When Steve died at the age of 56 in 2011, he didn’t have high expectations of the afterlife. At worst, there would be nothing, at best, he would be reincarnated as a new creature with no memories of his former self. Either way, it was a bleak horizon, one which he’d had 15 months to come to terms with when he’d discovered he had inoperable cancer.
What he didn’t expect was a) there was an actual afterlife, and b) just how busy it was. One minute he was drifting away peacefully in his home in California, the next he was on the streets of Greenich Village, a place he’d visited back when he was younger and a place that he often found his mind inexplicably drifting to during random times throughout his life. It was busier than he’d ever seen it. He couldn’t understand why until he started to focus on specifics and realised that he was witnessing both the living and the dead. There were ghosts everywhere, seemingly whole until the slightest movement gave the game away and revealed a translucent effect on both the the ghosts’ bodies, but also their clothes, which were the only giveaway for when each ghost had died.
Thankfully, all the ghosts looked healthy and the most gruesome sight was a teenager with a terrible case of afterlife acne.
Still, the sheer amount of people and ghosts all occupying the same area was too much for Steve and he let out a low and elongated moan and raised his hands to the side of his head, while simultaneously crouching down to make himself as small as possible. As a final touch, he closed his eyes, then he inhaled deeply and dialled up the volume of his moan until it turned into a maniacal scream.
Across the street in the land of the living, a young woman was sitting outside a cafe, enjoying a cappuccino and watching the world go by when she noticed a strange smoke suddenly appear on the other side of the road. She already had her phone in her hands and was quick to hit record.
At the same moment, back across the street in the land of the dead, two men appeared at either side of the Steve, both wearing fluorescent pink business suits, complete with pink bowler hats and pink briefcases. One headed across the street and shadowed the young cappuccino drinker. It would be his job to cause her to drop her phone, preferably in water. The other reached a hand down to Steve and touched him on the shoulder. There was a woosh, followed by silence, followed by Steve opening his eyes and staring around. They were still in Greenwich Village but now they were alone.
“I’m sorry I’m late. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Alfred Breeston, one of the many managers who work on Secret Safe.” The man said, extending a hand to both shake Steve’s and help him up from crouching on the pavement.
Steve took his hand and got back up. He had so many questions, and as a smart man in life he found that he was also a smart man in death because he had many of the answers:
Am I dead? - Yes
Is there an afterlife? - You bet
What about ghosts? - Sure thing, place is full of them
What is Secret Safe? - Probably an group that kept the knowledge of an afterlife secret from those in the land of the living.
So, he asked a question he had no answer for. “Where did everybody go? I mean, we’re still in the same place and I’m pretty sure the same time as before so where are all the living and the dead that were just here?”
“Oh, they’re still here,” Alfred explained matter of factly, “It’s just that you can’t see them now because they’re on a different plain, or more to the point, we are on a different plain, Level 11 to be exact.”
“How many levels are there and what can you tell me about them?” Steve asked.
“There’s thousands and thousands of them. Starting at Level 1, you’ve got the Creator. If you ever meet him, whatever you do don’t call him God.”
“We can actually meet God?” Steve asked.
“Shh! Remember, it’s the Creator, not God. And yeah, you can meet him if you want, that’s what Level 2 is for. We can go there now if you like?”
“Sure, let’s do it.”
An eyeblink later they were standing in a desert in what appeared to be a crowd, all facing in the same direction.
“It’ll help to see from up here,” Alfred said before floating up into the air.
Steve thought about being able to do what Alfred was doing and it did the trick. He floated up, taking hold of Alfred’s hand as soon as he was in grabbing distance, unsure of his newfound ability to float about.
They continued to rise. At about 200 feet they stopped and Steve looked down to see that they were towards the end of a huge line, easily a hundred people wide and as long as the eye could see. With every second that passed, one or two people would disappear from the line, too impatient to wait to speak to the Creator. The person behind would then take their place and slowly the people in the line moved forward.
“We are currently in the Sahara Desert. The Creator sits atop Mount Everest. He listens to what each person has to say with one of his many ears and replies with one of his many mouths. If you do have a question to ask, one to consider is whether or not it is worth the wait?”
“I’ve no questions, although it would be awesome to meet the Creator.” Steve said.
“Perhaps you will,” Alfred teased. “Now Level 3 is where most people land when they come here for the first time (another eyeblink) and as you can see the fluffy clouds and golden gate are pretty impressive.”
“You can say that again,” Steve said.
“Every now and then though, we get someone who lands in one of their special places, like you did.”
“Special place, how is Greenich Village one of my special places?”
“We’ve each got between 50 and 100 special places. These are places that we’ve been to and for some reason they stick around on the fringe or our subconscious. Every now and then you’ll be walking along on your way to work or stuck in traffic and one of these places will pop up out of nowhere and suddenly you’re thinking about it.”
“My grandmother’s back garden,” Steve said. “I’ve not been there since I was eight but I’ve thought about that place plenty of times over the years.”
“When someone comes through a special place, there’s always the chance of someone from the living seeing through the fabric of the plains, just like with what happened with the lady across the street from you with her camera phone.”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t see any woman.”
“No, you were too busy covering your eyes and drawing attention to yourself. Don’t worry about it. My colleague is going to take care of it, that’s what Secret’s Safe is for. Now we can’t actually visit Levels 5 through 10, as these are reserved for the A-listers, such as Jesus, Buddha, most of the Prophets and Popes, Saints, general do gooders, and the innocent.”
(Blink) “Level 11, as you can see, is currently empty and awaiting its first occupants, most likely from a famine that’s coming in August. For now, it’s the a great place to bring any newbies like you who give the game away.”
Although he knew the answer, he asked away anyway, “Why do we have to keep it a secret? What’s the big deal about knowing there’s an afterlife?”
“We simply couldn’t deal with the numbers. If people knew they could opt out for something infinitely better than the struggles life had handed them and the cruel cards that had been tossed their way, if they knew that one phone call could end it all, we’d be screwed,” Alfred explained. “Projections predict that in the first hour of a confirmed afterlife, there would be two million deaths, increasingly steadily to peak at 56 million per hour after two weeks. Over a billion extra dead in one season, not even spread out over the course of a year. Reception wouldn’t be able to cope, all the levels would become overcrowded, we’d have to avoid the big cities, they’d just be too many of us.”
“That’s heavy. That’s a heavy burden you’ve got there.”
“We,” Alfred said.
“We?” Steve asked.
“Yes, because of you our job is proven to be 5300% more difficult, and yet the Creator has only allocated an extra 4000 employees. You’ll be working with the Oldtimers, mainly admin work, lots of Excel Spreadsheets. Let’s meet them (blink).
They were in what was clearly a staffroom, white almost to the point of blinding. Steve squinted his eyes to make out three figures standing by the countertop with cups of coffee in their hands, and four more sitting down at a round table to his left. Slowly his vision cleared enough to see an outstretched hand,
“The name’s Joseph Nicéphore Niépce, please call me Joe.”
Steve shook the proffered hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Mr Jobs, the pleasure is all mine.”