Half Way to Heaven- a journey to My Afterlife from La Crosse Wisconsin

 HALF WAY TO HEAVEN A Journey from La Crosse Wisconsin to the Afterlife
JESS THORNTON
  
 My Afterlife Afterlife Adventures Book 1 Jess Thornton
iii

 Copyright © 2018 by Jess Thornton All rights reserved. ISBN: 9781982991494

 T o Nel, Marie, Gus, Charlie, and a! of my other dear ones, animal and human-
And Ezmerelda!

 CHAPTER 1 I DIE
 I don’t really remember just when it happened, when I died. I know it wasn’t a long time ago, but it wasn’t recently either. I just knew after awhile that, although I felt pretty much as I always had, better actually, things were subtly different.
I mean, it’s not as if I really thought about life being a little odd; I mean we all kind of go about our lives as if on some sort of automatic pilot until something really important and different happens to us. And really, most lives just don’t have that much really different that comes up, at least nothing out of the ordinary. My extraordinary moment came about when I saw my old friend, my best friend really, Peter Hughes.
“Hi Pete,” I said happily. I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen him, but when we were really young I remember seeing and playing with him almost every day of my life. He had the same red hair and freckles that I remem- bered, and the same gap-toothed smile. He smiled back at me, and waved. That’s when I remembered that he was dead.
•••
1

 JESS THORNTON
THIS WAS MY “WAKE UP MOMENT” IF YOU WILL. UP TO then, I’d just been coasting right along, enjoying what I thought of as my life, in good health and wellness, happy to be alive, but really just taking it for granted. I was only 35, right? Almost everyone feels immortal at that age, since for God’s sake, your life is probably at most only one-half over. I knew who I was, what I liked and did not, who my friends were, what I’d make for supper- everything about my life!
I finished my conversation with Pete as if nothing was amiss, and finally he looked down at his watch and said he had to go, his brother Larry and him were having supper with their parents, and he had to go. “I’ll see ya real soon, Wade,” he said. He always had kind of a raspy voice, ever since we were little kids together on Harnew Road West. “Call me, huh?” he said as he walked away. “It’s been a while!” And he got on his bike, and rode away down the sidewalk.
Once again, I don’t really know why this moment shocked me into a sort of wakefulness, but it did. I started thinking about what I always thought of as my totally ordinary life:
I worked as a writer, and had ever since I could remember. I wrote novels, and books on exercise and nutrition, which were sold online as ebooks, and published into paperbacks. I have many, many friends, acquaintances and neighbors, a little church I love going to, lots of pets- I’d say my life is full indeed! Nothing to complain about, or unusual there.
Maybe I’d been working too hard- sometimes when I was writing, I would forget to eat, and just get so caught up in the discovery of the story of my characters that I’d just go on and on, in a fever of inspiration. It really is true that a fictional universe can seem just as compelling and real as the one all about us, I mean anyone who has been caught up in a really good book or movie has experienced that.
Perhaps my characters had become so real to me that I 2

 had not been paying full attention to my regular work-a-day life. But that still did not explain why I had suddenly thought that my good friend, whom I was talking to, was a dead person.
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
3

 CHAPTER 2
MY DEAD FRIEND
 Iwent back to my house, a two story frame house that I had lived in for my whole adult life. I loved my house, having bought it from an elderly couple who had built a brand new house across the street, up a steep hill. My wife lived there too, or had until she disappeared, oh, a few years back. I never really thought about it, although I did miss Marie. Some things just worked out that way, I guess.
I remembered painting that house, how it had taken me my whole vacation, and most of a summer to do it. I had changed the color of that 100 plus year old farmhouse and changed it from dark, peeling brown to a deep green body, with light green trim, and a coral color for those gingerbread features from the Victorian age. Exhausting, but worth it in the end.
Opening the door, my cats swarmed all over me! My gosh, I must have six cats by now, all of them in their prime. ‘Kind of crazy,” I thought, as I passed through the kitchen to the cupboard where I kept their food. I opened can after can, and put out dry kibble as well, as the menagerie crowded around my legs, purring and pushing their heads against my legs.
4

 I had never really been a cat person, my family had never had cats- that was all Marie’s doing. And so what was I doing with all of her cats? I shook my head, in kind of a fond bewil- derment: I really had become very fond of the cats! I reached down to pet a big black tom cat that Marie had named Jack, and then petted the big white head of another named Ty. The male cats had always taken mostly to me, and I to them.
Now- to the Pete problem- but then, I saw the dogs! Oh, how could I have forgotten- they were all out in the fenced in yard where I had left them to roam. They had plenty of water from a stream that ran in the back, and I also had a big trough that filled automatically from a hose as they drank it. But they were clustered at the back door of the house, wagging and wiggling to get into where I would feed them!
I laughed, happy as always to see all of my dogs, knowing that the neighbors must think that I’m crazy to keep so many animals, but I also knew that I didn’t care- I loved all of my dogs and cats.
The next 20 minutes or so was a hectic, yet fun reacquain- tance with all of my critters, mostly quietly since that is the kind of animal I like best, (no little noisy yappy dogs for me!), as I petted and stroked them all, squatting down to be more on their level as they all ate. I did have to keep the dogs in a hall off of the kitchen so that they would not eat the cats’ food, but the dogs were all respectful of each other’s food bowls. They were all beautiful golden retrievers, well trained, and with quiet and gentle natures. One female, Molly, and then Charlie, Ben, and August. I knew they were not from the same litter, but they certainly could have been, since they were all of an age.
I changed the cat litter boxes, all five of them, two upstairs and two down, and finally got myself a beer from the kitchen fridge and sat at the big wooden table. I enjoyed that nice old table, and it had been needed when our daughter Nel
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
5

 JESS THORNTON
had been little and Marie and I had fed her there, and enter- tained when our various family members had come to visit.
I still used that table lots, since nowadays I hosted many visits, dinners, and get togethers with family members, like Marie’s parents, and her elder sister. They came by often, and seemingly bore me no grudge for my wife’s leaving, who was of course their relation. Well, as I’ve said, there had never been any ill will between any of us, my wife included. I guess it had just been time for her to leave.
6

 CHAPTER 3
I CALL PETE
 “Hello, is Pete there?” I asked over the telephone.
I had to get to the bottom of all this. Pete, my good friend- he wasn’t dead! I’d just seen him, and he looked
the same as always. The same jeans, the t-shirt; the same little bicycle...
“Hello, is this Wade?” asked Pete’s mom. I said that it was, and waited. The same bicycle!? That’s when it really hit me- my best friend was a little boy, about 9 or 10 years of age! And I was 35, grown up and independent- what was going on?
“Hi Wade!” said the boy-voice of my friend. “I’ll come by tomorrow, let’s ditch our little brothers and go by ourselves to the prairie- I want to start building that fort we’ve been talkin’ about- my dad says the carpenters doing those new houses will probably give us scrap lumber.”
He went on and on, but I could barely even listen. I knew for a fact that we were the exact same age! So why, all of a sudden, was he still just 10 years old, and I was grown up? And didn’t he notice the difference himself?
I let him rattle on, as kids will do, and agreed to “play” with him the next day. It was summer vacation, after all, as
7

 JESS THORNTON
Pete had pointed out, so we were totally free to do anything we wanted! My mind said, ‘Sure, Pete old buddy- you can do whatever you want, after all, you’re DEAD!’ I felt sick.
I FINALLY HUNG UP THE PHONE, SAYING “SO LONG” TO MY long dead friend, and sat down in my easy chair. All of my animals clustered all around me- cats on my lap and shoul- ders, dogs at my feet- it was nuts, but I liked it. I stroked Charlie’s golden head, his soft red-gold fur shining in the light of my reading lamp. He looked up at me with his deep brown eyes, and, as only golden retrievers can do, I swear he smiled up at me. The cats just purred contentedly like little motors all around.
I was surrounded with vibrant life, all about me- but why was my long-dead childhood friend also still around?
I remembered, with an effort, when he had died. We had both been 10 years old, and had been building a fort next to my parents’ garage with scrap lumber. We had really put in a good day’s effort, using old bent nails we had scrounged up around the construction site on “the prairie”, which was a really big, totally flat piece of ground that was being devel- oped to house the burgeoning families of the post-war baby boom generation.
The young men that built those houses seemed amused to see us kids coming around, asking for lumber and old nails, and really went out of their way to oblige us. Our fort was built of two by fours cut at an angle at one end, and straight on the other, and held roughly together with nails that we laboriously pounded out to be kind of straight on the side- walk. We even had a big, crooked piece of plywood to serve as a roof, and to us that fort looked fantastic!
My brother Jeff, and Pete’s brother Larry helped us, and they were both just one year younger than us two “big kids”,
8

 as we called ourselves. We let them help, but made a point of ordering them around as much as possible. We really liked that fort, and thought we were amazing builders.
That evening, when Pete and Larry’s mom rang the big bell that signaled that supper was ready on their ranch-style 1950’s suburban home, I looked over at Pete and smiled. He really was my best friend, and I was so looking forward to going to 4th grade with him the next school year.
“We gotta go, Wade,” he said. He swung himself through the roughly triangular window of our fort, and turned to me with his gap-toothed grin. He put his hand under his chin, and waggled his fingers at me just as Curly from the Three Stooges did, saying “Soitenly!!”
Then he and brother Larry took off, running across the street towards home. That was the night they both died, both of them, along with their parents, and their sister, in a tragic car wreck as they drove out to the Dairy Queen after supper.
And now, somehow, they were back.
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
9

 CHAPTER 4 WRITING
 Iwent to my typewriter. That may seem strange, but writing is my job, and when I am putting words down on paper, my thoughts seem to become orderly and logical. At least, more so than when I’m just thinking to myself, when my conscious mind just seems to become more and more confused the more that I tax it. The writing forces structure.
So, I began writing things down, a chronology of my life; trying to make sense of what was obviously just one strange aberration in an otherwise completely normal life. I wrote about my early childhood, all that I could remember, of my parents, and my many brothers and sole sister.
I wrote about my grandparents on my father’s side, and my grandmother on my mom’s, since her father had died quite young. All of my aunts and uncles, my cousins: it was as if I was affirming my own place in the natural, real world, since if I was seeing an old dead friend from my childhood maybe I was not... well, altogether sane.
The writing calmed me, made me see that I was part of the real world; I had a history, just like anybody. I had been planning to write a novel about my parents in their youth,
10

 and this would be a nice start- I estimated I had written about 4 pages, which was a good evening’s work, actually a good day’s work. Your average person has no idea how much sheer work and determination goes into writing 1,000 words, which is about 3 pages in a book. I had written about 2,000, which was double my usual daily quota.
I got up, stretched, and fetched another beer from the fridge. Those cats and dogs were everywhere underfoot, swarming along with me as we all went from the study into the kitchen.
I popped the top on a long neck, and then went over to the counter to open more cans of cat food, and pour more dog kibble into bowls- those animals were always hungry! But then again, they always made me smile. And smiling, I thought of my brothers.
I picked up the handle of the telephone, and started spinning the rotary dial. I remembered Jeff’s number like it was yesterday, although I couldn’t recall the last time I’d talked to him, or even seen him. Only one year apart, we had always been close, even though he still lived in suburban Chicagoland, where we had grown up with Pete and Larry. I dialed, and then took a long pull of beer as I w aited.
“That call cannot be completed as dialed at the present time. Please try again later,” said a tinny sounding female voice recording.
Now that struck me as odd. “Cannot be completed?” Oh, well, I did live in the rural wilds of Wisconsin, after all. Tech- nology was always a little dated- why, just a few years ago we’d still had a party line!
I TOOK THE TELEPHONE RECEIVER HANDLE FROM THE WALL mounted brown phone in the kitchen, and dialed Marie’s
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
11

