My grandfather contacted me from the afterlife. It’s not what you think.

I was close to my pops and it hit me hard when he passed. I want to say this before I go any further. He was always good to me and I only have the fondest memories of our time together. Days in the park, playing catch, fishing trips…You know the type of thing – idyllic childhood memories with a loving grandparent.

Memories are a funny thing. The good times are the ones we always talk about, the ones we chose to remember. It’s like photographs I guess…snapshots in time. We only take pictures of happy occasions – weddings, birthdays, graduations and vacations. These are the events and milestones we decide to commemorate.

But what about the dark times? Those painful memories that we carry with us. Sadly, we cannot escape from suffering during our short mortal existence. At some point we will experience disappointment, anger, heartbreak and grief. We try not to dwell on these moments of pain, to not let them consume us and destroy our fragile lives.

We push the pain to the back of our minds or attempt to cope using medication and therapy. But we can never truly escape our past. Our mistakes and tribulations will always be there and in some respects they will come to define us.

I had my fair share of frustrations during my early years, but my first true loss came when my grandfather lost his long battle with cancer, quietly passing away in a hospice bed on a cold winter’s day. Like I said, his death hit me hard. I struggled through the funeral, stifling my tears as I watched his coffin being lowered into the ground.

The weeks and months after my pop’s death was a difficult time for me as I struggled to deal with grief and depression. But I was able to work through this pain and emerge from the pit of darkness, finding an inner strength whilst telling myself that my granddaddy wouldn’t want me to wallow in grief. I knew that my pops would want me to get on with my life and so this is what I did, but there was another twist in the tale to come.

They say that all families have their secrets…their ‘skeletons in the closet’ so to speak, and I guess ours is no different. I must reiterate that I was very close with my grandfather and he was always kind to me. But as I grew older and more astute I began to see the tensions within our family. There was always a coldness between my dad and granddad…between father and son. They maintained a relationship but I got the impression it was more for my sake than anything else.

I believed there were unresolved issues from my father’s own childhood, but he never spoke about it. Likewise, my grandparents had split up long before I was born and to the best of my knowledge never reconciled. Again, I never received an explanation of what had happened…that was until a year after my granddad’s death.

By this time I was a fresher in college taking a break from partying to study for my mid-terms. It had been a long study session in my cramped dorm room as I drank cup after cup of coffee to keep my concentration. But inevitably my strength eventually failed me as my eyes closed and I fell asleep with my head rested against my desk.

I’m not sure how long I was out for but I do remember waking up to the first lights of dawn shining through my window, pulling my weary head off the desk and shaking myself back to reality. I cursed myself for wasting precious hours of revision time but was astonished to find many pages of handwritten text on the table in front of me.

Initially I thought I’d gotten more work done before I drifted off to sleep, but when I started reading the words I felt my heart beating fast in my chest. What I read was astonishing and surely impossible. Therefore, I suspected a trick. The text was not in my handwriting you see, so I reckoned my roommate had played a cruel practical joke on me. But then I remembered he had gone home to his folks for the weekend. And besides, there were details included in the letter which he couldn’t possibly have known.

What’s more, I recognised the handwriting and was able to compare the mystery letter to the last birthday card I received from my pops. And guess what? It was a perfect match. I felt a cold chill run down my spine as I sat down upon my mattress and read the words that I knew were my grandfather’s.

I knew we had a special bond but would never have guessed it extended beyond the grave. But I can’t think of any other explanation after what I’d learnt, and so I must believe that my pops contacted me from the afterlife. Clearly, he had unfinished business he needed to communicate and I was his vessel to do so.

It wasn’t easy to read his account and it’s even harder to share it here. Yet, I believe I must, because I see no other way of achieving closure for our family, and I hope to help others with this message.

And so here it is, my dead grandfather’s words in full for you – the reader – to judge as you will.

Jason, my dear grandson. I’m sorry to have to reach out to you in this manner. This is weird for you I’m sure and it’s not my intention to freak you out. Rest assured that you haven’t lost your mind. I can’t explain how but for some reason our bond extends between the realms and I am able to write my account using your hand.

