Chapter 1
I’m floating—hovering above the atmosphere of my bedroom. I see my mom way down below, crying. She’s draped over my body, which lies stretched out on the bed. My bed. Well, it was mine. Not anymore. I’m dead, and I lost everything that belongs to the world of the living.
There I am, naked from the waist down. And up here...
Holy shit. I’m naked too. Naked and hard.
What the hell happened? How did I die—and why the hell am I naked and erect?
While I hover in midair, I spot the Playboy magazine beside my body. Dude… who the hell jerks off to magazines anymore?
“We found him dead,” I hear a voice. It’s my stepdad. He and a cop are talking just outside the room. A woman I don’t recognize comes in, tries to pull my mother off me. She resists, returns, and covers my lower half with the bedsheet. Damn it, what a shameful way to go. My dead body still has a… well, my dick’s poking a tent right under the sheet. This has to be a bad dream.
“Did he have any health issues?” the cop asks.
“Not that I know of. He seemed like a healthy kid,” says my stepdad.
“There might be a request for an autopsy.”
“Autopsy?”
“Yeah. He died alone, under… let’s say, strange circumstances. No history of illness, you said.”
“I said he seemed healthy, but I don’t know if he had anything.”
“Well, that’s why there’s an autopsy.”
“Alright. Here’s my number. I’m his stepfather. His mom won’t be in the right headspace to handle any of this.”
“I’m really sorry. This isn’t common. Just one more thing: you said it was she who found him, right?”
“Yeah.”
“We’ll need to speak with your wife, if the results don’t point to natural causes.”
“Okay.”
The officer glances over at my body, walks to the bed, and picks up the magazine.
“Carla Pérez? Man, I remember this one. Sold out fast. I was still in high school when we all chipped in to buy a copy and—”
My stepdad clears his throat.
“Right. Sorry. We’ll be in touch.”
I stop floating. My feet touch the floor. I walk over to my body and try to enter it somehow. No use. I’m a ghost—just like they say: weightless, see-through, untouchable. I can’t grab anything. So… I guess I’m stuck like this. Nude. And this damn hard-on won’t go away.
Then everything starts fading—like the world’s light is dying out. Once it’s all dark, I can’t see a thing. But weirdly enough, I’m not afraid. Just embarrassed. Embarrassed for my mom, for the cop, for my stepdad. What a messed-up way to die. From what I recall, I was on my phone, watching a video and… that’s it. Blackout.
A ceiling light flicks on. I’m now in a room with black walls. A yellow bulb glows brighter, and I see two doors ahead. Both wooden, with gold handles. No signs, no labels.
I hear something next to me. I turn—nothing but shadows. But I know someone’s in the corner.
“Who’s there?” I ask.
“Nobody,” comes the reply, trying too hard to sound like an adult—deep and gruff. It calms me a little.
“C’mon, man. You just talked.”
The voice steps forward. As he moves, the light reveals him: long black hair, leather trench coat, military boots up to his calves. The buttons are all done up to the collar. His face is painted white, eyes darkened with black makeup, lips painted pitch black too. Below his eyes and on his cheeks, same deal. There’s even an upside-down cross drawn on his forehead—not a tattoo, but close.
“Hi,” he says.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“Rafael. Are you the devil?”
“No,” I reply, then pause. “Why would I be?”
“Dunno,” he shrugs, glancing down at my legs. Only then do I realize I’m still naked. And yep, still hard. Again, shame hits me, and I try to cover up.
We fall into an awkward silence.
Then Rafael looks at the doors and asks, “You think this is hell?”
“I don’t know,” I say.
Suddenly, one doorknob turns. The door opens fast, and in walks a tall Black man—nearly two meters. He shuts the door behind him, wears black shades and a sleek black suit.
“Just two of ’em?” he asks, casually.
Me and Rafael glance at each other.
“Damn, lil dude died mid-stroke, huh? I ain’t never seen that before. Only time I see folks show up stiff like that, it be old heads poppin’ a whole bottle of them blue pills. But you? Young like that? Man, respect.”
I say nothing. Just shame and silence.
“Yo, what ’bout shorty tho? Bet she was bad as hell. Took you out in the sheets? Damn, that’s savage... sheesh. I’m a fan for real, bruh.”