 JESS THORNTON
parents instead: Duke answered the phone. “There’s nobody here,” he said. Duke was always a kidder.
I heard my mother-in-law Marge in the background. “Oh, Duke, who is it?” she said, laughing.
Always, I was amazed at how these two never aged! I could have sworn that they were both about my age, although of course they couldn’t be. Both had really dark hair, thick and full, and were as healthy and vital as could be. Mine was just beginning to show a little gray, like my mom’s.
“Aw, it’s just Wade,” said Duke, and then continued talk- ing. “How’s it goin’ there in the wilderness, boy-o? We are just watching the golf, and then the Cubs- whooo-eeee, that’s gonna be fun times!”
I could just imagine the scene; the two of them in their snug ranch house in downstate Illinois, a fire in the fireplace, the sports on television, and having just finished a meal of steak, salad, and baked potato. Some things never changed, thank God.
“Hi Duke”, I said. “I’m thinking I might come down and visit your way, if that’s alright?”
“All right? It’s G-r-e-a-T!!” said my father-in-law, imitating the Tony the Tiger commercial from TV. I heard my mother- in-law giggling in the background over the television sounds. I had always gotten along great with them both, even after their daughter Marie was no longer living with me. How good natured could you get?
I said my goodbyes, and hung up. I really liked my in-laws, and would enjoy seeing them. Maybe they would have some insights about that crazy little kid, my old best friend Pete, showing up as a kid. I thought I could stop and see my family on the way down, too, and query them about it.
I was feeling more normal and grounded by the moment. I’d figure this out. I always figured stuff out, I just needed to
12

 sound off to other reasonable people from my life. The trip would do me good!
Only one more thing: I’d need to call my neighbor Jerilyn tomorrow- she would love to take care of my animals. Just about my age, she lived alone, just down our shared rural road a ways with her dog. I’d leave all my cats and dogs with her confidently, but I’d take Charlie along with me- for company .
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
13

 CHAPTER 5 DRIVING SOUTH
 My alarm clock radio went off early the next morning, the dulcet tones of Bob Edwards of Wisconsin Public radio going off at 4:30 AM. Those days that I purposely got up at that early time were always my most productive, by far. Whether I needed to write, or if I was doing anything demanding, I always set my alarm for 4:30.
Today was the day of my journey, and since I am not a traveler, preferring by far to “travel” in my armchair within the pages of a book, or by following a really good movie, I knew this would be taxing on me. Some folks just can’t wait to plan their next trip afar, wanting to check off every far-off place on their “bucket list”- but I just preferred little day trips of maybe an hour or so away at most. That’s what Marie, Nel and I had always done, and now was what I did myself.
Part of it was the animals- cats are not badly traumatized, although they don’t like it if you are gone for more than a day or two. Dogs are different. Dogs are like little children that never grow up, and they need to be walked, and fed, and watered, and petted, and talked to, and otherwise be made to feel they are part of a pack.
14

 My own dogs were doubly fortunate here, since Jerilyn would care for them along with her own dogs, and she’d feed my cats too, and even pet them all. Jerilyn is a treasure. I remember she too used to have a husband, but he’s gone, along with my wife Marie. Life is so full of changes and unex- pected turns.
I WORKED OUT FOR ABOUT 30 MINUTES, MAKING SURE TO stretch thoroughly on my floor yoga mat, and also do my strength work of pushups, sit-ups, chins, and self-resisted moves. Truly, if I do not get out and do some physical exercise on a daily, or near daily basis, I feel physically and mentally awful! When you are used to doing some- thing, anything really, on a daily basis for most of your life, to do without it is traumatic. It throws you off your stride.
The cats all liked to watch me as I did my exercises, their heads moving in exact unison to my movements, as they all looked invariably at the very same things. Only the Siamese, Zeke, liked to get on the floor and “copy” me, often getting in my way, and becoming irritated when I gently moved him aside.
Then, it was the dogs’ turn. We went out for a combina- tion run/walk through my woods, me using my ski poles to add more resistance as I walked, and to add more speed and stability when I ran. Those dogs loved this early morning jaunt through the woods! We would startle deer and turkeys, and squirrels chattered at us in irritation from the tall pine branches, through which the summertime sun was just begin- ning to glow .
What I liked best was simply the incredible oxygenation of the air, redolent with piney odor. That, and the energizing feel of my body working, the dogs all around me. I think the
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
15

 JESS THORNTON
dogs relish the dead things they find the most, and the comradely freedom of moving together in a pack.
After feeding all the dogs and cats again, then showering, I packed my single bag, loaded the truck, and went back in for breakfast. There we all were- me eating my eggs and drinking my green smoothie, (another daily habit), the dogs lying on the floor, having eaten their food in about 10 seconds, and the many cats slowly eating a bit from this bowl and that, picky as always. But they did like the big bowl of cream I put down each morning, bought weekly from a farm just down the road.
And so, I was at last ready to go, to leave my “fastness”, my Fortress of Solitude, my Bat Cave- I just needed a few things more. I got my concealed carry holster, my Ruger SP101
.357 revolver, and three boxes of ammunition.
Why three? Well, my theory is that my first chambered load of the five shots in this small stainless steel pistol should be a plain-Jane .38 bullet. If I need to shoot again, I have a .38 special ready next in the chamber with some extra power. The last is a .357 magnum round- anything that round does not stop, or the two more .357 rounds behind it- well, it has to be bigger than a bear!
I like to be prepared. Walk softly, but carry a big stick, and all of that.
IF I HAVE TO DRIVE ANYWHERE, I PREFER THE VERY EARLY morning. The sun just up, birds chirping, traffic at a mini- mum. I had the windows down in my old truck, and Charlie by my side, looking out the other window .
I liked my old truck, a 1962 green Ford F100, pretty as an old dog, mechanically perfect, if altogether basic, and some- what primitive by modern standards. I had always told Marie,
16

 back when we were together, that I liked old things: old trucks, old houses, and old women. Although she had been young at the time, she never really seemed to like this much...
Tried and true, like my old pistol. It would never jam, I could keep the same loads in it for years, pick it up, and it would fire right away, just like my truck. Modern automatic pistols and rifles routinely jam, and need lots of upkeep and cleaning. Just like young women.
THEN, I THOUGHT I’D STOP BY PETE’S HOUSE, SEE HIM AND Larry and their parents before I left. ‘Wait a minute!’ I thought. ‘His parents are dead- and so is he!’ Besides which, I realized that I had no idea where he lived now. So, how did he come riding up on his little kid’s bike to my house, miles out in the Wisconsin countryside? Where did he come from?
‘Heck’, I thought, ‘I’ll figure that out later.’ I would just head south to Illinois, check on my relations, and get my bearings. Maybe I’d been living in my old farmhouse so long that I was just out of touch with reality.
One other habit of mine was quite quixotic ( it seems to me now that most of my propensities fall into that category): I like to take back roads, “blue highways”, two lane blacktop roads instead of the bland, too-fast-to-even-look-around interstates. Just as in my daily life, I prefer to look around and enjoy the journey, not just get there as fast as possible and then have more time to watch TV and eat bonbons.
So, I headed straight southwards, into La Crosse, Wisconsin just below me. Passing under the Interstate, I noticed there was no new construction going on, which was wonderful- I also don’t like change!
I saw the Harter’s gas station to my right as I headed south on Rose street. A narrow, two lane road- someday, I thought, they should widen it. I thought of turning left on
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
17

 JESS THORNTON
Clinton St., and then go south on Caledonia to the Sweet Shop, the pre-eminent candy and ice cream store in town, and in my opinion the entire world.
I wasn’t that big on candy, but if dark, wonderful, home made chocolate candies are anywhere on your list of “likes”, well then this would be your dream come true! I could envi- sion the store, unchanged since the 1930’s, with the counters loaded on one side with endless varieties of chocolates and hard candies and nuts, and on the other, big tubs of home made ice cream just waiting to be scooped out into cones, dishes, or made into elaborate sundaes for your pleasure. My mouth watered, and I thought ‘Hey, I don’t really have a timetable- and they do open really early!’ And so I turned left onto Clinton, and then right on Caledonia.
I haven’t mentioned yet that I had been a mailman in La Crosse for years and years. I had transferred up from Illinois, and it had been a wonderful move, both for Marie and myself. The “Driftless Region” in Wisconsin is a magical place, where the scenery is as beautiful as the work ethic and basic decency of the folks that live there.
THINK OF IT AS LAKE WOEBEGONE OF THE PRAIRIE HOME Companion without the liberal moralizing, and out-of-tune singing of its long-time host...
THE REAL DEAL, IN OTHER WORDS! MY FIRST MAIL ROUTE in La Crosse had been this same one, route #33 on the north side of La Crosse, which encompassed all of the businesses of Caledonia Street on the north side of the city. Downtown North they called it. I had gotten to know them all, deliv- ering the mail to them six days of the week, for many years.
There was the Maid Rite, where I had usually eaten lunch, 18

 with great milk shakes and “loose meat” sandwiches. Mark’s Jewelers, where Mark himself greeted me each day, his magni- fier attached to his eyeglasses, as he labored on the inner workings of old clocks and jewelry repair. The whole family was there, and friendly as could be.
There was (and is!) a lawyers’ office, an insurance office, pet store, used furniture store, a hobby shop, and a drug store. Even a bank on the corner, The Exchange State Bank. Of course, there was also the obligatory Wisconsin town bar, just next to a shoe store. Small town Americana, just north of Small City Americana, La Crosse. It was ideal.
I smiled broadly as I drove past them all; they were old friends. It was too bad that nowadays I rarely got down here, even though it was just a few miles away from my home. I pulled over in front of the Sweet Shop, just across from St. James church. Luckily, there was no wedding or service that day, and no holiday was coming up where people would be buying chocolates, so there was plenty of parking.
Leaving the two truck windows wide open for Charlie, I walked under the green awning with Sweet Shop emblazoned on it, and pushed open the old wooden door to the tinkle of an old-fashioned bell announcing my entrance.
“Can I help you?” asked a youngish man with dark hair.
I was surprised, normally Bill was always here; the owner, who followed after his father and grandfather in the family business. Bill was about my age, but this was just a kid. “Where’s Bill?” I asked, since I’d never seen this youngster, and knew all of his help, who were mainly high school kids from nearby Logan High.
There was a silence. Then- “I’m Bill! Who are you??”
It was my turn to be silent. Then, I asked “Bill Grossklaus? Of the Sweet Shop?” I thought he was joshing me. I knew Bill didn’t have any kids, or I would have assumed-
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
19

 JESS THORNTON
“Of course I’m Bill Grossklaus. And how DO I KNOW YOU??” He seemed angry, and looked at me like I was someone who had never crossed over into the path of the North Side of La Crosse in my life. He was clutching a tray of candy he had been sorting into the glass case before him, and looking up at me incredulously .
LAST I’D SEEN BILL, HE HAD BEEN A MIDDLE AGED MAN, friendly and talkative, but somewhat worn down with the constant interaction with people. Very nice, but with traces of gray in his hair from a long life of running a small business. About my age- 35 or so. This was a kid in his early twenties at most.
“Well, Bill,” I said, humoring him, “why then you must know me as the mailman to this store for umpteen years. Anyway, all I want is some of your excellent dark chocolate walnut bark, and a couple of your Maple nut goodies- oh, and a small box of the Old Fashioned’s.”
“Bill” set down his tray, and reached behind the counter for the candies I had ordered. He sorted them carefully into white paper bags, separated by small waxed paper dividers, and rang up the total on the old metal cash register that I remembered so well.
He gave me the total, which of course was far less than it was worth, anywhere else in the country. I handed him a ten dollar bill, and he began peeling dollars out of the drawer for my change, licking his fingers as he did so.
“You know our best candy, sir,” he said, handing me my change, “but, no offense, I have never seen you before in my life!”
I left the store, stunned. I had been better known on this street than anywhere else in my life! Something, I had no idea what, had changed.
20

 CHAPTER 6
I KEEP ON DRIVING
 Itook my candy, and I left the Sweet Shop. I had no idea what was going on- you have heard of the notion of ‘Comfort Food’? Well, that is what anything from the Sweet Shop was to me- I always ate healthy, almost “Nazi-like Food- ism” healthy according to Marie, but sometimes- heck, I patronized the home made, wholesome candy and ice cream maker on my mail route. Anything else would seem, well, unpatriotic.
But this was anything but comforting, and patriotic. I had gone into a place where, like in the old Cheers tv show: “Everybody knows your name...” And I had been their real life Cliff!
My experience had been anything other than that: even the person most likely to know my name had NOT! I had planned to eat the chocolate walnut bark right away, since it was dark chocolate with the walnuts impressed within it, rich and crunchy all together, and completely irresistible. But now, I just felt vaguely- sick. I was like Jimmy Stewart in It’s a Wonderful Life- ‘don’t you know me, Bert?’
It’s no fun to be an invisible man! What if I went to the 21