You may consider this a violation of your sovereignty and you’d be right to do so. I can only apologise profusely and assure you that this is a one-time thing. It’s not my intention to haunt you Jason. I want you to live your life and be happy, but I also need you to know the truth about me and to understand what awaits us all after death.

First of all, I want to say how much I love you. It means so much to me that you were there for me during my last days and hours. I felt your presence throughout, even after my physical condition deteriorated so much that I couldn’t speak or move. I knew you were holding my hand when I took my last breath and it brought me much comfort.

Do you ever think about death Jason? I suspect not. I never did when I was your age. When you’re a kid you think you’ll live forever. But, once you reach old age, you’ll understand what it’s like when your body and mind slowly deteriorate. Cancer’s a horrible disease, slowly eating away at you from the inside out. I’ll be honest – by the end all I wanted was the sweet release of death and to be free from the pain.

As you know I was never a religious man. Did I lack a spiritual side? Perhaps. The concept of God and the afterlife was something which never really resonated with me. Sure, the chaplain came to visit me in the hospice and we talked. But I was never truly convinced.

I can’t tell you exactly what happened to me after I died. There wasn’t a tunnel or bright light which I followed. One moment I was in unbearable pain and the next there was nothing but darkness. I don’t know how long I spent in that void between the worlds as my soul was separated from my physical body and transported to another place.

When I regained my senses the first thing I noticed was the absence of pain, a great relief as a huge burden was lifted from me. When I opened my eyes and lifted my hand I was astonished to see my youth restored, wrinkles and liver spots gone and replaced by smooth, soft skin. What’s more, my head was clear and my eyesight sharp.

The next thing I saw was the mirror in front of me – reflective glass framed by beautiful gold. But what I focussed upon was the man staring back at me who at first I didn’t recognise. On closer inspection I realised I was looking at my own reflection – except I was no longer a sickly old man. Instead, by some miracle, I’d been restored to the prime of life.

To my astonishment I realised I was back in the body I had in my twenties – handsome, healthy and strong. Let me tell you Jason, I couldn’t help but smile as I admired myself in that mirror. I thought this must be heaven. It was real and somehow I’d made it. I was so focused upon this apparent miracle that it took me a moment to survey the rest of my surroundings.

Once I did so, I discovered I was sitting in a luxurious waiting room. I sat upon a chair made from the finest oak and softest leather. The gold framed mirror I’d stared into hung from a wall of beautifully crafted and smooth marble. And as I surveyed the room I realised that the floor, ceiling and four walls were all marble – the finest I’d ever seen.

Above the mirror I noted the words carved into the rock which read – ‘Lux in Tenebris’. I’ll confess that I couldn’t remember enough of my high school Latin to be able to translate the phrase. But what I did notice was the two shut doors either side of me – the one on my left was jet black and that on the right was the purest white.

I didn’t understand what this all meant but did get the impression that this comfortable room was in actual fact a waiting area for what came next. I was nervous but not overly fearful as everything which had occurred thus far was an improvement on my previous situation.

I didn’t have long to wait until the next development as the white door to my right slowly slid open, revealing a brightness of inviting sunlight which called out to me. I felt the warm glow and stepped up from my chair, slowly walking towards the light and embracing the warmth as I passed through to the other side.

Suddenly I found myself in a familiar place – my childhood home. This was a small suburban new build which my parents had bought in the 60s when they were first married. I felt strange, looking down at my tiny body dressed in a t-shirt and shorts. I surveyed the living room and saw it filled with faces from my past – my mum and dad, uncle and aunts, cousins and friends. All were smiling and happy and I was the centre of attention.

I saw the chocolate cake on our dining room table with lit candles waiting to be blown out and I noted the banner which hung above the fireplace with my name emblazoned across it. To my astonishment I realised I’d been transported back to my 8th birthday party – one of the happiest and purest memories of my childhood.

It was the strangest experience because I was inside my eight-year-old body and capable of experiencing the innocent joy and excitement of a child whilst still being able to process all that was happening with an adult brain and level of understanding.