I stay quiet. So does Rafael. Kid clears his throat.
“Aight, my bad for clownin’. I know this shit’s heavy. If y’all was older, I’d say this place kinda like Ghost—ya know, that old-ass movie. But ain’t nobody watchin’ that no more. So lemme break it down quick: y’all dead. Two doors. Left one takes you to limbo—ghostin’ ’round the real world. Right one? That’s judgment. Court shit. If it go sideways, straight to purgatory or the hotbox. Feel me?”
“Please, for the love of God, I don’t wanna go to hell!” Rafael sobs, falling to his knees.
“Yo, I just punch the clock.”
“I’ll do anything—anything!”
“Anything?” Kid raises an eyebrow.
“Yes!”
“Aight then. Drop ya pants and face the damn wall.”
A full beat of silence.
Rafael, now quiet, stands with a flicker of pride.
Kid bursts out laughing.
“Man, chill! I’m just f*ckin’ witchu. Y’all really fall for that? World’s crazy, bruh.”
“So… I’m not going to hell?” Rafael asks, hopeful.
“Nah. Never said that.”
“But you said it was a joke!”
“Man, the joke was ’bout bendin’ your emo ass over. Whether you go to hell or not—not up to me.”
Rafael starts mumbling again.
“Is there any way not to end up in hell besides the judgment door?” I ask.
“Yeah, there’s a way. You head back to limbo, see if you can save somebody’s soul.”
“I ain’t savin’ nobody! I’m screwed!” Rafael starts crying again—high-pitched howls bounce off the walls.
Kid shakes his head.
I walk to Rafael. Seeing him like that… I don’t know, makes me feel weird.
“Hey, come on, man. Get up.”
“I can’t. I wasn’t brave enough out there, either. Damn, I screwed up.”
“Whatever. I’m going to limbo. Good luck cryin’ your way out of here.” I walk to the left door. The altruism passes quickly.
“Ayy, big dawg really went out swingin’. Respect.” Kid grins.
Right before I turn the handle, Rafael calls out, “Wait, I’m coming too.”
“One sec,” says Kid. “Once you out there, clock’s tickin’. Soon as they drop your body and say some holy words—don’t matter if it’s Jesus, Buddha or some Rabbi—you done. Straight to the smoke box. Feel me?”
“Got it,” I say.
I open the door. It leads to a street—paved, with shacks, houses, a small square. Looks like a poor neighborhood. No one around.
Rafael steps out behind me. From inside, Kid watches me like I’m a legend. If only he knew I didn’t die gettin’ laid…
Then I hear a voice.
“Yo! Hold that door, man! Don’t let it close!” I turn. Two men are running our way, yelling.
Too late. The door slams shut.
“Yo, what’d I JUST say?! I said—we said—don’t let the door close! And what’d you do? You LET IT CLOSE!” One of them yells. He’s short, Black, dressed in rags, hair all grey, scruffy white beard.
The other’s huge. Also Black, but lighter skinned, muscular, tattooed arms, bald, sharp eyes. Wears just shorts.
They look me up and down… pause when they hit my crotch.
“Damn… that ain’t no stiff, that’s a jackhammer. Kid could break concrete with that thing.” The big one says, laughing.
“Oh great, just great. We stuck here again—’cause buddy over there can’t hold a damn door!” The smaller one grumbles.
“It’s not our fault,” I say.
“Bruh… BRUH. I literally said—hold the door. What’d you do? YOU LET IT CLOSE. You lucky death beat me to it.”
“Easy, Kev,” the big guy cuts in. “They just got here. Welcome, boys. I’m The Rock. And the angry little thundercloud? That’s Kevin.”
“You know what? Screw this. Screw YOU. Screw HIM. I’m done!” Kevin stomps off, voice raspy and fading.
I turn to The Rock.
“Like, the Rock? The actor?”
“That’s right. Big, bald, beautiful—and dead.” He smiles. Besides the bald head and big arms, he’s nothing like Dwayne Johnson.
“Don’t mind Kevin. He froze to death in Curitiba. Been pissed at the world ever since. So, who’re you guys?”
We pause. Then I answer.
“That’s Rafael. I’m Carlos.”
