Jo Finn? The figure behind the desk waved his hand to indicate a couple of empty seats nearby. Jo looked around.

He was in a room with people sitting, waiting. A waiting room? And it was huge. Thousands upon thousands of people on red plastic chairs.

There was one window. Jo looked out and saw grey. Clouds? How tall is this building? I can't even remember coming here.

He took a seat next to a man, mid-fifties perhaps, hands folded reverentially in his lap of faded brown corduroy.

Are we? What is . . . ? Jo faltered. The man glanced at him and smiled faintly. You might be surprised. Just wait, he’ll call you.

The room was silent. It felt like there was no life in the place. No life in the place? I can’t possibly be . . . ? And these people too?

Jo Finn. The sudden voice startled Jo. The corduroy man nudged him and tilted his head towards the desk where the figure was waiting.

Jo walked over. I’m sorry, can you tell me . . . Door H, to your right. The figure spoke without waiting for Jo to finish.

There was a door Jo hadn’t seen before, with an H inscribed. He turned the handle. H for Heaven, he sighed. But no wait, H is also for . . .

Door H opened and Jo stepped into a greyness that absorbed his soul. Door H for Happy Ever After?

by Liz Johns

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