They sang the birthday song to me and my father lifted me up so I could blow out the candles. I’ll tell you Jason, I could actually taste the cake in my mouth and it was so sweet. Next, I eagerly ripped open my presents, squealing with glee when I opened the gift from my beloved uncle, my father’s younger brother. A brand-new baseball and glove.

I was so excited that I insisted we go straight out to the garden so we could play catch. Do you remember when we used to play together Jason? When you were younger? I enjoyed those times greatly but our games were also tinged with sadness for me. I don’t know if you noticed. Probably not. I worked very hard to hide it from you. In any event, that birthday party – eating cake and throwing a ball with my uncle – I suppose it was the end of my childhood…the death of my innocence.

You’re probably confused Jason. I never told you about my upbringing, did I? I had my reasons for doing so at the time. Now I realise I should’ve told you the truth before my passing, but hindsight is a fine thing.

I enjoyed reliving the day nonetheless and retired to my bedroom where I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

When I awoke I found myself back in the marble-covered waiting room, except it was different this time. Once again I looked into that gold-plated mirror and saw the face staring back at me. I was shocked to see that I’d aged terribly, my face now pale and drawn while my body was thin and frail.

What’s more, I felt the pain again. Not as bad as I experienced at the end of my mortal life but unpleasant nonetheless, my joints aching and my head throbbing. I also felt anxious, somehow sensing that bad things were ahead of me.

I slowly turned my head to the left as the black door swung open. What I saw beyond that door was the exact opposite of what I’d previously witnessed – a darkness so complete that I thought I was staring into a black hole, a terrifying void which could swallow me whole. Instinctively I knew there was something awful awaiting me on the far side and the last thing I wanted to do was walk through that black doorway.

I tried to move away from the darkness only to find I no longer had control of my body. My brain screamed out but my legs had a mind of their own and soon I was walking into the black void, crying out as the darkness took me.

Suddenly I was a child once again, almost a year older than my previous incarnation. I was stepping out of my father’s Chevy, obeying his instruction to look both ways before I crossed the street as we approached the house on the far side. I experienced a cold terror as we walked up to the worn-out wood door of the small home, knowing all too well what awaited us inside.

My father rang the bell and received no answer. I saw him frown as he began impatiently banging on the door – again, to no avail. The tension increased as he fumbled in his pocket for his spare key and inserted it into the lock. I tried to open my mouth and scream, to beg my father not to go inside…but I found I couldn’t utter a word.

When my dad opened the door the first thing I noticed was the foul smell. My father told me to stay outside while he investigated. I should have listened but I’m afraid I was doomed to repeat the mistakes of my naïve and overly curious eight-year-old self.

Once again my legs walked forward under their own strength, leading me inside as I quietly followed in my father’s path. My blood chilled as I heard my dad scream and burst into tears…the strong man in my life collapsing like a deck of cards. I couldn’t understand what would have reduced him to this emotional state, but then I entered the sitting room and bore witness to the horror within.

My uncle sat on the couch, his body lifeless and his skin flushed of colour. There was blood and fragments of skull and brain on the wall behind him, and a grotesque bullet wound in the back of my uncle’s head, the revolver still clutched in his dead hand.

I stood there in awestruck horror, returned to the mindset of a child who simply couldn’t understand what I was seeing. My father was trying to call for help, struggling with the telephone as he attempted to dial the numbers with a shaking hand. He went crazy when he saw me, crying out with tears in his eyes.

“Damn it! I told you to stay outside!”

He charged towards me, his huge feet thumping on the wooden floor. And then he lashed out, slapping me hard across the cheek.

“Get the hell out!” he repeated.

I burst into tears and ran out of the room, tripping on the doorstep and hitting my head on the concrete. The pain shot through my skull as the world went black.

You might be shocked Jason and if so I apologise. No-one ever told you about my uncle’s suicide and the impact it had on our family. It wasn’t an easy thing to witness as an eight-year-old kid. There was no child therapy for me back then and I guess I dealt with it my own way, by burying the trauma deep in my sub-conscious mind. But you can’t hide from the horrors in the afterlife.

