Window Pains

WINDOW PAINS

“Wife’s here to see you, John.”

         “Oh God, not again. I only spoke to her yesterday, what does she want now?”

         “Not my business, John. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

         “I wanted to go to Meditation Class this morning. Please Pete, can’t you tell her I’m ill or something?”

         “Don’t be so daft, mate. You’re dead, remember? You don’t get ill any more.”

         Sometimes it’s difficult to realise I’ve been on the other side for almost fifteen years. Road accident victim; painful but quick. I soon forgot about it when I arrived here. It’s not heaven or hell, just another dimension. Big surprise for a confirmed atheist, I can tell you. Pretty cool too, up until some smart-arsed, son of a bitch on planet earth discovered a way to communicate with the dead through two-way windows. Walter Sills; inventor of and top man at ‘Windows to the Soul' Glass Company. It wasn’t so bad at first; he was quite happy to just communicate with his dead brother, but then of course, he realised he was sitting on a potential fortune. Every damned business that could afford it had a window installed and it’s been mayhem ever since. It’s bad enough for ordinary immortals but for celebrities it’s worse than being dead. Poor old Elvis never gets a day without some television company demanding an interview.

         I drift unenthusiastically towards the window where my bereaved wife waits on the other side. Better try to be pleasant, then she might leave early. Difficult for her though when she’s paid such a lot for the appointment. Walter Sills must be a billionaire ten times over. In his fifties now; I keep asking the boss to deliver a fatal heart attack so I can get my hands on him here, but she just laughs. It’s alright for her, she sits in her office all day doing paperwork; no one’s allowed to view her. It’s a devil when you can’t get any peace in death.

         “Hello darling,” I speak into the two-way microphone and flash my best angelic smile.

         “John, you’re looking peaky. Sure you’re okay?”

         “I’m dead, dear; we don’t do rosy complexions around here. How are you feeling today?”

         “Not good, had another migraine last night. Sometimes I wish they’d discover a brain tumour and allow me to join you. I miss you so much.”

         “I miss you too,” I lie. I must make an appointment to see the boss and beg her to keep the missus healthy well into her nineties. Maybe she could arrange for another bloke to take on my widow; not that I’d wish that fate on my worst enemy. Well, maybe Walter Sills.

         It’s almost impossible to get to talk with Pete or the boss nowadays. You see, once earthlings discovered there is an afterlife, they’ve been topping themselves right, left and centre. Management here spend most of their time dealing with admissions these days. I suppose I have to be grateful my wife is anti-suicide. It’s not that I dislike her or anything. I mean, we were happy for twenty-three years. Then we met. (No, the jokes aren’t any better this side either). I guess I just got used to living in peace here and I must admit some of the females are quite dishy even if they are dead.

         “You don’t mind, do you dear?” My wife’s voice cuts into my thoughts.

         “Sorry precious, I missed that. Bad reception this side.”

         “I said, I’m thinking of selling the house and moving somewhere smaller. It’s too big for me now and the money I save will pay for more visits to ‘Windows to the Soul.’ It would be lovely to see you more often if I could afford it. Am I doing the right thing?”

         I glaze over, hoping I appear to be receiving advice from some higher plane.

         “I wouldn’t recommend it at the moment. I sense you need to stay where you are.”

         I read the disappointment on her face but know she’ll accept my advice. She’s always been into all things spiritual, the missus. After I died she visited every Medium listed, in an effort to contact me. Never worked; maybe they were phoneys or perhaps I wasn’t tuned in properly having been a non-believer all my life. Of course, all the Mediums have gone out of business since Walter’s gimmick took off.

         If only I could get in touch with a good, old-fashioned, gifted Medium. One who might help extend my period of tranquillity by corrupting Walter Sill’s business in some way? Straight after the wife’s left I decide to sign up for the Awareness class.


After six weeks I’m amazed to find what extraordinary powers I possess when it comes to communicating with the living. I’m regularly in touch with a Medium on earth who was highly acclaimed before Walter Sills’s invention. She’s pretty brassed off too, as you can well imagine. Together, we formulate a plan; the next Friday, which just happens to be Christmas Eve I’m astral travelling down to Walter’s mansion, with a mission. He may be accustomed to speaking to the deceased through his precious windows but he’s not expecting to find a departed soul sitting in his living room. His face turns a whiter shade of pale than mine.

         “Do not be afraid, Walter.” The quality of my rehearsed wavering voice is fantastic, even if I say so myself. “Do as I ask and you will be spared. Defy my orders and you may end up in a place you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy.”

         “Who are you? What do you want?” Walter stammers.

         “I’m a messenger from the other side. I’ve been sent to tell you the boss is not happy about these windows of yours. She demands you stop interfering with the afterlife or she will arrange your immediate demise. You may think it’s heaven up there but she’d make sure you were registered at that other sweltering place below for eternity.” It’s okay to lie a bit when you’re dead.

         Walter immediately withdrew his services and arranged for all the windows to be banned from use. For a while peace was restored in our dimension and its residents allowed to just get on with death. Having no bodily functions to see to or any earthly tasks to complete can be quite a relief and frees up infinity for the individual to pursue new interests. But, good things never last do they?

         Six months after my visit to Walter the wife pops her clogs and my tranquil state is shattered. Ironically, she fell off a ladder when she was cleaning the bedroom windows and never gained consciousness. Trouble is she says she’s bored with nothing to do up here and trails round after me all the time like a puppy wanting constant attention. My death just isn’t the same now she’s joined the ranks.

         “Why don’t you mix more with like-minded souls?” I ask her one evening after she’s whined and complained all day.

         “I don’t like new people, you know that. And I’m far too young to have my earthly friends up here; they’re all still alive. If only I could talk to them, I’d feel a lot better.”

         Another idea stirs in my spiritual brain. Even in death I’m a genius. Next morning I pop over to see Pete and ask him a favour.

         The following day sees the arrival of Walter Sills in our midst. Pete cleverly arranged for lightning to strike him while he was out in a freak storm. He’s still bewildered but he recognised me instantly and is so grateful I saved him from going to that other place. I must remember to tell the gang not to let on to him it doesn’t exist. Walter’s gratitude knows no bounds and he’s determined to be my afterlife slave. Fine by me; at last I can see a purpose in his two-way windows.

         “Is there anything I can do here to repay your kindness?” Walter pleads.

         “Well, actually your arrival is very timely. The boss has decided the world may be ready for that invention of yours now and wants you to be in charge of the business from this side.” Walter punches the air with both fists, smiling as if he’s died and gone to heaven.

         “So, you can start by cleaning all the muck off the windows this side, even up here the pollution level is on the increase.” I hand Walter a bucket of soapy water and some cloths; he strolls away jauntily, whistling a familiar George Formby tune.

         Strange how things pan out. Who’d have thought I’d make a mate of Walter and he’d be the one to rescue me from the missus? Maybe we can go for a pint of heavenly brew once she starts chatting to folks back home.