 JESS THORNTON
Caledonia Street Bar next, and ordered a flaming run punch from Nick, the bartender I saw daily for years? (Actually, his name was Andrew, but I didn’t plan on risking a visit).
I just kept on driving south through the city, planning to catch highway 33 going east on the far south end of town. Like I said, I like two-lane highways, not interstates. I like to see the landscape as I go through it, not just other speeding cars and concrete dividers designed to maximize speed and nothing else. And so, little highway 33 was absolutely perfect- twisty, scenic beyond belief in the views of endless bluffs and coulees, and completely rural after I left La Crosse. Not that La Crosse is a big city, thank God!
I drove along in my old truck, other cars speeding past me in the left lane. I was still a little shaken, but my mood was improving by the moment, as I passed through little towns like Coon Valley, and Ontario, Wisconsin. As I chugged up the road just east of Ontario, the little six cylinder engine of my aged truck working hard, I turned on my radio.
Since the old tube radio was only AM, I had just a couple of stations to choose from: a sports channel I never listened to, and a polka channel that I only listened to sometimes. (I am quite a cornball, now you know)! But usually, I listened to 1410, WIZM out of La Crosse, and now one of my favorite announcers was on:
“This is Paul Harvey- Stand By for News!!”
I never tired of old Paul. I had listened to him on the mail route for many years, and even before that, when I had been a youngster back in Illinois. I listened happily, as I ascended the winding blacktop into Wildcat Mountain State Park, enjoying the gradual change in elevation along with the improved radio reception.
This park is truly a jewel among parks, as not only is it rather unknown, and so rarely visited by the crowds that overwhelm more mainstream parks, but it is also so rural and
22

 thus protected that it seems truly wild. The term “mountain” might seem extreme for Wisconsin, but even if it is no Rocky Mountain High, it is high enough, and grand enough, for me!
I was nearing the highest point of the park, just past the overlook point, and was getting ready to descend. Now, in an old truck with manual brakes, and no backup system in place in case that one single brake line should fail, I was well used to using the four-on-the-floor gear shift as a braking aid. This is similar to what those those No Engine Braking signs you see as you pass into a community are about, since they don’t want the noise of a real “engine brake” on heavy trucks; but, in my case, it is just a silent downshifting achieved by my pushing down on my ancient clutch pedal, and slowly down- shifting through the gears.
It was smooth, and steady, but most of all- it kept me under control on steep descents.
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
23

 CHAPTER 7
THE TRUCK FROM HELL
 No sooner had I peaked on the top of Wildcat Mountain, and begun my slow, controlled descent, than I heard a loud “HOOOONNNNNKKKK!” right behind me!
It was an eighteen wheeler, a “semi-trailer”, a Big Rig- and it was right on my tail!
NOW I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN OF THE OPINION THAT SO FAR AS driving goes, I will do what I deem is safe, and if you don’t agree, why then, you can just pass me by. Since I am always one of the slower vehicles on the road, this is a philosophy that I live and love.
But in this case, there was a giant truck right behind me, almost pounding into my tailgate, and he was honking his stupid horn as if he was possessed. His rig outweighed my own vintage truck by maybe 50 to 1, meaning he would abso- lutely crush me totally if he even grazed my bumper.
“This is Paul Harvey- Good Day!” I heard as I bumped my shifter up to 3. I had planned to stay in 2 until the bottom of
24

 the hill, but this big rig nightmare bastard was right behind me, and unrelenting. I mean, if there had been anywhere, anywhere at all that I could have pulled over, I would have. But there was nowhere- only steep drop-offs from the narrow road, leading into deep coulees and valleys that would result in my old Ford becoming a flaming wreck when it hit bottom- not a good option.
Just my luck: heading south, well- east right now, but ulti- mately south to check on my relations and their welfare, and some Braker- Braker 1-9 idiot is all of a sudden on my tail. I fingered the Ruger in my pocket, feeling vaguely reassured by the weighty presence of its stainless steel body, but still just as scared as ever of that rolling juggernaut right behind me- what could a bullet, however well aimed, really do against all of that weight and momentum?
Not much- take out the driver, who I could see in my rear view mirror as an almost demonic presence, with a long black beard, and eyes of gleaming hate- that is really all that I could see in my brief glimpse. His arms were covered with tattoos, and his face looked as if it was permanently screaming invec- tives, undoubtedly at me- it was not an inspiring view. Really, what did he expect me to do?
ALL AT ONCE, I FELT A “WHUMP!” ON THE BACKEND OF MY truck. Charlie, who had sat up awhile ago, sensing my unease, suddenly barked. He whimpered a little too, and then looked back at the truck behind us, and curled back his lips from his muzzle, baring his teeth. The truck shimmied, and with an effort I yanked on the hard-turning manual steering wheel, that fortunately was far bigger than those in modern vehicles, just for instances like this when more leverage was called for.
I looked over at my sweet natured Charlie, still baring his teeth viciously. Since a golden is an extremely unaggressive
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
25

 JESS THORNTON
type of dog from an already very tranquil, people-loving breed- why, for him to behave this way, almost as if he was sensing a ferret or a coyote- it was unheard of. Suddenly, he started snarling and barking in a fury, as if he sensed a more than human, or perhaps a less than human threat right behind us.
I was in a quandary! Tons of rolling metal were right behind me, and ready to smash again into my back bumper. Charlie was literally throwing himself against the large plate glass rear window of the old Ford, as if he wanted to smash through and throw himself at the windshield of the truck! I could almost feel the hatred he felt for the Peterbilt, or perhaps at the driver behind us- then, looking again into the rear view mirror and through the back glass into the front of the big rig, I got it. I saw what my dog saw.
Behind the wheel of that rig was a face and aspect of demonic lunacy. The beard, the tattoos; all of that was true to type, no surprise there. But the eyes: this driver had eyes of gleaming red coals, as if lit by the fires of hell, and his big semi-truck was no real truck after all. It had no wheels! Underneath, where the 18 wheels should have been, was- nothing, nothing at all! The thing was suspended on thin air. And it was coming after me.
“Whump!!!” This time, I could barely get my truck back on the road. It took all of my strength, and I think if it wasn’t for Charlie snarling and literally screaming his hate in dog- language, I would not have found the strength, and gone crashing down with the two of us to an early death in the flames and screaming metal.
But get back on the road I did, and then I did the only thing I could think of. I slammed on the brakes, and instantly after that I came to a brief stop despite the pushing behind me. I put the truck in park, set the brake, and leaped out, Charlie right behind me. With the driver’s side door hanging
26

 open, and the truck being pushed inevitably down and veering to the side of the road down which lay a steep, pine covered canyon, I ran with my pistol, my dog snarling viciously as he ran beside me.
Now, the truck from hell was right beside me, inevitably forcing my little Ford before it, grinding it along- even in park and with the brakes on-and I heard the shearing of metal as it went, my old truck gradually turning sideways as it was pushed inexorably to the canyon’s edge.
As it was pushed slowly by, lurching along with shrieks of tortured gears and squealing brake pads, my anger reached at least the level of my dog’s rage. I held my Ruger before me, two handed, and aimed at the driver of the hell-truck. He was leering, and laughing, with rows of teeth filed to points, (or was he just born that way?), and he held up a strange crystal- shaped object of a deep emerald green color. His side window was down, and he held the crystal in his hand, or maybe it was a paw, with talons instead of nails, and he seemed to seek a certain angle. Then- the crystal shot out a jet of green flame! Charlie leaped at that same instant, and I fired three shots in rapid succession.
CHARLIE HAD BEEN BEFORE ME, EVEN MORE ANXIOUS THAN I to get at this fiend from hell, for that is what we both had now concluded that he was. The beam shot directly at him, as the hell-trucker laughed in a voice like that of a torturer gloating over a screaming victim, and Charlie leaped in a rage at the open window .
Fortunate it was indeed that he leaped at that moment, for the green stream of light hit the earth where he had been, and a huge chasm opened up, rocks and soil disinte- grating before it, smoking and smelling of brimstone and sulphur. The fiend driver scowled, and started to readjust
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
27

 JESS THORNTON
his crystal in his unhuman hands, and it started again to glow-
But my dog, my old friend Charlie, gentlest animal I had ever known- up ’til then- had leapt high, higher than ever I thought he could leap, to fix his teeth on the very arm that held that sorcerous crystal. This gave me the brief chance I needed!
I PULLED ON THE TRIGGER; ONCE (.38), TWICE (.38 Special), and thrice: .357 magnum.
THE CRYSTAL HAD BEEN QUICKLY AIMED AT CHARLIE, THE more immediate threat, but Charlie was airborne as the beam struck where he had been. As he flew up towards the open window of the hell-truck, the nightmare trucker’s twisted face disintegrated in a welter of blood and brains. The first two shots slowed his movements down, but did not stop them. The thing had incredible powers of vitality, far beyond those of a normal man, but also could clearly be harmed by mortal weapons!
With the .357 magnum round, not only did the red eyes dim and go out- they exploded- as did the entire hideous head of the monster driver. Charlie, who had reached the trucker, let go of the unnatural arm of the creature, looking as if the taste disgusted him, and dropped down beside me. The green crystal also fell from the trucker’s misshapen taloned hand, and lay there spinning on the pavement, gleaming like an emerald top from a nightmare.
AND THE HUGE, UNNATURAL, FLOATING, PETERBILT WHEEL- less big rig from hell, just slowly... faded away. It simply- grad-
28

 ually dissipated, as if it’s very essence and being were inter- twined with that of its fiendish driver, who also just slowly- disappeared.
And then, there we were- me and my good dog Charlie, limping a little from his unnatural exertion, by leaping so high and attacking. I knelt down and clasped him to my side. “Good boy, Charlie,” I said, although at that moment it certainly did not feel like enough. I had absolutely no idea what was going on, but I did know that my dog had saved my life, and I was grateful. Without him there, that shot of hellish power from the crystal would have been aimed at me.
My dog was sniffing the green crystal stone, which really was rather beautiful in an otherworldly sort of way. Hesitant, I kicked it lightly with my foot. Nothing. I bent and picked it up, and gazed into its intricately cut, faintly luminous depths. ‘It must be worth a fortune,’ I thought dully .
It was Charlie’s barking that brought me around. It was as if he was barking at the green stone, and it was obvious he did not like it. And how long had I been standing there, gazing into its depths? Nervously, I stuck the stone, which was about as big as my fist, into the side pocket of my jeans. As soon as it was out of my sight, its influence immediately went away, and I felt normal- at least as normal as I could feel after destroying a rolling, wheel-less fiend from hell, or worse.
I BECKONED TO CHARLIE, AND WE BOTH GOT BACK INTO MY truck, and got it started. Amazingly, there was very little damage- just a badly creased rear bumper, which also seemed to have been subjected to extreme heat, since it was sagging and misshapen, as if it had been melted.
Shaking my head wonderingly, I slowly backed away from the precipice upon which we were precariously balanced, and wondered just what we were up against. It almost seemed as
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
29

 JESS THORNTON
if hellish fiends, and some kind of strange force overall was trying to prevent this inconsequential man and his dog from traveling to visit their friends and relations.
Why this should be the case, I had no idea. What we were up against- similar conclusion. But I was heartened by one fact:
MORTAL WEAPONS WORKED!
NO MATTER WHAT WE WERE UP AGAINST, AT LEAST WE HAD a fighting chance. I took a moment to reload.
CHARLIE SEEMED NONE THE WORSE FOR HIS ENCOUNTER, and jumped into the truck when I opened the passenger door. He looked up at me with a big golden’s smile, as if he had just retrieved a mallard duck for me, and now we could be on be our way. In spite of myself, I smiled, wishing I could be more like a golden retriever, happy and content, and in the moment, despite things that only humans are capable of worrying about.
And so, with Charlie smiling contentedly beside me, I resumed my journey down the side of Wildcat Mountain on highway 33, heading south. I knew it would be no ordinary journey .
30

 CHAPTER 8 SUBURBAN CHICAGO ILLINOIS
 “I’m not sure what we’re going to do, Martha,” said Henry Hawkesworth to his wife of 45 years. She was crying, and looking at the smashed front picture window in their old
ranch house. A cement block lay on the living room floor, testament as to what had caused the damage.
They had lived in this house in suburban Chicago their entire married lives, having raised all eight of their children there. It had been a good home, a wonderful neighborhood for so many years. It was only in the last two or three years that things had begun to change.
Just a few years after Henry had retired from his job in the city, to which he took the Burlington Northern train each day back and forth, like clockwork, for 35 years, things went from bad to worse. They had been looking forward to their golden years, living at home- enjoying their living room, watching Lawrence Welk on television, and working their small garden in the big back yard. Playing cards with neigh- bors, and long walks down the clean, safe sidewalks to the small, locally owned stores and shops. Visits from the kids and grandkids.
31