I don’t know for sure whether this is the work of demons behind the scenes or if the only demons are inside of my own head, a consciousness which has somehow survived after the demise of my physical body. Either way, it makes little difference.

I hoped to return to the relative comfort and safety of the marble room. But alas, the darkness wasn’t done with me yet. Fast forward a year. I was back in our family home, but it was no longer a place of happiness and childhood innocence.

My ninth birthday had passed with little acknowledgement and no party but by then I’d come to expect this level of neglect from my previously loving parents. My dad was hit hard by his younger brother’s tragic death. Maybe he blamed himself – I don’t know. Still, my father was never the same after that terrible day.

He started drinking heavily and the man was a mean drunk. My parents’ marriage deteriorated very quickly. They fought regularly as their previous happiness crumbled under the twin pressures of grief and alcoholism.

And now I was thrown back into the middle of it, a scared child watching as my mum and dad’s relationship hit rock bottom. My father was sitting slouched on his armchair, drinking a large whiskey as he watched the television. I was sitting in the corner, trying to remain quiet and unseen as I read my comics. I’d long since learnt not to provoke my father’s anger.
Mother entered the room, shooting her husband a look of cold contempt as she exerted a loud tut. My dad looked up, anger in his bloodshot eyes as he spat out a single word – “What?”

My mum stopped dead in her tracks, meeting his angry gaze before replying.

“Look at the state of you! Drunk again…wasting your life while your son watches!”

“Damn it woman! Leave me be!” Dad shot back.

But my mother had reached her limit, having run out of sympathy for her self-pitying, alcoholic husband.

“You aren’t the man I married!” she screamed, “You’re pathetic! I hate you!”

It seemed like time froze as those furious words hung in the air. I knew what was coming of course. I’d lived this day before, but the terror I felt was just as severe as the first time around. I saw the blind fury in my father’s eyes and knew there was no way back.

He shot up from his chair, his fists clenched as he advanced upon his wife. She cried out and tried to retreat, but the beast who’d taken over my father was too fast, striking out and knocking her to the ground. I gasped in dismay but found myself frozen in terror, unable to move from my corner.

My mother was down on the carpet, blood pouring from her broken nose. But she remained defiant, glancing up at her attacker and smirking whilst she delivered a further rebuke.

“Does it make you feel big? You think you’re a man? You’re nothing!”

My father wasn’t a man any longer, that much was true. He’d transformed into a living monster, his face burning red and eyes bulging as he reached out and grabbed his wife by the throat, throttling the life out of her with his bare hands.

I cried out, begging my dad to stop and running towards the violent scene. I used my meagre strength in an attempt to pull my father away, but to little avail.

“Stay the hell out of this!” he screamed, as he released his grip upon my mother’s throat and struck me across the face, throwing me backwards with a mighty force. I hit the wall and experienced a surge of pain, and once again the darkness consumed me.

Well Jason, you won’t be surprised to hear that my parents’ marriage fell apart soon after this violent incident. Mum filed for divorce on the grounds of domestic abuse and my father didn’t contest. I guess he was ashamed at what he’d done.

I lived with my mum and saw dad only occasionally. The booze took over his life and before long our scheduled visits ended, and eventually we lost all contact. It would be years before I saw him again in the most tragic of circumstances. This was yet another trauma I’d tried to bury, but of course the demons of darkness brought me back there so I could relive the trauma all over again.

I was eighteen years old – officially an adult even though I still looked like a kid. I had to grow up fast after my parents’ violent split. I stayed with my mother but we had little money after the divorce. Mum suffered from anxiety attacks and was often heavily medicated, meaning that I had to look after her and work part-time jobs after school to help pay the bills. I hadn’t heard from my father in several years when I received the call shortly after my 18th birthday.

This was a place and time I’d never wanted to return to but the forces of darkness had brought me back there nonetheless. I felt the sickness deep in my stomach as I waited in the white sterile corridor, sitting upon a hard and uncomfortable bench while I stared at the door across from me, reading the single word written across it in black paint – ‘Morgue’.
The ominous door opened slowly and a masked medical attendant appeared, speaking to me in a cold and emotionless tone, saying – ‘It’s time’.

