An Interview for Heaven (A Short Story)

I remember it like yesterday. One of those JFK moments. Everyone always remembers what they were doin’.

Me? I was sippin’ on a cold one. Watching some infomercial. Something about a non-stick frying pan. I never seen people get so excited about a pan before. Funny how you remember the details.

Marcy, she was in the kitchen. Radio was playing some classic love songs from the sixties. She was humming along with it, while cleaning the dishes. The Temptations. My Girl. It wasn’t until a plate dropped out of her hand and smashed on the floor that I realised the voice wasn’t in my head.

She could hear it too.

“Children,” the voice said. “This…is God.”

I look at Marcy. She’s standin’ there frozen. Broken pieces around her feet. Starin’ right at me like she’s losing her mind. She wasn’t the only one.

“Can you hear-” she says.

I nod and get off the couch, looking around the room for some kinda bug or device. Someone playing a trick on us. Not a very funny one at that. I’m half thinking it’s one of those candid camera shows so I’m trying not to get too worked up, just in case, so I can say that I knew it was a joke all along. That voice was awfully close though. Whispered right in my ear.

I open the front door and look out onto the street. A kid on the sidewalk has stopped riding her bike. She looks at me. Points to her head. Other people have stepped out from their houses and onto their drive way. Exchanging the same confused looks with neighbours and then looking to the skies.

“I call you,” the voice continues, “every one of you – to tell you that the gates of Heaven are closing. We have no more room. Except for a chosen few.”

That’s when Rob and Billy run down the stairs. I look back at them from the doorway. Both pale as ghosts. Figurin’ their parents ain’t lookin’ too flush with the joys either. The images on the TV have cut away too. It’s black. Radio from the kitchen ain’t playin’ either. The only sound is the voice. And it wasn’t done yet.

“I will be setting a trial for you at this time tomorrow to test your worthiness and whether you merit a place. I know what is in your heart. Perform with all of your abilities, prove your worth and eternal paradise will be your reward. Bless you.”

Suddenly, my ear popped. Just like the cabin pressure drops in a flight. The TV and radio started up again. People on the screen didn’t seem too affected. Business as usual.

For the rest of the evening and next day, it was the talk of the town. People sayin’ it was the end of days. The final judgement had arrived. Church’s were offering special services every hour. Record numbers showed up. That night there was bedlam on the streets. People drinking and partying. Figurin’ those were the ones that didn’t fancy their chances in the trial. Talk about defeatist.

Guess their logic was if there was no heaven after this, then let’s turn it into a hell. Indulge all our wildest desires.

That kinda thinking started to infect the rest of us law-abiding citizens too. As 4pm came around that Sunday, people were getting fidgety. There wasn’t a sinner or saint on the streets when He called again. Ain’t everyday you get a communication from up top.

The kids and Marcy are gathered on the couch. Holding hands. She’s got rosary beads laced through her fingers. Hand on the bible in her lap.

My child,” the voice says. “By now you know that what I say is true. I am the one true saviour, although you know me by many names.”

I feel Billy’s hand squeeze mine. He’s in tears. Poor kid’s five-year-old. This ain’t right.

“Now is the time. Heaven awaits. Your trial begins. First come, first served.”

I open my eyes. Look to the kids and then at Marcy. She’s as confused as me. Shakes her head. I’m about to open my mouth before He cuts across again.

“Kill. Or be killed. I’ll see you soon.”

The pop in my ear. Gone. A scream from down the street. Followed by another.

“No. No! It can’t be this way,” I say and get to my feet, looking outside the window.

People running from their homes. Bloodied. Kids fleeing parents. Kitchen knifes slashing through the air. Gunshots.

Marcy has her arms around the boys. They’re crying.

“This can’t be happening!”

A knock on the door.

“Come in.”

A man in military uniform enters the room, addresses the back of a chair which is swivelled away from the desk.

“What’s the latest Colonel?”
“Well Sir, every indication is that the chemical compounds in the deposit have successfully been activated on the human host.”
“English Rickards, please.” The seated man said.
The standing man clears his throat. “Of course, Sir. The chemtrail deposit from our planes appears to have worked.”
“Worked?”
“Yes Sir.”

The man in the chair swivels around. His face creases into a smile. He takes a deep breath and splays his arms out in front, placing the palms on the desk.

“So, the trial is live?”
“Yes sir. The town is covered in it. Our signal is online. They think God is talking to them right now. It’s a blood bath.”
“You’ve cut all routes and communication to the town I assume.” The standing man nods. “Excellent. Very good. That’ll be all.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh and Rickards?” The man had half turned but straightened up again at the instruction of his superior.
“Yes?”
“Let’s try another town. On a bigger scale. Not some hick town in the middle of nowhere. Somewhere in the Middle East.”
“The Middle East?”
“Is that a problem?”
“No, Sir. Not at all. Logistically, it could be difficult.”
The seated man smiled again. “Not without a little faith. Don’t you know? God can move mountains.”