 JESS THORNTON
But then a Democratic administration gained power, and they decided, (as they always do) to buy votes by supporting the non-working underclass, using tax dollars from people like Henry and Martha Hawkesworth. Folks who had worked and played by the rules, paid taxes and supported the PTA, gone to church and donated, and raised their children to be responsible, good citizens were now deemed expendable and entitled. White Privilege.
HUD, the Housing and Urban Development federal agency reared its ugly head, and started moving illegal immi- grants, welfare mothers and their drug using boyfriends, along with many, many other types of undesirables into the simple suburban town that had never had to deal with such things. That is why people worked hard, saved their money, and finally moved to this quiet, safe place, with good schools and little crime- but HUD and its liberal democratic bosses said that was not fair!
Never mind that the party’s elites all sent their children to private boarding schools, far from areas that housed the very people that they were inflicting on the middle class like the Hawkesworths- it was only fair, they shouted, that they should share their communities with those who could not afford to live there, just because they didn’t work.
And so, to make things “fair”, the federal government put up huge housing developments, large concrete apartment structures to house hundreds, no-thousands of indolent folk that either had decided that they could not work, did not work, or would not work, right amidst those who do, did, and would always expect to work for what they got.
SOON, THE STREETS WERE DIRTY AND EMPTY- NO ONE dared leave their houses, since crime was so rampant. Police were instructed not to prosecute minorities, since that was
32

 “profiling” and “not fair”- and so, crime went largely unpun- ished. Criminals were thus emboldened to do what they wanted, knowing there would be no repercussions.
Small businesses left- not only could they not find willing workers amongst all the new “persecuted residents” of their community, but the crime was relentless. Shopkeepers were robbed, women and children assaulted on the streets. The schools became warehouses of unwilling students that only intimidated those that wanted to actually learn, and the only teachers willing to teach there were those that would not be hired anywhere else.
And so did the federal government destroy a community they were elected to protect and improve. Along with many, many others across the nation.
FOR MARTHA AND HENRY, IT HAD STARTED GRADUALLY, and gotten steadily worse. First, they had been accosted when walking the streets, being yelled at. When one youngster had grabbed at Martha’s purse, as they walked home from the grocery, Henry stepped in and grabbed it back. As he did so, he backhanded the youth, who was perhaps 12 years old, across the face with the back of his hand. He pulled the slap, just as he had with his own children when they had “crossed the line of discipline,” way back when they were young.
The young black had run away, but that night had come a knock at the Hawkesworth door. Two policemen walked in as Henry opened the door, looking apologetic, but very- official.
“I’m sorry sir,” said the first officer, who was white. “You are wanted for aggravated assault- striking an underage youth. You’ll have to come with us down to the station.”
“But- he was trying to rob us! You can’t be serious- I didn’t hurt him- he just can’t do things like that without conse- quences!”
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
33

 JESS THORNTON
“I’m sorry, sir, but these are my instructions. I sympa- thize, but we have new “hate crime” regulations, and since the youth is African-American, and you are white, there are special rules in these cases...”
“Special rules?? What is happening in this country?” shouted Henry, an old man who had always been a pillar of his community, someone to look up to.
The other officer, who was black, came up holding a pair of handcuffs. “I’m sorry, sir, but we’ll have to put these on you.” And he started to put them around old Henry’s wrists. The old man jerked away, and stood erect.
“I’ll go downtown, if that’s the law,” he said. But I won’t wear those slave chains!”
The black officer scowled, and moved to force him, but the other officer beckoned him back. “I’ve known old Henry here since I was a boy, and if he says he’ll do something, he will. We won’t need the cuffs.”
And so, the white officer held open the Hawkesworth front door, as if inviting Henry out for coffee, and the black officer stood back, letting it happen. Henry stepped out into the night, holding his head high, and headed for the police car. Martha burst into tears, burying her white-maned head in her hands.
THAT NIGHT WAS THE WORST NIGHT OF HENRY Hawkesworthe’s life. He had never even gotten a speeding ticket, much less been put in jail for the night. The humiliation!
But then, as he thought it through, he knew that the fault was in no way his. He had gone through his 80 years of life doing what was right, and he would not stop now! If the government had gone mad, he had not. He resolved to
34

 continue on with doing the right thing, and he now knew that standing up against this injustice was the right thing.
Out of deference to his age and criminal free record, the local police put him in solitary lockup, which was fortunate. The youthful dregs of HUD and the democratic-run Fed’s creation were crammed into the “tank”, and he probably would not have survived, much less slept through such a night as not only the sole aged man there, but as the only white man. The white police officer who had known him of old stood up for him, and insisted that he be sequestered.
“But that’s not fair!” said several black officers, who were all recent hires and none from the community, being recent transplants from Chicago.
Jeffrey Lee, for that was the officer’s name, shot back. “I’ve known that man since I was a young boy- I used to shovel his walk and driveway. I sold him Boy Scout popcorn. He is the salt of the earth, and if you can’t see it, well that’s too bad, but I will defend him to the last. Leave him be!”
And so, Henry spent his night in solitary, saw the judge the next day, and got off with a warning. The judge had been a classmate when they were in grade school. After they had shaken hands, the judge, a man the same age as Henry and just as cantankerous, as evidenced by the fact he still was a working judge at 80 years of age, gave him some advice.
“Henry, I know and you know you’ve gotten a raw deal. The world has changed for the worse, and I think you’d better just get out- I’m retiring in a month, and me and the Mrs. are moving to Texas.” He touched the side of his nose, and got a little closer to his old friend. “The world we built is being destroyed, slowly but surely. Sadly, we need to get out of the way, as far from the seats of power in big cities as we can get! They want to destroy us, just as they will surely destroy themselves afterwards- so just leave.”
Henry shook his head in the negative, and slowly left the 35
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN

 JESS THORNTON
station. Go? Leave the town where he had spent his life? ‘Never,’ he thought to himself as he walked down the road from the station towards home. Several black loungers, hanging around on the corner, jeered at him as he walked by, screaming obscenities.
“This be our town now, honky!” they jeered.
Poor old Henry Hawkesworthe just walked proudly on by, his head held high, his carriage erect. Back in the war, he had been taught to kill men. And in that war, he had killed men! He knew now that he might have to do it again.
He looked at the jeering men, probably in their early twenties, jobless only because of unwillingness to work, with his pale blue eyes below a thick thatch of long white hair. There must have been something in his gaze, because the men stopped jeering, dropping their gazes downward as do jackals before a lion.
And so, Henry walked on towards his home.
36

 CHAPTER 9
STILL DRIVING SOUTH
 Icontinued down from Wildcat Mountain, steering my old truck with my dog Charlie beside me. He seemed really tired after our encounter with the devil trucker- I knew that last leap up to the high window of a big rig had been a strain for such a large dog as a golden, and especially for one as usually laid back as mine.
He licked his right leg, which is dog-medicine for what- ever ails ya’, and I hoped it would work. I wished that he could lick my head, and so cure my own confusion: What was going on?
I’m a ‘real world’ kind of a guy. I have no illusions of a magical realm that lives alongside our own- I didn’t think that I was Harry Potter or any character from such a world! I was no superhero, or even the side-kick of one, no Robin to any kind of a Batman.
I was what I had always been: Wade Hawkesworth, just a normal guy, a guy who had been a mailman for a number of years, only leaving when the postal system and management became completely corrupt, incompetent, and abusive, as it remains to this day .
37

 JESS THORNTON
Hopefully, for the good of the nation itself, as well as for the people of the nation, and the postal workers themselves, this will all be turned around. But, it will not come before the nation itself is turned around, and the carpetbagger, KKK supporting party of the lying democrats is brought to heel!
BUT, FOR NOW, I HAD LEFT THE USPS AND ITS ABUSIVE corruption, to earn my bread by writing, and by substitute teaching in the local grade schools. It had worked so far, and I would make it work as time went on. I was resourceful, but I was no magical being, no super-being. If I were to be put in front of a magical Sorting Hat, I’m sure I would just be sorted once again into the post office, rather than into some- thing as grand as Gryffindor.
I have no reservations about what had happened: I was rattled, big time! I mean, how many times have you been driving along, only to encounter an angry trucker, one that not only rammed his hell-truck rig into your rear bumper, but one that turned out to have a magical green crystal that shot out beams of death? And also, not to belabor the point, but a hell-trucker driver with glowing red eyes and a big rig that didn’t even need wheels??
Never? I rest my case. I was severely rattled.
IN SPITE OF MYSELF AND MY AGITATED STATE, I WAS actually starting to enjoy myself. Highway 33, as I descended into the valley beyond Wildcat Mountain State Park in Wisconsin is a beguiling place, a place where green fields of hay and corn meld into vistas of Amish horse-drawn buggies and wagons. Where you can pull into many Amish old-order farmsteads to purchase maple syrup, home-made fudge and other baked goods, along with quilts and huge bright baskets
38

 of flowers to hang on your porch, all for bargain basement prices.
Now that a big rig from hell was no longer badgering me, I was happy to meander along this little two lane road, enjoying the bucolic sights. I mean, if you like rural- this is rural on steroids! Oxygen seemed to flow over me in waves, totally devoid of any sort of civilized pollution from cell towers, wi-fi, electric run-off from huge power lines- there was none of that. It is almost ancient, or even medieval, in the most positive senses of the words.
I WAS STARTING TO RELAX, AND EVEN CHARLIE LOOKED AT me with his deep brown dog eyes, and that golden retriever smile that revealed his canines in a completely non-aggressive way, like a little puppy that just happened to have really sharp teeth- and I saw out of the corner of my eye another dog.
Delighted, I looked out to the left, hoping to spy a herding dog, the kind the Amish often use when raising sheep, a delightful little border collie. So quick, so delightful, so anxious to please.
There was shock against my left tire. Looking out, I saw not a happy little sprite of a border collie, but a huge shaggy grey shape, that bit my tire, and then bit again. It was huge; it was nothing like a collie, it was like the biggest wolf I had ever seen!
Then, there was a slam to the right of my truck. I compensated with the oversized steering wheel of the old Ford, with an effort, and then there was another to my right! I was weaving uncontrollably now, from side to side, trying to get the old truck under control. Charlie leaped upright, and looked out the open window with a very human-like intent- ness. He started snarling, his fur standing up in bunches on his yellow back.
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
39

 JESS THORNTON
There were more attacks against my truck- thuds and pressures from the back left, and the right left, and on and on- I could barely keep the truck on the road! I braked, but then thought better of it- I was herded in, as if I was a sheep being herded by border collies- but by something far more sinister: a pack of giant wolves!
40

 CHAPTER 10 WOLF ATTACK
 Iwas getting the distinct impression that something or someone did not want me to leave my little river valley in the driftless zone of Wisconsin, that beautiful and peaceful place that I had adopted as my home years ago. Wouldn’t you?- first a devil trucker, and now a pack of oversized wolves?
And I do mean oversized- these wolves were more on the size level of small cows, being on average up just beneath the level of my truck windows, which would be about at my chest height. Easily twice the size of Charlie, who is often described as being “wolf size” in dog books.
Another attack on my driver’s side tire, and my truck jolted violently, and went into a skid- the animal had literally bitten right through the sidewall! Not a slow, small leak- the white sidewall had been ripped wide open, and the air instantly flown out. I skidded on an angle, off to the left side of the road, and onto the wild grass there. I struggled to keep the truck upright- with that acute of a puncture a sideways flip onto its side was imminent.
I reached for my Ruger, luckily I had reloaded all five 41