My head was spinning and I struggled to stand upon my shaking legs, pausing momentarily and taking a deep breath before I stepped inside of the morgue. The smell of disinfectant inside was overwhelming but couldn’t quite cover the foul stench of death.

I saw the metal gurney in the centre of the room and noted the shape of a human body underneath a white sheet. My instincts told me to run from this ghastly scene but I knew I couldn’t. I was the man of the family now and there was no-one else who could complete this unpleasant task.

Slowly…so slowly, the morgue attendant removed the sheet to reveal the horror beneath. There lay my father, but not as I remembered him. Gone was the strong male role model I’d once known, replaced by a bloated corpse with unsightly yellow skin. Years of alcohol abuse had reduced him to this sorry state before his long-suffering liver had finally given in.

Technically my father hadn’t killed himself like his brother had but he might as well have done. I felt sick, the tears rolling down my cheeks despite my best attempts to control my emotions.

The ghoulish attendant showed no empathy as he spoke his next words – “Can you confirm the identity of the deceased?”

I stifled my tears and sobbed my reply, confirming my father’s name to complete this act of cold bureaucratic necessity. I took one last look at my dad’s hideous corpse, my heart aching as I considered the pointless waste of a life. And then I turned and shakingly stumbled towards the doorway, expecting to step back into the corridor but instead walking straight into a dark abyss.

When I opened my eyes I found myself back in that room of marble staring at my pitiful body in the mirror. I looked as ill and tired as before, my hair thinning and face dropping, but there was still a spark of defiance in my eyes and a fire in my heart. I’d been through hell but I wasn’t done yet, and I knew my situation would improve.

I turned to my right, watching with curiosity as the white door opened and the light entered, drawing me in to witness yet another memory of my mortal existence.

I was 21 years old and on my first date with Maria – your grandmother. We went to a drive-in movie although I remember little about the film. Instead, I looked into her deep green eyes and felt like I was drowning in them.

And I experienced the wave of powerful emotions all over again as I gently brushed back her long dark hair and leaned forward to kiss her, and when our lips meet it was magical.

Maria restored my faith and hope after my difficult childhood and on that night I fell deeply in love with her. I thought we would spend the rest of our lives together…But, as you know Jason, this didn’t happen.

But still there were many good years ahead and I tried my best to savour them as the angels of light propelled me forward in time.

Our wedding day. I felt anxious as I stood in the church and sweated through my suit and waistcoat. But then I saw your grandmother walking down the aisle in her long, flowing dress, beaming with joy as she came. I’ll tell you Jason, she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, and saying ‘I do’ was the easiest thing in the world for me.

Next, I was back in a hospital, but this time the circumstances were entirely different. Years before I’d needed to identify my father’s body, but now I was welcoming new life with the birth of my son – your father.

I stood over your grandmother who sat up in her bed. She was exhausted after the trauma of childbirth but filled with joy and love after bringing our baby into the world. A nurse handed me my baby boy and I was nearly overwhelmed with emotion as I held my new-born son in my arms.

I couldn’t believe how small and fragile he was and felt scared that it was my responsibility to protect and nurture this tiny person. But I loved your father more than anything Jason, and that day was the happiest of my life. Yet, as I relived that moment, I couldn’t help but feel sorrow and regret, because I knew this was as good as it got.

On that day I pledged not to make the same mistakes as my father – but alas, this was a promise I did not keep.

My soul was returned to the waiting room and the face I saw in the mirror was rejuvenated, the colour coming back into my cheeks. But as I stared at my own reflection I noted the darkness behind my eyes, a relic of my troubled childhood which I hadn’t been able to shake.

I wasn’t at all surprised when the black door swung open and my legs carried me into the hell of my own making.

Soon I was sitting on a pew in the front row of a church. Isn’t it strange how so many of the best and worst times in our lives take place in churches and hospitals?

