Welcome to Dearth
by Mark Mitchell
part 1
The lid shattered as if it were made of balsa wood, and freshly turned earth spilled into my pine box. In the dark, I had no way of preventing the soil from invading my mouth and eyes. A mixture of mold and decay with a twist of dry rot. It had been a long time since I was a kid and enjoyed a pinch of dirt. Back then, I guess, dirt had been different.
I fought my way through the deluge of soil and practically swam my way to the surface. Don’t ask me to explain how it was possible that I could swim through dirt, because if I could do that then maybe I could explain better what happened next, too.
When I burst out of the ground a blinding light made it feel as if my eyeballs were about to explode. I coughed and retched as much of the dirt from my stomach that I could. It came out in muddy globs, making a weighty sound when it hit the ground. Opening my eyes to my bright surroundings, I found myself in a giant white void.
My feet felt the sponginess of the grass underneath me. Compared with the infinite vibrant white, the green grass looked old and muted, as if it had not been watered in ages. Grass surrounded my grave by about a foot on all sides where its edges then met the stark, white void. I stepped to the edge of the grass and looked back at my headstone to read the inscription.
Assuming this wasn’t a really strange dream, I was now dead and buried in the most depressing cemetery imaginable. The cemetery was made up of a single plot. Mine.
The air was still. Not even the hint of a breeze. I tried sniffing, but the only stench came from me. Death was not an attractive smell for a person.
I checked my pockets for my earthly possessions. Everything had been taken from me or it didn’t transfer with me into this strange dreamland. No wallet. No phone. No ring of keys. The only thing from my former life, besides the clothes on my back, was my wristwatch. When I examined it to see if it still worked, I found the hands moved in different directions. In a steady rhythm, the minute hand spun clockwise, while the hour hand went counterclockwise. The second hand jumped in place but made no progress at all. I had no way to tell the time.
How long I had been here, I didn’t know. How long I had been buried, I didn’t know. How much longer I would be here, I didn’t know. There was much I didn’t know.
I rested on the headstone and gazed out into the white void. This must be some sort of purgatory. Nowhere to go. Nothing to do. Not even a book to keep me company. Just me, myself and I, and the rest of time to reflect on my life. What went right. What went wrong. What I would do differently if I had the time over again.
My foot found a small rock buried in the grass. I kicked it around some until it had lost its appeal. According to my watch, its fun lasted negative three hours and some change. I picked the rock off the ground and tossed it in my hand.
I chucked the rock out into the white void, fully expecting it to disappear or possibly sail on a never-ending trajectory. But the rock did neither of these things. Instead it skipped across the ground. In each spot it made contact with the white void, a small patch of grass sprung into existence. No bigger than a few square inches, a little larger than the rock itself.
When the rock came to rest, it appeared to settle on a dirt path. I stood up, surprised by the results. I had been hesitant to step off into the white void, myself, for fear of what might happen. I made my way to the edge of my grass plot and toed the white void.
Like the rock, the grass extended out to where I had stepped.
I moved back to wait and see if anything else happened. When nothing did, I ventured a little farther. Three paces produced three footlong patches of grass. I then walked in a circle to fill in the gaps and discovered the edge of a second grave.
If I was correct in understanding this dreamland, the world filled in wherever I walked. There was a slight delay but, for all intents and purposes, it was like being in a video game where my character had to explore the map to find hidden chambers and treasure. For the first time since climbing out of my grave, I actually smiled. This was kind of fun.
I traced out the second grave and filled it in, successfully doubling my world. I wondered how far out everything extended. Where the boundaries to my dream world ended.
After producing a third and fourth grave, I stopped to put an ear to the dirt. I knocked on the headstone and asked, “Is anybody home?”
Of course there was no reply. Whoever occupied these other graves had died decades before me, according to their dates. If they were like me, they had vacated the premises a while ago. I wondered how much of their dreamlands they’d surveyed by now.
I decided to set off on a journey of discovery to find out how far I could go in this world. There was nothing for me in the cemetery, as far as I could tell. And there must be a reason for my ability to wander.
The rock I’d thrown laid twenty yards from me on a small patch of dirt. I figured if it had landed on a path, perhaps that path led somewhere. Before making it no more than half a dozen steps, something in the distance gave me pause.
Faintly, little spots of green popped up in what I figured was the horizon line. The world was filling in on its own, now, or at least that’s what it appeared to be doing. Instead of single patches like the ones I’d made, this was a straight line of green headed my way.
I retreated to my grave to stand on the headstone. Something was definitely coming this way. I didn’t know if I should be afraid or not. After all, I was already dead; what more could happen to me?
A gangly gentleman trod up the path leaving the green line in his wake. The man wore shorts and sneakers. A Hawaiian print shirt — lazy skeletons leaning against palm trees with tropical drinks in hand — fluttered in the breeze of his movement. When he got near enough to see me, he waved. Driven by curiosity, I waved back.