 JESS THORNTON
chambers with my patented .38, .38 Special, and .357 one- three punch, and grabbed it as the truck lurched to a wobbly, but still upright stop. Charlie, so angry at these canine attack- ers, leaped right out of his side window, onto the back of one of the black beasts- for all were jet black, unusual for a wolf in itself. He dug in with his claws like a rodeo rider on a bucking bronco, and began slashing and biting at the back of the huge beast’s neck.
Meanwhile, the wolf that had destroyed my tire, and almost my entire truck with the savageness of its bite, stood on its hind legs and stared in at me behind the wheel. Green eyes bored into mine, with an intelligence that was more than bestial. And then it lunged open-mouthed at my face!
I could smell the rancid odor of dead flesh that came from the big yellow teeth, and let off a shot from the short barrel of my stainless steel pistol. No time to aim, I just pointed and shot- the bullet went right into the yawning jaws, and then the huge black head struck the gun from my hand, and knocked me right across the cab.
Hitting the opposite door, it flew partially open from me striking the door handle, and I fell halfway out, the huge weight of the wolf laying upon my legs, literally a dead weight. But still, I was trapped- Charlie was still “riding” the other wolf, and somehow managing to balance on the back of it, but was slowly but surely slipping to one side. It was only a matter of time, and the much larger canine would make short work of my dog once it had worked him to the front side of its huge maw .
The only sound was that of Charlie’s vicious snarling- the wolves were completely, and eerily silent. This was uncanny, but then everything about these hell-wolves was not normal or natural. As if they were humans, the remaining five wolves came running all towards the right side of the truck where Charlie and I were, and spread out
42

 as if in an ordered phalanx designed to keep us from escaping.
I pushed at the huge carcass pinning me to the truck seat, but could barely budge its huge bulk- it would take time to get free from under it. I retrieved my pistol, laying on the floor, a gleaming silver beacon of hope, picked it up, and fired at the foremost wolfish attacker.
The .38 Special struck the body, but the animal did not even slow. It was a ways in front of the others, and appeared to be smiling at me in an evil triumphant way- what were these things we fought?- and then I pulled the trigger on the .357 Magnum round. I have to say, watching that superior wolf-smile disappear in a welter of blood and brains was wonderfully satisfying!
And now, Charlie was in trouble- he had wrought havoc on the wolf’s back that he was atop, with blood pouring down the animal’s flanks, but now he had slipped off and was on the ground before the huge jaws. He opened his own mouth to bite back, but it was like a crocodile above him in terms of the massive size of the opened maw of the wolf.
I fired, and the Magnum round that made up my third, fourth and fifth loadings made a satisfying roaring sound that resulted in the wounded crocodile-jawed wolf falling to its knees, and then atop my dog, dead. Charlie writhed from underneath, biting once more vengefully on the now dead wolf he had fought. I reflected quickly that, like Dirty Harry, I had made a number of shots, and in all the excitement, “I had kind of lost track myself” of how many rounds I had fired...
TWO WOLVES SHOT TOWARDS ME, THEIR DETERMINATION completely unshaken. Whatever drove them, it was not just to acquire a meal- the loss of the rest of their pack left them
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
43

 JESS THORNTON
undeterred. I let loose with a shot, and missed. I swear, the two wolves looked at one another with- what?- victory?- and while registering that remarkable evil intelligence amongst these creatures, I shot again. This time, I had calmly forced myself to aim deliberately, taking a slow breath as I did so to calm myself.
“Click.” I had lost track myself- the chamber was empty! The ebon creatures, for whatever else I now knew them to not be simply natural wolves, seemed to register that they knew- my gun was empty. Charlie ran to meet them, but they knew that now we were defenseless, and they reveled in that knowledge. What were they, really?
‘You should have remained in the Afterlife,’ I sensed in my mind, and I knew that it was from the wolf things.
They were no longer even in a hurry- they sensed their victory, and meant to enjoy it. Charlie had reached them, and leaped at one black, hairy throat- with a casual bat from a huge black paw, my dog was sent flying, squealing once and then collapsing into an unconscious ball of golden fur. They ignored him, knowing they could kill that dog anytime they wanted now. They wanted me.
44

 CHAPTER 11
CRYSTAL GREEN PERSUASION
 The two wolves approached me, laughing. I had always been told that animals do not have a sense of humor- in fact, that is the one thing that makes them separate from us- that and our ability to use tools.
But as the great beasts came towards me at a slow, delib- erate lope, I know I saw them look towards one another with deliberate smiles of evil satisfaction, and I also was very glad that there was no revolver available to them, because I was pretty sure they could use that as well.
I was pinned beneath the carcass of the huge wolf I had slain, and was slowly worming my way from beneath the massive weight- this thing must weigh a few hundred pounds of pure muscle- but my gun was empty, what did I have? My mind raced-
Then I remembered: I still had the hell-trucker’s green crystal gemstone in my pocket! I clawed at my jeans, thrusting my hand into my pocket to grasp the crystal, thinking about how- somehow- that gem had the ability to shoot emerald beams of power that could blast rocks apart. If
45

 JESS THORNTON
only I could figure out how- at least it was worth a shot. It was all that I had!
The wolf-things were less than ten feet away. Their all too self-aware eyes shone with paranormal intelligence- It was obvious that they were ready to rip my life away in a moment. I pulled the green stone from my pocket, and just held it out before me- nothing. There was a faint luminescence from within the stone, but that slight twinkling was all.
The black nightmares suddenly looked alarmed, as if they knew what that stone was capable of! I knew too, but I had no idea how it worked. As I held it before me, and as the wolves came ever closer- fast now- they knew they needed to kill me quickly, before I figured out the working of the crystal gemstone. They could see I didn’t know how to use the power, and were almost upon me, slaver drooling from their jaws-
In a desperate experiment, I tilted the emerald stone at an angle so that the sun reflected off the facets of the cut gem...
A jolt went through me, as if I held a live wire of electric- ity, and as I shook in the shock of it, twin beams shot from the crystal all at once. I vibrated in the intensity of it, my body was like a conduit between the wolf-creatures and-what?
I had no idea, but in one moment I was being charged by two black wolf-fiends with preternatural intelligence and an evil sense of humor, and in the next they were- vaporized!
They were not shot, or laying before me panting out their last; nothing like that at all- they were gone. As if they had never been, except- their last thoughts were in my head. Not a requiem, or a last testament of any kind, just three words:
YOU WILL PAY! 46
•••

 I HAD NO IDEA WHAT THIS MEANT, WHAT ANY OF ALL OF this meant. I only knew that those were the dying words of wolfish hell-creatures that should not know speech, should not know how to tell me anything at all, and yet I knew beyond a certainty that those were their last words.
I PUSHED AND PULLED AGAINST THE DEAD WOLF’S BODY that pinioned me to the seat of my truck, and finally succeeded in squirming free from underneath. I fell to the earth, and crawled with my last strength towards the golden ball of fur that was my dog Charlie, lying unconscious. He was my only earthly anchor in that moment, a creature of flesh and blood, that felt and returned affection and love- utterly unlike the fantastic horrors I had been encountering.
The green crystal gemstone had somehow saved me, but I began to worry about what was the price- not only did I feel incredibly weak and drained, but I sensed, as those wolf- fiends had warned me, that I would have to pay- otherworldly powers were not free, not at all.
And as I began to lose my senses, I felt not only complete exhaustion and depletion from what I knew now was from the use of the crystal stone, I also knew a consuming coldness that seemed to seep into my body, and all about me. I fell upon, and hugged the golden dog that lay before me, trying to absorb and reflect both his warmth and life-essence into each of our bodies as I passed out of consciousness.
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
 47

 CHAPTER 12 THE COLD
 Idon’t know how long it was before I awoke. Minutes? Hours? Days?? I really have no idea.
All I know is that were it not for that golden ball of dog fur that I clutched, I would never have awakened at all. Charlie was my only oasis of warmth in what had become a frozen world!
When I had embarked on this journey south, it was July, a wonderful summer month even in the northern midwest of Wisconsin. Of course, I had encountered some strange adver- sity: devil truckers, monster black giant wolves, people back home that didn’t remember who I was- you know, typical little things...
But now- as I awoke, a dog tongue gradually scraping me awake from my unconsciousness, I felt at first just extreme cold. Not just “Oh, I’m a little chilly on this summer day” kind of feeling, but an “Oh, my God it is freezing!” kind of day. Like this should be January- that kind of day.
I think I would have lost it completely- gone insane, from the shock and craziness of everything I had been through, were it not for that methodical, comforting, dog-like rhythm
48

 of a big tongue licking me, over and over. That rough, pink canine tongue going across my face in what many would find a distasteful and disgusting repetition, but which I found at that moment to be incredibly comforting.
“Don’t worry, little puppy,” said the tongue. “It will be alright. The pack is still around, and all will be right, since the pack will take care of you, and all of us together. Don’t worry, my puppy!”
It sounds crazy, but this canine comfort strategy really worked with me. Eventually, I sat up, hugged Charlie (while I avoided any more tongue comfort), and then looked about me to survey my surroundings.
WHAT HAD BEEN A GLORIOUS SUMMER DAY, THE SUNNY landscape and bucolic surroundings only marred by small interruptions like trucker-fiends and giant wolves- had now turned to a winter blizzard! Snow flew all about us, and the temperature was bone-chillingly frigid. Shivering, I pushed my sodden, half-frozen hair back from my forehead, and lurched to my feet. I had to change the tire that the wolfed ripped apart with its huge teeth, but first I just had to get the engine started!
“C’mon, Charlie!” I said, and headed towards my truck. Already it was covered deeply with snow, and ice was forming on the rocker panels. I grabbed the forelegs of that giant black wolf that I had shot, and slowly dragged him off of the slippery, snow-covered seat until he fell to the ground outside. I said no prayer for that wolf- I just jumped in behind the steering wheel, while Charlie leaped in on the other side through the left-open passenger side door. Even he looked shocked at the sudden change in weather.
I turned the key, and the engine, turned over... and over, and over-
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
49

 JESS THORNTON
Those old Fords are good runners, with their little 223 cubic inch engines, dubbed “the mileage maker” in the early 1960’s; marketing aimed at frugal farmers and small town workers eager to save money on expensive 28 cents per gallon gasoline.
“Fill it up with Ethyl!” they used to say, meaning that the service station attendant- (that is the person who pumped your gas for you)- should add a type of gasoline containing a lead additive to help ‘up the octane’, reducing engine knock. That “Ethyl” raised the price by a good penny per gallon, but it was worth it back then, before we knew lead was toxic...
It had been many years since ethyl gas had been available, and so my old truck was running without it- which explained why it was reluctant to start on this brisk, frigid, blizzardy July day! ‘Mileage be damned’, I was thinking to myself, knowing that my impressively powerful 138 horsepower motor could barely burn gas at all compared to modern trucks with their huge heavy chassis and massive motors, with 300 horsepower being about average.
“Just start!” I chanted, keying the engine one more time. I could have sworn Charlie was mouthing the same words, but maybe not, when the engine started. I eased in the choke, and let the engine warm a bit- these old engines took time and intuition to keep them running, and I had owned old “Holly”, (so called for being painted Holly Green) for many, many years now. I knew how to coax her into running shape.
With both doors shut, and the windows having been manually rolled up with a hand crank by yours truly, I finally felt a whisper of heat from the little heater. I turned on the windshield wiper, and chose: the one speed that it had- fast. An open patch in the snow appeared before me, about 10 inches wide, mirrored by another open patch on the dog- passenger side. Charlie smiled in appreciation.
Jumping back out, letting the engine warm up, I grabbed 50

 the jack I always left in the truck bed. Jacking up the truck, after it broke free from the ice sticking it to the earth, was easy. I spun off the lug nuts, and switched the ruined tire with the full-sized spare that hung right off the side of the bed, kind of as a ‘utilitarian decoration’... I tightened the nuts again, and jumped back inside the cab.
Putting the four-on-the-floor heavy duty stick shift into 1st gear, I eased slowly off from the snow-covered grass on the side of the road, and then, when I hit the snow- covered pavement, I went into 2nd. Hallelujah, I was moving, albeit slowly and waveringly .
The snow was blinding, falling in blinding windblown sheets of white, and I didn’t dare go above 20 miles per hour. I had no snow tires, no chains, (who would, in July?), and so I just focused on the road before me, which was as white as everything else.
My mind was racing- ‘how would I get hundreds of miles south of here into Illinois with these kinds of conditions?’ The answer was that I couldn’t- I needed to find a refuge, and quick, to escape this deadly weather...
The answer came to me almost as fast as it had occurred- indeed, if I hadn’t been under such a strain with my other- worldly antagonists, I would have thought of it long since. The log cabin that my family and I had built years ago would be a perfect place to “go to ground” as it were, and hunker down until the storm had passed.
The only problem was that it was a good hour south of here, and that was traveling in perfect weather at 55 mph. At 15-20 mph- who knew? The defroster was blowing as hard as it could, clearing a tiny patch before me, and Charlie cleared a bit more with his breath. Both of our faces were held about 1 inch from the windshield, and I think we both were squinting against the snow! There were a few hairy hills before us, I knew, but I thought we might make it.
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
51

 CHAPTER 13 TOWARDS THE CABIN
 As I began driving, I did grab a long sleeved flannel shirt from my bag, sitting right between myself and my dog on the black vinyl bench seat. I’ll tell you, it is a real trick to put on a shirt, and button it, while driving a stick shift, however slowly! But get it on I did, and a sweater as well, since if I didn’t, I would never have survived that drive- not in just a t-shirt, however colorful.
It was my black Stratocaster guitar t-shirt, and one of my favorites, the other being a white one featuring a Gibson style of guitar. If you don’t know the difference, you only need to know that the Strat has all the tuning pegs on one side, and the Gibson has the standard three tuners on each side of the guitar neck. It’s strange the things you think about when you are half frozen, driving through a blizzard in July .
When I came to a steep hill after a bit, I kept the gearing in 2nd, and slowed my speed to around 10 mph. With the visi- bility I was getting, 10 seemed about right, although maybe a little reckless and speedy. Visibility was almost nonexistent, and I often had to stick my head out the side window to make out anything at all.
52