I felt broken as I looked down upon the closed coffin, unable to focus as the minister delivered his eulogy.

My mother’s funeral. Her health had declined rapidly in the final years of her life. She’d become unable to look after herself and so my mum moved in with us for a time. It hadn’t worked out however. Maria and I were newlyweds with a young baby to look after and my mum’s narcissism and depression became too much to bear.

We agreed to move her into a retirement home. Well, Maria and I agreed. My mother didn’t want to go and she never forgave me for putting her in there. She died of a sudden stroke one night, passing on with so many issues left unresolved.

She blamed me for what she’d suffered through in her final years and I couldn’t help but feel immense guilt. I thought everyone in that church was judging me, whispering that I was a bad son who’d let his mother die alone. This was the start of it, the beginning of my fall from grace.

The demons sucked me in deeper, bringing me back to one of my worst times. The scene was painfully familiar. Sure, it was a different living room in a different era, but I realise now that history was repeating itself. My boy – your father – was nine years old, the same age I was when…well, you already know that part.

Your dad was playing a video game through the TV and I was in my armchair drinking from a large glass of whiskey and constantly watching the clock as I grew more and more angry.
Maria – your grandmother – was the subject of my paranoid fury. She was working late again – for the third night in a week. I didn’t like her boss, didn’t like the way he looked at her. Our marriage had been in trouble since my mother’s death. I hadn’t coped well with the loss, turning to drink and neglecting my wife and son. I also became paranoid, thinking that everyone was against me…and I’d become obsessed with the idea that my wife was having an affair.

My brain was on fire that night, fuelled by paranoia and cheap whiskey. When Maria finally came home I exploded with anger.

“Where the hell have you been?” I demanded as I shot up from my chair.

Maria’s tired eyes widened in fear but my anger didn’t subside.

“We talked about this…” she stuttered nervously, “We’ve been very busy at the office…”

“Bullshit!” I screamed, “You’re screwing him, aren’t you? Tell me the truth!”

“Not in front of our son!” Maria shot back.

I turned around to face my boy, finding him distracted from his video game as he looked up fearfully. For a brief moment I reconsidered my angry tirade but then Maria spoke again and my fury returned with a vengeance.

“You’re not the man I married. I don’t know what’s happened to you!”

I don’t know what came over me. Perhaps my father’s blood still ran through my veins or maybe the alcohol had erased all sense from my head. Regardless, there’s no possible excuse for what I did next.

I saw red, striking out and punching my wife in the face, hitting her so hard that she fell to the ground, staring up at me with blood pouring from her nose and with shock in her eyes. Those green eyes, the same ones I’d fallen in love with all those years before…and now it had come to this.

I was instantly racked with guilt, realising I’d done something awful that could never be taken back. I heard the shout from my rear, turning to see your father crying out and running towards me. I swear Jason, I didn’t mean to hurt him, instead acting on instinct as I shoved him to the floor, watching in horror as he fell.

And in that moment I reached my lowest point, realising that – despite everything – I’d become just like my abusive father.

I fell deeper into the abyss and suddenly I was standing on a grey, wind-swept platform at a lonely train station. My head was pounding and there were tears running down my cheeks as my whole body shook uncontrollably.

Maria had left me after the assault, taking your father with her. I’d hit my rock bottom, my self-pitying pain so all consuming that even my heavy drinking could not dull it. I had decided to end it all, making my way to the station in a daze as an ill-thought plan formulated in my screwed-up brain.

I stood at the edge of the platform, looking down the line as the train approached from the distance. The bleak scene was not quite as I remembered it. For the first time there was a divergence between my visions in the afterlife and my mortal memories.

I noted how the far platform was shrouded in darkness even though it was the middle of the day. And when I looked to the horizon beyond I could see nothing but black, with not even the moon or stars visible in the sky above. The only light on the far platform came from a fluorescent light shining in the passenger shelter.

I saw three darkened figures standing within and watched in awestruck horror as they stepped forward into the light. I gasped in sheer terror as I recognised the ghoulish trio – literal ghosts from my past. On the left was my late uncle, the bloody bullet hole still in his head just as I’d seen him all those years ago.

