiled at me welcomingly and all my fears instantly melted away. My family had found me, I was no longer alone. 

My beloved grandparents introduced me to others who told me stories of their lives here. As I listened patiently to the many fascinating life stories that were being described so beautifully by my new friends, my mind began to wander to thoughts of home and, despite the peace and beauty of my surroundings, a dark cloud of anxiety began to envelop me.  Only then did I begin to comprehend the permanence of my situation.  These people had lived exciting and interesting lives on Earth but what did they have now?  What was left for them?  An eternity of waiting, of hoping… for what exactly? The deeper I delved, the less attractive my situation seemed to me.

I became so lost in my thoughts that I didn't notice the worried glances my loving grandmother intermittently threw my way. 

"Let's go for a little walk," she said, giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

We walked down a very long, wide street that seemed to go on for miles.  On this street were huge mansions, beautiful homes with the most extravagant stained-glass windows and colourful bricks.  The gardens were an extravagant riot of colour and scent.

We were silent as we walked and I knew my grandmother was giving me time to take in my new surroundings and become accustomed to them.  There was a lot to see and take in. For instance, I noticed a mansion in the distance that had a golden roof, gleaming in the sun.

One garden in particular caught my eye as the design of it was so clever and intricate. There were many small structures in it, almost like sculptures, with plants winding around them. There were grapevines too, growing over a hollow bamboo structure to give the effect of a tunnel.  Huge bunches of juicy red grapes hung down, lending the garden a Mediterranean feel.  I could hear the laughter of children playing hide and seek under the vine leaves.  I turned to my dear Gran, who was watching me with interest.

"Who lives here?" I asked.

"Well... we do, of course.  These houses are where we all live," she explained with amusement.

"But, who builds them?  Where do they come from?"

She smiled at me and her voice took on a whimsical tone.

"Never forget, imagination is a powerful thing, Charlie."

I looked at her and tried to comprehend what she was telling me.  After a while she laughed at my confused expression and I frowned at her reaction.

"Oh, I'm sorry, my dear boy, I keep forgetting that you're brand new here.  I've been watching you all these years and sometimes forget you haven't been here all along."

Now I was even more confused.

"You've been watching me?" I asked, feeling slightly unnerved by the intrusion.

"Of course, this is the only way our world and theirs overlap. We can see out into their world, but they can't see into ours." She started to chuckle again. "A bit like the tinted windows in your grandfather’s old car."

I smiled at the memory.

We passed another house with a gigantic pond in the front garden that was home to a colourful array of koi carp.  I watched reds, oranges and silvers flashing in the sunlight as the fish all mingled together in a moving mass of colour.  Tall marble columns rose from the pond with colourful birds balanced on top, looking down at the perfect world below.  It gave the garden a luxurious and regal appearance, which I liked very much.  Encompassing the pond was a colourful stone path that led to an archway made of the same marble as the columns.  In the centre of the archway was a seat, and sitting on it was a small, elderly Chinese man with a very long grey beard that had been plaited.  He held up his hand and waved to someone approaching in the opposite direction from us.  The pleasure he felt made his face crinkle.

"Hello, Fei Di!" shouted a young man.  He was a handsome lad who looked to be around sixteen, with an unruly crop of curly hair blowing in the gentle breeze.

He turned his attention to my grandmother and his eyes softened with affection.

"Hello," he said politely, looking at me.  My eyes locked with his and I smiled amiably.  To my surprise his widened and for a second I thought I saw a flicker of recognition in them. 
Did I know this young man?
  I was quite certain I didn't. I gathered from his accent that he wasn't from Yorkshire, but I couldn't quite pinpoint where he was from.

Gran turned to me and gestured towards the elderly Chinese man, now intent on feeding the fish.

"That man was an Emperor on earth, he was very powerful in his day.  Of course, now he's just happy tending to his koi carp," she said with admiration in her voice.

As we continued our stroll we passed many other houses. Some were very grand in the colonial style with huge pillars at the front, others were modest English country cottages complete with rose gardens and meadows of wild flowers.  We walked past houses that had outdoor pools and massive balconies, some even had an orangery.  I had only seen those before in big stately homes now owned by the National Trust.  This road was impressive to say the least.

We continued walking down it and I noticed a huge house come into view in the distance.  Walls made of gold encircled it, shielding it from the others.  It was so big it had towers, reminding me of a medieval castle. There was even a moat.  I could hear children playing behind its walls. 
Who lives there
?
I wondered to myself.  A king perhaps?  An important religious figure? Some pure-hearted soul who deserved luxury and riches in the afterlife?  My curiosity was piqued, but I felt this was something to consider another time.  I turned to the wise woman beside me.

"Earlier you spoke about our world and the mortal world overlapping."

She nodded.

"How is that possible?"

"As I said earlier, the imagination is a powerful thing."

"I don't understand.  You're saying my mind is the key that unlocks the door to the mortal world?"

"Yes.  Whoever you wish to see, imagine them as you once knew them... concentrate on the details of their face... their mannerisms... they will come to you eventually."

"I will see them in their world?"

"Yes, but they cannot see you."

"Is there any way to make contact?"

"No, I'm afraid there isn't.  It is a gift given to you in order to ease the anxiety of separation from loved ones."

She squeezed my hand between hers.

"My advice would be to explore this place, then pick a quiet spot and remember those left behind.  Like I said, they will come to you."