Tales of Ghosts. Playing Another Reality. Edgar Allan Poe award. Alexandra Kryuchkova

and we walked away from the bonfire.

      “Where are we going?” I asked.

      “To the Chancellery.”

      “What about the queue? Or…”

      “No… however, there are exceptions to every rule.”

      We stepped abruptly out of the fog and found ourselves on the outskirts of the City, flooded with the Sun, at the entrance to a skyscraper. I noticed several angels bypassing the queue to lead inside the souls guarded by them. We followed them in. The Angel asked me to wait for him on a bench at the ajar door to the Courtroom, next to others like me waiting something out of turn.

      “What a pity,” sighed the Boy sitting to my right.

      “Pity? For what?” I decided to clarify.

      “We are here and not there,” he answered sadly.

      “Why?” I asked, not understanding what he meant. “And where is ‘there’?”

      “I want to be an angel,” the Boy sighed again. “‘There’ means in the general queue. And we are here… There is almost no chance to become angels from here.”

      “Why not?” I wondered, still understanding nothing.

      “My grandma used to say that all children leaving the Earth become angels. Outside the queue, only exceptions are served.”

      A devil’s head popped out of the Courtroom.

      “Shit! What the Hell are you talking about?! Shut up you both, exceptions! In this Hall, the most interesting begins! And I can’t hear a damn thing because of your chatter!”

      “I’m awfully sorry,” I whispered apologetically and involuntarily walked over to the ajar door.

      The Moonlight Sonata was playing there, the lights were dimmed. Frozen in anticipation, the judges were ready to listen. The left bowl of Libra tilted almost to the limit, although it contained only one scroll of jubilant demons. Images from the earthly life of yet another soul started projecting on the screen …

      1. The Master of Fates

      The world collapsed…

      Elena decided to make coffee, but found the coffee jar empty. She helplessly sank into a chair and was automatically flipping through a fresh newspaper, when suddenly a strange announcement caught her eye, “Everyone who decides to commit suicide gets a cup of coffee / tea before death at the expense of our house!”

      The door of the mansion, placed on the edge of the city, was opened by an old woman in black.

      “I’m on the ad,” Elena said wearily.

      “Yes, come in, please!” the Hostess invited the girl in.

      In the center of the small hall, in the armchairs by the fireplace, Elena noticed two men. In the corner, curled up in a ball, a black cat was dozing. They must have been drinking tea really, since the cups hadn’t been taken away yet, and the box of chocolates was half empty.

      Elena looked around. The furnishings were not rich, but not a speck of dust to be noticed anywhere, and everything was tasteful: embroideries on the walls, curtains on the windows, antique candlesticks and parquet…

      “And for you … tea or coffee?” the man in blue jumper asked.

      “Coffee … I ran out of coffee at home … Thank you …”

      He was about fifty. “Handsome. Obviously not poor. Why is he looking for death?” thought Elena, and the Handsome retired to the kitchen.

      The second man, in gray trousers and gray sweater, with a huge green scarf wrapped around his thin neck, looked pale and coughed frequently.

      “Sit down at the table, honey!” the Hostess smiled, returning from the kitchen with pies. “Or take a seat on the sofa! It’s up to you. You see, we mean no harm to you. Despite your great desire to leave the world forever, stay for a while in our gloomy but kind company!”

      Elena, however, had long been unafraid of anything, and it didn’t matter to her what to drink, tea or coffee. Trying to understand where she’d got to, the girl sat down at the table.

      “We are all a step away from death. However, nobody forbids us to allow ourselves something pleasant before losing everything at once. What way did you decide to go to the Other World?” the Hostess asked.

      “And what’s your name?” the Handsome added.

      “Elena,” the girl answered, gripping a warm cup with her fingers.

      “Ernest,” the Handsome introduced himself.

      The man with the scarf wanted to say his name, but coughed.

      “And Robert is our painter!” the Hostess introduced him. “He is pondering about his scarf. And Ernest planned to…”

      “I haven’t decided yet… the way…” Elena said in confusion, without listening to the end.

      “Well, that’s not a problem!” the Hostess encouraged her smiling. “Where are you in a hurry now? An hour earlier or later…”

      The Hostess gently asked the guests to share their stories about the sudden collapse of the world. Everything, in fact, came down to a few reasons: feeling of uselessness, loss of loved ones, incurable disease and lack of money. Each story they had told really touched a nerve, however, each of them believed that their own reason was much more significant, and what had happened to the others was possible to survive.

      “Listen, Elena,” Ernest said calmly. “I have a bag of money. I’ll give it to you. Free of charge. I don’t need it anymore. And you will solve all your problems! You are too young to jump off a bridge into the water!”

      “Give her the money, that’s right,” Robert agreed. “But why should you die? You are the only one who’s been saved – out of how many there? – obviously to live! Is that a coincidence? I’m really dying, and I don’t have much time left anyway. I just don’t want to torture anyone.”

      “You still have time to paint us!” Elena exclaimed. “And not only us! Create a lot of beautiful pictures! Why are you in a hurry?”

      “Elena is right, Robert,” the Hostess agreed. “There is no need to hurry. You can live here. I will take care of you like of a son. It doesn’t bother me at all. My son is dead, and I would give a lot to have someone to relieve my loneliness.”

      Word by word, and by the evening they became friends and stopped rushing into Eternity, although it was not voiced out loud.

      Suddenly the doorbell rang again. A tall man of strong build in black robes with a huge backpack appeared on the threshold.

      “Is it here the suicidal are gathering?” the stranger chuckled darkly.

      The Hostess nodded and smiled, but a feeling of anxiety pinched her heart.

      “And who are you?” she asked before letting the stranger into the house.

      “The one you’re missing here!” the man answered sharply and, throwing the Hostess aside, headed for the room.

      A nurse approached the old lady brought at night to the intensive care unit. She lay under a drip, whispering something. The nurse couldn’t hear the words and leaned closer.

      “I am a psychotherapist… I wanted to save them, but God punished