Next in line was my father, his skin an unnatural yellow and his body bloated, identical to how he’d appeared on that slab in the morgue. And finally there was my mother, sickly and frail like she was at the end, although I could still see the red marks on her throat, the result of her husband’s attempt to strangle her many years before.

It was chilling to see my dead relatives here in this otherworldly memory of my most painful day. But it got worse. I looked into the dark eyes of the three and noted how all traces of humanity were gone. They weren’t my family anymore, not really. I realised then that the demons of darkness had taken their forms, relishing the opportunity to torture me one more time.

Or at least this is what I first assumed, but now I realise they had a much more sinister intention. It was as if all three were the one organism, and they opened their three mouths in unison and called out in a deep, inhuman voice.

And what they said was this – “COME TO US!”

The words chilled me to my very bones. I should have stepped back from the platform but I couldn’t. The train was fast approaching and I still stood only inches from the edge. All it would take was one step forward and it would all be over…except it wouldn’t. The demons wanted me to jump but the train strike would not kill me. How could it, when I was already dead?

I knew now what they wanted. If I stepped forward my soul would be lost forever, consumed by the perpetual darkness on the far side. This was a terrible fate to be sure, but in that moment I did consider it. I’d been forced to relive the worst times in my life and face up to the mistakes I’d made. I wondered whether this was my punishment. Was this the fate I deserved?

The train was only metres away now, the sound of its engine and blaring of its horn filling my ears and its blood red headlights near blinding me. I put my right foot forward and leaned over the edge, finding myself only inches from eternal damnation.

But suddenly there was a burst of white light from my rear and I felt a firm hand on my shoulder, pulling me back from the brink. The train rolled past us at speed and soon left the platform behind. And when I turned around I saw the face of an angel, the woman who’d saved my life and now my soul.

You may be confused Jason and I don’t blame you. The incident on the train platform did occur however. I attempted suicide after the breakdown of my marriage, only to be saved by a good Samaritan – a kind-hearted woman who pulled me back from the brink and talked me down. She saved my life and I never even found out her name.

That day at the train station was a watershed for me and I’m happy to say that I turned my life around. I stopped drinking and sought professional help to get me back on my feet. Sadly, there was no way back for Maria and I, but I tried to be there for your father when he was growing up. Still, I don’t think he ever truly forgave me for hurting his mother, and I can’t blame him for that.

What I did was unforgiveable but I did everything I could to make amends. I didn’t want to turn out like my father and in that respect I ultimately succeeded. My relationship with you was so important to me Jason, and I intentionally shielded you from our family’s dark history because I wanted you to have a better life.
But I now realise this was a mistake. You deserved to know the full truth about your grandfather, warts and all. I hope you can forgive me for my deception Jason, and please know that I love you.

And so, this was my grandad’s message from beyond the grave. As you can imagine, I was an emotional wreck by the time I finished reading his letter. I still hadn’t fully ruled out the possibility of this being an elaborate hoax and so I decided to confront my father and grandmother with the revelations I’d learnt.

Both were reluctant to talk about the past but eventually they confirmed that my late grandfather’s account was indeed the truth. This hasn’t been an easy time for my family but I think we needed to face the truth in order to heal. Despite his disturbing confessions I still love my pops and miss him dearly. He did wrong but worked hard to break the cycle of violence and self-destructive behaviour.

I considered keeping this dark story a private matter within our own family, but instead I am publishing my late grandfather’s words here. Why, you might ask? Well, I don’t know how my granddaddy was able to communicate with me from the other side, nor can I say whether his experiences of the afterlife are typical.

But, if they are, this suggests that eternity isn’t as simple as heaven and hell. It seems that the afterlife is a constant battle between the light and the dark as we fight against our worst impulses, attempting to defeat our inner demons and rise above all the pain and trauma from our mortal lives.

I don’t know how I feel about this revelation but I believe my grandfather wants me to live my best life and be happy, and so this is what I intend to do. God speed my friends and keep those demons at bay.

Credit: Woundlicker

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