 The snow had not abated, if anything it had gotten worse, and my face felt frozen and damp at the same time, not a good combination. I constantly was wiping the wet snow from my eyes, which was instantly replenished by more wet snow from the storm.
I reached the peak of the hill, and started down the other side, one foot hovering over the brake pedal, the other by the clutch. I started sliding sideways, but as I pulled as hard as I could on the oversized steering wheel (thank God for 1960’s high tech!), I could get just enough leverage to steer into the turn, and then back down in a pretty straight path. That huge effort was barely enough!
DRIPPING WITH SWEAT, BOTH FROM NERVOUSNESS AND exertion, yet so cold I could barely clutch the wheel, I finally made it to the tiny village of Wonewoc where the family cabin was. Not a single other vehicle had I seen on my journey through the Winter Wonderland of Enchanted Summer, and I saw none here either.
The lights of the houses along Main street, which was the same highway on which I had traveled the entire way from La Crosse, shone out from all of the houses lining the road. But absolutely no one was on the streets, which seemed incredi- ble- where were the snow plows, and the snowmobiles that could have respectively cleaned up, and frolicked in this unseasonable mess?
The old cast iron streetlights were also all unlit, which made no sense- they were always on after dark, and through the night. There was more to this sorcerous snowstorm than just the weather, I began to think. The people of the area must also be subject to my punishment for using the green crystal gemstone- perhaps they were all sleeping like Snow
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
 53

 JESS THORNTON
White after she had eaten the enchanted apple, and I was their enchanted Prince that would awaken them all?
Even I, half-delirious as I was, realized how silly this fantasy was, but heck- there was no real explanation that made sense of all of this.
And so, humming “Some day my Prince will come...” as I drove down the snow covered main street of Wonewoc, I finally reached the turn that led into the woods where the Cabin lay. I drove down the wooded road, no lights at all except for the tiny headlights on my truck shining weakly before me, and the dark pines all around.
At last, I reached the chain across the drive, next to the old wooden sign that said Eagles Acres- No Trespassing! I leapt out, dropped the chain, and got back into the truck. Of course nothing was plowed, but we’d go as far as we could, and then hike back the rest of the way. I drove on into the deepening snow .
54

 CHAPTER 14
LOG CABIN REFUGE
 Charlie and I made it a surprisingly long way, skidding and sliding on the twisty gravel and dirt drive, topped with a few feet of fresh snow. I mentally thanked Holly, my truck, for her long and faithful service, and thought about how machines have a kind of a life force within them, the same as creatures of nature. A kind of AI as they are begin- ning to call it- an artificial intelligence that animates them in much the same way as our HI, or human intelligence keeps us going.
For that matter, AI could also stand for animal intelli- gence, and I had seen all too much of that with those unnatu- rally smart and devilish giant wolf creatures. But all animals have intelligence; it is only that they cannot talk that we count them as “dumb brutes”. They are not that, their intelli- gence is of a totally different kind than ours, but it is there, just not in a verbal form.
And so it is with trucks. I know that Holly, who has been in my family for many years- (I don’t really own her, none of us owns any other being, AI or HI), had somehow brought us through some very unnatural conditions, and had intervened
55

 JESS THORNTON
when I made driving mistakes, or otherwise messed up, getting us through our difficulties. I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but I instinctively know that it is so. My truck loves me, and I her.
SO THERE I WAS, AT THE LONG WINDING DRIVE BACK INTO Eagles Acres, which was kind of a local landmark, and named after my aunt and uncle. Kind of, at least- their name had been Eggles, Uncle Ben and Aunt Emma Eggles, which all of us kids pronounced as “Eagles”-hence the name of their prop- erty. Many a campfire had been lit out at Eagles Acres, and many a woodland hike taken across the seemingly endless wooded trails, which were dotted with sheer bluffs and deep valleys. It was like being in the wilderness, just outside of that little town.
Now normally, this is what I loved about the acres- their rural, wild properties. But just now, skidding my way down an unplowed dirt drive full of snow and ice, half-way frozen to death, both myself and Charlie would have been all too pleased to see a big, noisy snowplow charging up behind us, cleaning up some of this every-mounting snow, black diesel smoke billowing out the exhaust stack and all! However, everything was dark and silent, except for the small noise of the little Ford Mileage Maker engine clanking softly along with its impressive 138 horsepower, which here in the present day would just about power a lawn tractor.
At last, I saw the logs of the cabin before us, and Charlie let out a yip of joy. Many are the times he has come here, ever since he was a pup, and he loved this place above all others. Here he was free to roam and run at will, roll in deer scat, and otherwise be a happy dog. Just as here I could be a free and happy man!
No lights on, of course, but that was to be expected. A 56

 bump, and a lurch- the truck stopped, stuck at last. But we were only about 50 yards from the cabin, and so, giving the dash a little thump of ‘thanks’, I stopped the little engine, and opened my and Charlie’s doors from the inside.
There is no dome light in old trucks such as this, no real creature comforts at all but an anemic heater, a one-speed wiper, a cigarette lighter, and turn signals (actually, turn signals had been a deluxe option back in frugal 1962). I had added on the seat belts myself, since that was not even an option, much less a requirement back in those laissez faire days.
And so, with the engine off, we were in complete dark- ness, except for the ultra-soft sound of snow floating down upon more and more snow, the panting of my dog, and the faint ticking of the heated engine as it cooled. Grabbing my bag, I headed for the cabin, knowing my way more by long familiarity than by sight. It was actually just easier to follow in Charlie’s tracks, since he could sense the location far more accurately than I.
My legs were like wooden blocks, my feet were worse. Snow poured through the laces of my sneakers, and my hatless head was like a matted ball of ice and snow .
Following the dog tracks up the cedar steps of the porch, finally I was under a roof again. I moved the loose floorboard towards the back left where we kept the spare key, and and took it out. Elated, I went to the door, and with not too much twisting and pulling, the frozen knob turned at last.
Inside, there was blessed dryness and warmth, finally. 50 degrees, at least- that is what we always left it at in winter when unoccupied. Or what I left it at, I should say- I hadn’t seen any of my many brothers in years. Life changes things is what I always thought when thoughts of this ilk went through my mind.
Kicking off my frozen and dripping canvas shoes, I 57
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN

 JESS THORNTON
slid/walked over to the thermostat, and flipped it on. The furnace roared into life, blasting out precious warmth.
I hit the light switch, and glorious brightness flooded the cabin as well. I was more ecstatic than you could believe. I had been terrorized twice, and then dumped on by a sorcerous nightmare snowstorm in the middle of July. I was frozen, exhausted, confused- but momentarily, it seemed, I was safe.
Normally, I would have built a fire in the very large fire- place I had insisted on when we built the place, but tonight I glanced over at the full wood boxes, the stacks of newspaper and kindling longingly, but instead decided, for once, to go the modern technology route alone. The propane heat flowed all around me. I felt so drowsy ...
Staggering into the one bedroom on the ground floor, I fell into the big bed after stripping off my wet and stiff-frozen clothing, and pulled up the covers. With a last longing look at the fireplace, Charlie came to lie on the floor by the bed, and curled up with a contented sigh. That is all that I remember, perhaps Charlie can write a book later with more informa- tion, although I think perhaps he fell instantly into slumber as well.
THE LICKING ON MY HAND AWAKENED ME. OF COURSE, IT was Charlie- this master-licking was getting to be a pattern, I thought dully, and then awoke completely. It hadn’t been a dream! I really was in the cabin, and had spent a nightmare day traveling down here- the wolves, the trucker from hell- I remembered them vividly .
I thought of the magical green emerald stone that had saved me from the wolves, and how they had transmitted to me the thought that “You Will Pay!” Had the snowstorm been my payback, or were there yet more awaiting me? With
58

 no way of knowing either way, I reached down to my damp trousers on the floor, and reached into the pocket.
Pulling out the green, faintly glowing stone, I looked once more into its depths. I knew now that it really was a magical crystal, something incredibly monstrous, and yet also beau- tiful and powerful beyond measure...
Again, it was my dog that saved me from my fascination and- whatever else might have happened if uninterrupted. Leaping up from the floor, he knocked the gleaming emerald stone from my hand, barking at it as if it was the most disgusting little ferret or weasel-type of creature he could imagine. He looked at it fixedly, barking ferociously, yellow fur standing up on his back.
I was minded of a sudden to get rid of it. A stone of sorcery, it had saved me once from the wolves, but also tried to kill me via the hell trucker, and perhaps with the July bliz- zard as well. I walked over to the french doors that led out the side of the cabin into a little sylvan glade, prepared to heave the stone as far as I could- perhaps into the little creek that flowed under the snow about 60 yards away- but then I stopped, dropping the stone from my hand, where it clattered on the varnished wooden floor.
There was no way to open those twin doors, and throw this emerald crystal, or anything else, far away. The electric lights blazed inside the cabin, in lieu of daylight, but outside those doors was nothing but- snow. And blackness, since (hopefully) the sun was being obscured by the snow .
I say hopefully, because it was right then my deepest fear that the snow was not the only thing blocking the sun- perhaps the gem had obscured the very sun itself.
And then it was that I realized- the only light illuminating the deep darkness of the cabin interior was that which emanated from the green stone, glowing eerily on the floor- boards where it had come to rest. It was greenish-yellow, not
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
59

 JESS THORNTON
an unbeautiful color in a strange way, but very, very unearthly in its hue. It was very much like being underwater in a clear watered ocean, with an alien green sun shining down from above.
I WAS AT A LOSS AS TO WHAT TO DO. THE GREEN STONE that had both saved and cursed me lately, was now supplying me with light, albeit a weird one, and a degree of strange hope. At least I could see!
But then, I went to the wall, and flicked on the switch- electric light flooded the cabin! ‘Screw the stupid magic green fake light!’ I thought, and bending down to pick up the big gem, I opened the kitchen drawer and shoved it inside, jamming the drawer back shut.
The green light was gone. It was just the old incandescent Edison light bulbs shining down on me from the ceiling fan above. (I hate those little curly new compact fluorescent lightbulbs that are little mercury/toxic capsules just waiting to poison you, while they supply you with a sick sort of unap- petizing light; kind of like the greenish/yellow light from the ensorcelled green gem in the silverware drawer).
Incidentally, I also hate those new highly-touted LED bulbs, that overload your eyes with blue light, upsetting your vision and sleep, eventually making you subject to severe health challenges, including possible blindness!
I had even considered kerosene lamps for the cabin, but had been voted down by my estranged brothers, because of the fire hazard. (And also, I think, that they did not want to be perceived as Amish- which would have bothered me not at all). There are many old order Amish all around Wonewoc, and I always appreciate seeing their horse-drawn wagons and carriages, and I also enjoy their wood-stove baked cookies, baked goods, and fudge!
60

 •••
THERE IS SOMETHING PARTICULARLY WONDERFUL ABOUT the simple things of life: things like warmth, and shelter, and above all light. And now, I had not only light, I had the elec- tricity that provided it; I could rely on my cabin furnace igniting the propane that fueled it, and I could at least see in the snow-buried cabin in which I was now trapped. I always try to look on the bright side of things.
So, I thought the glass at least was half full, not empty. This made my mouth go upwards a bit, into a half-smile. But, if you are buried in an isolated cabin under who knew how many feet of snow in the middle of July, just how optimistic can you really be? And still, I didn’t really know that it was just the snow, obscuring the sunlight- I mean, after all the crazy stuff I had been through, it seemed possible that the gem had darkened the very sun itself...
I looked down at Charlie, and he at least was totally happy and ready to greet the day. Not for him were worries about magical gemstones of sorcerous and possibly evil intent, or even memories of devil truckers or giant wolves. He was such a present-minded self that those memories were already pushed aside, in favor of more pressing concerns, such as: does my darling master have some food for me?
I did keep a large stock of dog kibble, a type without grain and totally meat based at the cabin, in a small sealed trash can so as not to attract mice. As my dog smiled up at me with his huge canine smile, I scooped out a healthy portion and put it into a big bowl on the floor.
I realized that Charlie had no care at all about being buried under snow- as long as he had food, water, warmth, his master by his side, and light, he was happy. To live in the moment, I realized that this was really the most important
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
61

