Is it possible I was not just the black sheep of the family, but had become the Baptist sacrificial lamb? The Bible is full of sacrifices to God. Perhaps I’m another one. I could be onto something here, about me being Jesus. I remember as a kid whenever I did something wrong, someone would yell, ‘Jesus, what have you done now?’ Other times they yelled, ‘Jesus bloody Christ, look at the mess you’ve caused!’ I always thought this was a weird request. If I had already created the mess, why did I need to look at it?
In my younger years, I believed Jesus existed inside me. On occasions, I was threatened with, ‘I’m going to knock the living bejesus out of you, boy!’
My first few days at kindergarten were a disaster. The teacher asked my name and I answered, ‘Jesus Bloody Christ, Miss!’ Kinder detention is embarrassing for a young child.
I again screamed out to remind Mother and Father we had private health insurance, and hence there would be no cost to revive
my life. I got nothing. Mother shone a torch into the gaping hole in the back of my head where, not long before, the pointy end of the iron had come to rest.
‘What are you doing?’ Father asked.
Mother replied, ‘I think I was correct, no brains in here.’
The Whinging Aunt laughed.
‘I told you he took after your side of the family,’ Father casually remarked.
Mother snapped back, ‘Given he wears a strap-on, shows he takes after your side!’
The Whinging Aunt laughed louder.
Above me and behind me, in the abyss non-reality, a strange whooshing sound became audible. Stranger still, there was the sound of a bell ringing and a voice, a monotone human voice, saying, ‘Bring out your dead; bring out your dead.’
This must be somebody from one of the Monty Python films. He’d know what’s happening. But, no matter how hard I looked through the mist, I couldn’t see anything.
‘Don’t tell me; don’t tell me,’ Mother groaned, ‘we’ll be spending more money on this dumb child for a funeral. He’s dead and still he costs us money. Brainless, good-for-nothing, never amounted to anything, piece of rot he became.’
Through the greyness, a faint glow became brighter. The glow was heading my way. Could this be the source of the whooshing sound? Oh, golly gee, I wasn’t happy about this. Perhaps the Devil had a mobile furnace. I needed to pee.
‘Hey, you lot below, where’s the ambulance? Call one now; I promise I’ll move out of home.’
The fear of the unknown is the worst fear; if one knows what’s going to happen, one can plan, but with no knowing comes no plan, oh gawd! Fear had gripped me and the grip was getting tighter.
I yelled again, ‘I’m serious, call the ambulance and I’ll move out of home and go to church again. I’ll show God the love.’
I remembered being scared once before. I was fourteen or fifteen.
A woman asked me if I knew what fellatio was.
I answered, ‘No.’
She replied, ‘Come over here and let me show you.’
So I did, and she did. Nervous, scared at first, yes. But, I soon relaxed and settled into the rhythm of things. If the outcome this time around was going to be a similar experience, I had no cause for concern. I should just hang in my dream and let whatever was going to occur, occur. Bingo! I had it now. It suddenly dawned upon me. I was having a wet dream! No need to panic; I had it under control. Soon I’d be waking up and enjoying the day. Slumber on, my man. Whatever you are going to receive, may you be truly grateful.
But, the seeds of doubt growing in my mind would not go away. What if I wasn’t having one of those pleasant, fun-filled dreams? I’d had wet dreams before and none of them involved a glow of light, whooshing sounds, bells ringing and a voice saying, ‘Bring out the dead.’
That thing was getting closer. I could see to my right a light, no, a circle of many coloured lights, which gave off a faint glow. Nothing good could come of this. What if they weren’t lights and were instead the eyes of a monster coming to gobble me up and down and around. My mind clicked over from the state of a wet dream to a state of panic. I peed. Oh golly gee! I’m in freaking trouble here with a capital T; the fuck-up fairy has come and paid me a visit.
‘Come on, you lot, it’s not funny anymore,’ I hollered to those below. ‘Get me out of here!’
My panicking mind had begun to think perhaps the Greenies had convinced the Devil to close his furnaces down altogether, and instead use a recycling monster. The monster eats us via the front end, and provides fertiliser via the back end. That’s a Greenie thing, environment stuff. Then again, the Devil would not be so stupid as to take advice from the Greenies; they’ve been away with the pixies since they first fell out of the trees.
The Devil probably only talked to them when he said, ‘Come on now, hop in the fire, don’t mess me around, be a good Greenie, in you go.’
Cautiously, nervously, I looked above, half-expecting to see the ugly beast that had floated up from the depths of Hell to devour me. A prayer, that’s what I needed. A prayer, just in case the Religious Ones were correct. I’d better hedge my bets. I’ll shoot a quick prayer up to God, and he’ll come save my arse. I delved deep into my memory banks as I tried to remember prayers from my time in church.
Dear God,
As I lay me down to sleep
To dream of cuddling a breast so fine
If you make my dream long enough
I’ll cuddle the other one in time.
No, no, that wasn’t right, that prayer was for something else. Gad oh gawd, come on God; give me a hand here! I don’t want to be lunch for the monster. I then imagined the snarling and the gnashing of the monster’s saliva-splashed teeth piercing my skin and tearing the flesh from my bones as it set about devouring the body of this great athlete with gusto. This didn’t make sense; my body was still on the floor below, yet I was the grey mist. I looked down again; bloody Hell, I’m naked!
From the mist, I heard a voice again. Not the same monotone voice as before; this time it was a jovial, bouncy voice.
This is what the voice from the mist said: ‘Hey numb nuts, up here!’
‘Go away,’ I screamed in terror. ‘Go away, you talking monster creature gonna-eat-me-all-up thingy. I don’t want to look at you, let alone talk to you.’
The voice replied, ‘I’m not a monster, numb nuts. I’m going to help you.’
‘Did my prayer work? God, is that you?’ I timidly, nervously and hopefully asked.
‘No, I’m not God. I’m Roger. I’m your Spirit Guide.’
Then I saw him, to my right and slightly above me. Roger was human in appearance, immersed in a glow of white light. He was wearing a white sheet.
Roger smiled as he floated down to me and said, ‘Welcome. Welcome to death. You’re gonna love it, man. It’s a real hoot.’
Printed at chest level on Roger’s sheet in bright red, were the words ‘Spirit Guide’.
‘Beware of the monster!’ I called out. ‘Or monsters; there might be more than one judging by the number of eyes I have seen.’
‘There are no monsters up here, little dick. The lights are from the entrance to the tunnel to Heaven,’ said Roger.
He was munching on a hamburger and carried an old battered suitcase which had seen better days. The sauce and juices from his hamburger had dripped onto his white sheet. He also carried a bell. Roger wasn’t big; wasn’t small either. Perhaps average height and build.