The man smiled and called out, “Hello there!”
His feet slapped against the hard dirt road as he walked. He stopped and looked at something I couldn’t see, myself. Bending down and plucking at the air, he stood up with a flower, which he slipped into the buttonhole of his shirt. When he got right up next to me, I noticed the flower had seen better days. It was wilted and zapped of its color.
“Hi,” the man said again, “name’s Curtis.” He pointed to his chest and looked down. “Oops,” he said, fishing a name tag out of his pocket and attaching it to the front of his shirt. “That’s better. Don’t tell my supervisor, okay? He’s just waiting for me to screw up again.”
“Who are you?” I asked. I don’t know what puzzled me more, the stranger or the white void. Both of them sufficiently confused me no end.
“Curtis,” he said.
“Yeah, I know,” I said, “but who are you? And where are we?”
“Ah, let me explain,” Curtis said. He dug in his pockets, searching each one — some of them multiple times — before finding a folded piece of paper. He opened the paper. A couple of the folds stuck together by some sort of brown liquid and tore as the paper extended out to its full size. Curtis cleared his throat and took on a stately appearance. In a loud and clear voice, he read from the paper:
“Hello and welcome to Dearth! My name is Curtis, I will be your chaperone on the last leg of your journey, to wherever your final destination may be. How are we all feeling today?”
He scrutinized the paper, perhaps his own handwriting, and nodded along with the appointed pause in his presentation. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to answer his question now or wait until the end. His lips counted to three before he went on.
“We appreciate your business and look forward to joining you on this last stage of the known universe. With me as your chaperone, please feel free to ask any question you have and if—”
I cut him off: “I have a question.”
Curtis looked up from his cheatsheet and back down again. Afraid he’d lose his place, he put his finger on the spot where he left off.
“Did you say ‘Dearth’?” I asked.
“Yes,” Curtis said and proceeded to start over at the top of the page. “Welcome to Dearth. My name is Curtis. I will be your—”
“What is Dearth?”
“This is Dearth.” Curtis held his hand out to the white void.
“It’s certainly named well,” I said, unamused. “And Dearth is what, exactly?”
“Dead Earth,” Curtis said. His tone told me I should have known that for myself. Thankfully I didn’t have to prompt him this time to explain further. “This is the passageway between your former life and the next plane of existence.”
“Riiiiight,” I said.
Curtis glanced at the paper in his hand, as if he wished to continue. I told him to put the paper away and just talk to me like a normal person. He reluctantly folded the paper and put it back in his pocket.
“Sorry,” he said, fumbling the paper away. “I’m a little nervous. You’re my first transition on my own.”
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“Most people have found the afterlife to be a bit confusing. Not knowing where to go and what not. My great-grandfather started this liaison business to help ease people’s frustrations and fears.” Curtis shrugged. “I’m only part-time, helping my dad for the ‘summer’ period.” He put air quotes around “summer.”
“So I’m really dead, then?” I said. “This isn’t some weird dream?”
“Bummer, right?”
I looked around at the white void. This really wasn’t what I pictured the afterlife to be at all. It was... well, boring.
“If you have your things together,” Curtis said, “we can begin.” I told him I didn’t have any belongings, which he smacked his head over. “I forgot, you can’t bring it with you.”
“All I have is this watch,” I said. I held my arm up for him to see. His eyes went wide and he grabbed my arm to pull the watch closer.
“You have a timepiece?” he asked, mystified. “Wow. I’ve never seen one fully intact before. We don’t have timepieces here. We don’t need them.”
“How do you know what time it is?”
“We don’t,” Curtis said, releasing my arm. “Time has no meaning here like it does on Earth. That’s why I was late meeting you.” He grew sheepish. “I should have met you when you ascended.” He took a step toward me with his hands clasped together. “Please don’t put that part in your review.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, waving his fears away. His face relaxed. I wished my troubles could have been relieved as easily.
“Let’s get a move on then,” Curtis said with a smile. He spun on his heels and started in the direction he had come along the dirt path. With a brief glance behind me at my grave, I followed after him, if only not to be alone any longer.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Your particular case,” he said, beginning another search of his copious amount of pockets. “Let’s see.” He came up with another tattered piece of paper.
I wondered if the afterlife hadn’t made a jump in technology in decades or if Curtis was a holdout still using primitive technology such as paper. I bet he printed out directions on where to go as well.
“Ah, you’re one of the lucky ones,” he said, and nudged me with his elbow. “I thought you looked like a nice guy.”
“Thanks,” I said and tried to sneak a peek at what was written on the paper, but Curtis folded it up in a flash and stowed it away in his shorts.
Copyright © 2023 by Mark Mitchell