 JESS THORNTON
thing in life- so natural for animals, and so very hard for humans.
I WAS ACTUALLY FEELING VERY PHILOSOPHICAL, RATHER like a Zen monk or ancient Greek philosopher, contem- plating things abstractly, when I sensed a strange vibration- then, I felt it as well. The kitchen silverware drawer was vibrating madly, and a bright light of emerald green shot out from the crack where the drawer opened. It was trying to get out- the stupid enchanted gem was trying to get out of the drawer!
I slammed it shut, and ran into the bunk room by the furnace to get to the tool box. Grabbing the Gorilla Tape, (which is a super heavy-duty kind of duct tape), I ran into the main room and kitchen, where the drawer was shaking so hard, and tore off strip after strip of the duct tape, plastering it over the drawer over and over until it just buzzed and buzzed- but accomplished nothing. Finally, the gem just seemed to give up- it was Gorilla Taped into submission.
Zen Philosopher that I now was, I sat down in the recliner that stood next to the fireplace, determined to reflect. I decided to find a way out of this crazy dilemma I was in, which I really didn’t understand. But how was I supposed to do so? What would you have done, given these crazy circumstances??
62

 CHAPTER 15 MARIE AND NEL
 “Ijust don’t know what we are to do!” said Marie, her face in her hands. She sat at the kitchen table in her kitchen, looking at a huge pile of envelopes and papers before her.
Many were tax bills marked PAST DUE from the CITY OF CHICAGO .
“Don’t worry, mother,” said her daughter, Nel. “We always find a way,” she said. Nel was holding her little boy, Gus, in her arms. “We can ask Brian when he gets home from work.”
Nel’s husband Brian was a tall, sturdy youth who worked long hours. He had a good job, but he could not keep up with the endless increases in tax bills from the city of Chicago. No working person could!
They had all lived here since circumstances had forced them to leave their home in Wisconsin. They had been happy in their little town outside of La Crosse, and Nel and Brian had never lived anywhere else.
But, as Marie had explained it: “Sometimes, things change that can’t be helped, and we just need to leave and start our lives anew in different surroundings.”
It had never made sense to Nel then, and it didn’t now, 63

 JESS THORNTON
but she had gone along with it. She and Brian had moved with her mother down to Chicago, of all places, and purchased a large house in a good north side neighborhood to live in. All had been wonderful for a time- lots to see in the big city, going to the lake, Lincoln Park zoo- it was fun.
But the taxes, which hadn’t been that bad to begin with, just kept being pushed higher and higher. The current mayor, a complete Democratic liberal, had done everything wrong that he could: he cut back drastically on law-and-order police funding and support; and forcibly, along with HUD, moved single mother welfare “families” into working class neighbor- hoods (like that of Marie Hawkesworth), and above all, taxing those working people into impoverishment, by raising their property taxes to exorbitant levels.
“I’M SORRY, NEL, BUT I JUST HAD TO GET AWAY FROM THE memories that haunted me back in La Crosse,” said Marie. Tears streaked her face, and she swept back her snow white hair. “I just couldn’t stay there, with all of those memories- but now, it looks as though maybe I should have!” She burst again into tears.
Brian walked in through the door, stooping to get under the doorframe. Baby Gus squealed with delight, and Brian smilingly took his son into his arms. “Hey there, August,” he crooned happily. Gus laughed loudly, and reached to grab his dad’s nose.
Everybody laughed, and the tension left the room. “I’m so sorry,” said Marie. “I am just worrying over nothing, I’m sure. We own our home free and clear because of the insurance payment, and surely there must be laws to protect people from having their own property be stripped away from them by taxes. Let’s just enjoy our evening!”
And so, Marie bustled about the spotless kitchen, putting 64

 a large roast into the oven along with Nel’s help, and then making a big salad along with a sweet potato dish. Brian played on the floor with little Gus, and if there was ever a pretty domestic scene, it was there in that immaculate little house in the city .
If any of the passing big cars blaring out rap music had taken the time to look out their windows, or if any of the saggy pants gangbangers that sauntered by had walked over to peer in the windows, they would have be astounded to witness a scene straight out of Little House on the Prairie, where Ma and Laura were cooking away, while Almanzo played with his and Laura’s baby on the floor. A happy, frugal family enjoying the simple pleasures of life- unfortunately for them, they were all far from both the Prairie, and also The Big Woods.
Fate, and the circumstances of life, had taken that away from them.
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
65

 CHAPTER 16 DARKNESS
 OK-it was the middle of the day, here in rural, small town, Wonewoc Wisconsin. I knew it from the old duck clock on the mantle above the fireplace. I was buried under who knew how many feet of snow, in an isolated log cabin in the woods, with an enchanted emerald gemstone duct-taped in a drawer, and my only help was a dog. Again- what would you do?
Well, I don’t know what you would do, but I went to the wall of the cabin, where hung my prized Gibson Les Paul guitar. I loved to come down here and play, all by myself, and cold Winter nights were my favorite time of all, along with a blazing fire in the oversized hearth.
I rarely got a chance, it seemed, to do it, but I prized these solitary sessions of playing. I plugged my guitar into the Fender Pro amplifier that I kept there, a vintage amp that I’d had since my teens. It was built in 1962, just like my truck!
I had several pedals as well, ready to serve me with “wah- wah” and other effects- I always tried to channel my inner Jimi Hendrix or Peter Green when I played, and today seemed like just the time to do so. It might just relieve my
66

 inner stress, and allow me to think clearly- it had done so in the past, and I needed it now more than ever. Sometimes, to just change focus can help in difficult situations.
I hit a deep, full chord in D, which is the basic root chord of the blues (at least for me in my preferred open tuning slide-guitar mode), and cranked up the volume. Just the rever- berating sound of that one, full chord revitalized me somewhat.
Then, feeling happy for the first time lately, I started strumming a progression, from D to A to E to B- it really had a great sound! Turning up the volume, I did it repeatedly, chording in a distinct rhythm that pulsed with a definite beat.
Thanks to the magic of electricity, I was happy at last, and I saw no reason to give it up. Even if I were to die under walls of snow in July, or even if the sun itself was gone forever: I might as well enjoy the present musical moment. I went on, screaming into the microphone that I also kept at the cabin, right next to the mic. A Shure super 55 deluxe microphone, the microphone that just screams ELVIS when you see it, as iconic as can be- but retrofitted with modern electronics to really explode the voice to a new level.
Strangely, before I had been thrown into this crazy adven- ture, away from my home-bound life with my dogs and cats in rural southwest Wisconsin, I had been determined to master the rock scream. If you have ever heard Steve Marriot of the Small Faces and Humble Pie sing, you know that he is what the various singers of AC DC tried to emulate.
A high, piercing scream that would wake the dead, or at least rally the forces of a group of warriors to exert super- human efforts. It had taken me awhile, but I had mastered the scream.
I actually had hesitated to practice it, because the sound was so alarming, and actually horrific to everyday folk. But,
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
67

 JESS THORNTON
since Marie had left, I had the isolation to practice, and - I had mastered the Primal Rock Scream!
After a bit of playing, I got in the mood. I had a good beat going, and was doing some rootsy rock and roll slides with a good bit of feedback from the amp- it felt great! I had almost forgotten my situation, living in the musical moment as it were. Then, I went back again to a D chord, and I screamed-
68

 CHAPTER 17
A WINTER DAY
 Ireally let out a wild, primal rock scream! It was as if Steve Marriot met Robert Plant, and if one of them had been a woman, their son would have been them plus Axyl Rose all rolled into one- it was that good.
I went on, and on, and on, until you would have thought I must have run out of breath- but no, the little-known thing about those screams is that they don’t, done correctly, really use much air at all. The throat is completely relaxed, but constricted in a weird way that makes it sound like screaming rusty nails dragged across a sonic chalkboard.
I could hear something in the background, but I was so lost in the loud, purposely distorted music that I was pretty oblivious. Finally, though, I stopped my sing/scream, and hit 3 quick power chords in closing. ‘Dang’, I thought- ‘I wish there was someone other than just my dog here to listen to this.’
And then, opening my eyes, I saw there was another observer. I often close my eyes when singing or playing, and as soon as I opened them I noticed a bright green light suffusing the cedar log walls, and the cathedral ceiling of the
69

 JESS THORNTON
cabin. Snow still covered the skylight at the peak of the roof, so no light could have entered there. All the electric lights were still on, but the green light was so overwhelming that it completely obscured any more normal spectrum of light. I was like a screaming rock and roll banshee that had been transported along with Dorothy and the rest to the Emerald City, at least if that city had a log cabin on the edge of town.
The other entity enjoying my solitary rock concert was the huge emerald itself. It hung in the air, and slowly rotated like a faceted single-colored disco ball, shooting out flames of unearthly green light, from up near the apex of the ceiling, just below the ceiling fan.
The duct taped silverware drawer lay in pieces on the ground, looking as though it had been smashed by a huge hammer from the inside out. Charlie was pawing at it, as if puzzled. He was no less surprised than I.
What had brought on such an unearthly spasm of violent power from the gem? It had been completely imprisoned before, just with a bit of wood and some heavy duty duct tape. But then I recalled- certain stimulus, like the sun at the proper angle, were sufficient to coax out a huge wave of force from this magic stone. Perhaps music, at least the right kind of music, could bring forth other kinds of power. It kind of made sense, music does “soothe the savage beast” as they say, although Charlie often covered his ears with his paws and howled when I played. Unappreciative animal.
It could soothe, but music was also really good at exciting as well.
“What do you know, Charlie,” I said, as I strummed another chord. Another strum, and I swear the floating gem turned a little faster, and emitted yet an additional throb of light for each chord.
I decided to experiment- if I was stuck with a giant green, floating emerald of ungodly size and power, I might as well
70

 see what it could do. I was trapped here anyway, in this sunless world of an emerald cabin interior, under yards and yards of snow; with only a musically unappreciative golden retriever by my side.
I STARTED IN AN IMPROMPTU CONCERT, PLAYING IN MANY different styles, just to see the outcome. I started in on the first song, not only because I like it, but because I always liked the insistent beat, and the infectious shouting vocal-
“HAVE YOU HEARD THE WORD- THERE’S GOOD ROCKIN tonight”!?
I WAS LIKE MARTY MC FLY, IMPERSONATING ELVIS FOR not my parents’ Under the Sea dance, but instead for the benefit of a twirling magical emerald. I flatter myself that I do this song quite well, especially since it is so old (older than my truck), that most living people have never even heard it before.
Since Elvis did the definitive version in 1954, mine had quite a bit more electricity in the sound; but other than that, I believe I kept it true. And, since there was no Lorraine Mc Fly around to tell me that ‘my music was... very unusual...’, I relied totally on the green gem as my audience.
And the emerald appeared to like it! It swayed from side to side, it bopped to the beat, and even flashed out bright pulses that coincided with the phrase rock-rock-rock. Test one being completed, I went into an old ballad by Elvis, (can you tell I like Elvis?) called Love Me Tender. Slow, but still with a faint rock beat, the emerald liked it, sliding up one
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
71

 JESS THORNTON
side of the cathedral ceiling, and back down the other, as if caressing the beams above.
And so it went. I tried song after song; not the whole thing, but just a selection to get a reaction. I never got anything approaching the reaction to the primal rock scream, although the sorcerous stone did seem to have a preference for early rock and rockabilly. I even cut the seminal Gene Vincent’s Be Bop a Lula off short, because the emerald-thing started spinning so fast, and shooting around the cabin so randomly, I was in fear of my and Charlie’s lives!
When I ventured a version of Sugar Sugar by the Archies, I thought the green stone would do some angry acting out- it hovered over my amp, tapping it ever-harder, suggestively, with its edge, implying damage of the sort done to the silver- ware drawer earlier. I segued quickly into my version of I Don’t Need No Doctor by Humble Pie, with Steve Marriot scream/singing, and the music-loving gemstone, if it had had a mouth, would have been grinning from facet to facet. You could just tell how much that sorcerous stone loved that sound!
I was getting tired, mostly my voice. Fun as it was to sing for a spinning green stone from Hell, for that is what more and more I was beginning to suspect it was, I needed to try something different. I didn’t really just want to entertain it, I was exploring its power, and what it could do.
Realizing I hadn’t eaten in I couldn’t remember how long, I went to the cabin fridge. ‘Voila’, I thought to myself in french. In my mind, that french phrase meant beer, cheese, and sausage, in that very order, and I pulled out a beer and the cheese and sausage, grabbed the cutting board and a knife, and sat at the small kitchen table. I was ravenous!
I looked out the french doors that flanked the table, wishing that I could see the beautiful pine forest that was there, only now buried under how-many-feet no one knew of
72

 snow. The green emerald stone swooped down, curiously, and hovered above me. I could sense its impatience- it wanted more music. And definitely not the Archies.
“Esmerelda,” I said, “I don’t know what you get energy from, but I need food and drink from time to time.” I showed her what I meant, by putting the sausage and cheese into my mouth, and then washing it back with a good swallow of beer. The name seemed right.
Somehow, her capricious nature and incredible changes of mood from violence to spin-dancing had convinced me that she was female, and the name seemed perfect. She was certainly no matronly Auntie Em.
I ate, and thought, as Esmerelda swooped around lazily overhead, as if bored. Gosh, that food tasted great, but the beer was even better- it relaxed me, and I’m sure you’ll know that my nerves were stretched taught as a spring from the endless catastrophic adventures I had been experiencing.
Going again to the fridge, I opened the door, grabbed a beer, and when I was looking around for more to eat, that capricious Esmerelda banged against the door of the refriger- ator. I barely had time to pull back before the door slammed shut! I looked over at her, and I swear she looked like a green faceted, spinning wife with her hands on her hips, peering at me as if to say ‘get playing again- lazybones!’
I sighed, and taking my can of beer with me, I set it on the mantle, next to the childhood family picture of my family with my mom, (my dad had been working when the photo was taken- with 8 kids, he was always working). I picked up my guitar again, and walked over to the mic stand by the fire- place center.
I STARTED IN ON AN INSTRUMENTAL THAT I HAD WRITTEN 73
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN

 JESS THORNTON
called, ironically, Winter Day. I had written the chord progression and the basics on a literal winter day back home up north, but here it was fitting that I should play it in July, while buried in a snowstorm in our cabin- I started in with a resounding E chord, sliding slowly up to B, and then down again to A. The progression.
As I played, I reflected on how every time I had encoun- tered the magical emerald, something bad had happened. Even after I had gotten rid of the hell-trucker in that first encounter, gaining the stone, I had immediately been attacked again- this time by giant black wolves from hell.
Even though the stone saved our bacon, right after that we were inflicted with the unnatural snowstorm which we barely escaped from in the cabin. Whatever else might be true about my rock-and-roll loving emerald, it certainly did seem to flag supernatural events to come and attack me just after it was used.
A double edged sword, indeed, was my precious Esmerelda- ‘For now, a necessary evil,’ I thought. And then I had a faint idea of what to try. I grabbed my brass slide.
WINTER DAY STARTS OUT REALLY, REALLY SLOW. I DO IT with a drum machine, attached to my amp. But after a few measures, it really electrifies the sound, and then, a little later- it rocks it. I really love it when it does that!
But more importantly to my experiment, so did the gemstone.
The song is simple, yet it builds, more and more and more... Slowly at first, and then more...intense. If you have ever seen an old psychedelic light show from the late 1960’s, you know what I mean when I say that Esmerelda responded appropriately!
 74

 As I went up in tempo and volume, so did the light from the stone- as I went down a bit, it diminished. It was just like a show from the old Kinetic Playground on Clark street in Chicago in 1968 and ’69, where I had seen acts performed by The Doors, The Jimi Hendrix Experience, Led Zeppelin and Fleetwood Mac in my youth- the light conformed to the sound, since the light and sound engi- neers ran it in conjunction with the feel of the performance. It had been exciting then- it was unbelievable now, since my sound engineers were not human, but consisted solely of a magical emerald gemstone (possibly from hell), that decided on what should be done with each and every sound that I produced.
IT WOULD HAVE BEEN EXHILARATING IF IT WERE NOT SO scary!
I HAD NO IDEA WHAT WOULD HAPPEN, I JUST KNEW I needed to provoke something, anything from that spinning green stone. I was trapped, I needed something to happen, and the stone was all I had to work with. I played my heart out, and if I had had 11 on my amp dial, I would have used it! (Of course, only Spinal Tap had that special setting). But finally, at last, I did work it up to 10...
And, I don’t know if you have ever experienced playing, or music in general, but the same principle holds true in lots of things. If you ever “get in the groove” of something, be it music, sports, writing- even baking a cake or delivering mail for God-sakes- if you find yourself doing it really, really well-
It is always with the consciousness that “this is not me doing this”, a feeling that it is totally, automatically being done from outside yourself. And it is: it’s called getting into
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
75

 JESS THORNTON
the flow, and everyone in just about every endeavor strives for that flow state. Where your Muse takes over.
I personally think that it is the subconscious mind that takes over. The real you, not your self-conscious, list-follow- ing, chattering “monkey mind” that is normally in charge. But whatever it is, it took me over that day, channeling my Muse through my guitar and mic, and into that amplifier.
And my appreciative sorcerous stone of emerald, my Esmerelda, went wild. It was the groupie of all groupies- spin- ning, dancing, shooting out rays of green and even some gold rays which grew more intense and brighter as I played. The cabin interior looked like the Kinetic Playground on steroids, with rays of light combining in perfect sync with the pulsing of the beat- Jimi Hendrix and the others would have sunk their heads in shame and left for the exits, knowing their shows paled in comparison.
And then, I screamed-
76

 CHAPTER 18 HENRY HAWKESWORTH
 The violence in Henry’s neighborhood had continued unabated. The Chicago Tribune reported on the news, and often got it right, but the mainstream media were shills for the government propaganda:
“ANOTHER STORY TONIGHT ABOUT CRIME IN THE CITY! While this might seem important, the real story is about the attack on Chicago by Republicans, trying to take away our admirable status as a Sanctuary City. We love immigrants, illegal or not, and this racist policy of excluding Muslims and other immigrants, even though they may be termed “illegal”, is a horrible thing!
And now, let’s get back to the 78 shootings in Chicago today...”
HENRY WOULD WATCH THE MAINSTREAM NEWS SHOWS LIKE this on channel 9 in Chicago in disbelief. ‘What had
 77

 JESS THORNTON
happened to common sense? What had become of Law and Order in a beleaguered city??’ he thought, not unreasonably at all.
Of course, it was liberal extremism- that, and the political correctness that had decimated the country, and especially our big, urban, liberal cities. Older citizens like Henry Hawkesworth, that had fought in the World War against a real enemy, an enemy of law and order, self-determination, and Western Civilization itself- why couldn’t we, after defeating Nazis (which was Socialism writ large), defeat gang violence in our own country?
And then, all at once, he got it- Socialism is what was running, (ruining) our big city governments- it was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. The political liberals/socialists pretended to love the downtrodden, which meant anyone who didn’t work, and who demanded to be supported by the government.
This achieved two ends: the “downtrodden” indolent, who did not want to work, were affirmed in their choice- they would not have to work. They would be given money, and food, and housing... but at a bare subsistence level. Their neighborhoods would be lacking police protection, their schools would be woefully substandard, and because of extreme crime and lack of means, the stores where they might buy nutritious food would leave for better areas.
Now, the welfare enslaved that had never worked were owned by the liberal politicians! Their only hope for better- ment was through big Government largesse; read: handouts. Their entire livelihood was based on Government doles. Everything. And so, it was the same as if they lived on an antebellum plantation in the South- they were as enslaved as they would have been back then, but now- enslaved to the same Democratic politicians of the KKK that had enslaved them literally back then.
•••
78

 AND THE ONLY WAY THEY COULD REACT, TO REBEL, TO “ACT out” their anger against the Massah, was with violence.
AND SO, THAT IS WHAT THEY DID- NIGHT AFTER NIGHT after night. Mindless, senseless, explosive violence, often against totally innocent and inoffensive people that had done nothing to them. The elderly, Asian immigrants, the retarded- all were fair game for this newly created feral people. They saw themselves as entitled, because although they had been born into the richest country in the entire history of the world, they had failed.
No matter that they were supported in a manner that in the rest of the world would be considered lavish circum- stances, with ample food, water, and shelter- with no effort required on their part to procure these things- it was not fair that they did not have the same lifestyles as those that worked and produced!
So they rebelled against their liberal Massahs in the only way they knew how- senseless, random violence.
HENRY, OLD HENRY NEVER CONNECTED THE DOTS ON THIS. To him, raised in small-town Wisconsin in the 1930’s, such concerns were not even on the radar. Back then, everyone took care of their own. If you needed something from the store, (his dad, Charles, owned and ran the general store in Mahoma), you would pay for it, or you would go onto credit, which was considered “charity” and frowned upon by the town at large. You would move Heaven and Earth, work as hard as you could, to pay it off!
The idea of a Socialist Welfare State (Seig Heil!) was lost on old Henry. He knew what Socialism, or its twin Commu- nism really was:
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
79

 JESS THORNTON
•••
IT WAS A NIGHTMARE, DESIGNED TO ENFORCE PEOPLE INTO a micromanaged state that decided everything about their lives, controlling and enslaving them by not only controlling their income and lifestyle, but by determining where they could live, what they could do, and just how much they were allowed to keep of their earnings.
TAXATION: THIS MEANT THAT THE GOVERNMENT COULD take as much of what you earn as they want. Give it to whoever they want. And KEEP as much as they want. And the result?
NO LAW AND ORDER. NO MILITARY ABROAD, LETTING radical Islamist terrorists into our country. Bankrolling ille- gals to stay in our country, with no sanctions or rules whatsoever.
A PERPETUAL SOCIALIST WELFARE STATE!
OH MY GOD- I HOPE HENRY NEVER FIGURES THIS OUT. HE was from a simpler time, and simpler is always better. Our current situation is a nightmare, but hopefully all will be figured out, before we have become the next Fall of Rome.
ONE DAY, OLD HENRY AND MARTHA WENT OUT FOR A walk, something they rarely did anymore, although for years it had been nearly a nightly habit. But nowadays, because of
80

 ever-increasing crime in their once safe community, they went out before supper, not after.
Even that expedient had stopped making a difference either, they found that day. As they headed down the side- walk, arm-in-arm, the old couple noticed a group of four black youths crossing the street towards them, from the other side. “Stay by my side, Martha, a little in back of me,” he said, and kept walking, her right arm through his left one. He had his hand in his pocket, the vest pocket of his old suit coat that he was in the habit of wearing.
Henry would have no way of knowing, but that old fash- ioned business attire was like a red flag to the youths approaching, one that said ‘easy prey oldsters’. As did Martha’s small flowered hat, and shiny black purse, that they saw as a target.
With a sudden lurch of movement, the four youths moved fast towards the old couple, three right at the old man, and one around to the left to knock down the old lady and grab her purse. They were each every bit as big as Henry, although probably still in their mid to late teens.
What they didn’t know, though, was that Henry Hawkesworth was a decorated army veteran of world war two, which is another thing that, given their incredibly substandard schools, they also wouldn’t have known anything about. Henry had fought the Japanese in the South Pacific, and still had his old Colt 1911 .45 service pistol.
As the three came towards him and his wife, he pulled it out calmly, and pointed it. The one running towards Martha didn’t notice, so focused was he on the dangling black purse before him, and didn’t even notice when the other three stopped moving, suddenly .
Without hesitation, Henry brought the pistol sideways down across the face of the first running attacker, slashing downwards and knocking him to his knees. Blood poured
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
81

 JESS THORNTON
from a livid gash down the side of his face, and he started crying. Henry had immediately re-trained the gun back on the other three, who looked at him with wide, staring white eyes with black centers.
“Hey, no call for that, old man,” said one of the three, looking with anger at Henry. In response, Henry kicked the youth, who was still on his knees, right in the stomach, knocking him over. He lay there, coughing and groaning, and still crying.
The gun had barely wavered as the old man kicked out, and then brought it back to bear on the three criminals still standing. His pale blue eyes looked out from under his old- fashioned Stetson hat, and locked on the black eyes facing him. Martha clutched his other arm tightly, but otherwise seemed as calm as he did. They had been through many tough times together, and it would take more than four punks to rattle them.
“Now, I’m gonna let you little punks pick up your crybaby friend here, and skedaddle.” They looked confused, having never heard a term such as that, one so tame and obscenity- less, but they did get his drift.
Two bent down at the order of the third, and helped the downed one up so he could lean on them, and began pulling him away. The one left, obviously the leader of the group, looked menacingly at old Henry. “Yo’ is gonna pay big fo’ this, old man- yo cain’t even own a gun in Cook County- yo’ gon’-” and Henry stepped towards him deliberately, gun pointed at his face.
With a quick obscenity, the vicious youth jumped back, and then took off running after his friends. Henry put his pistol back into his vest, but kept his hand resting on the butt.
“Now, Martha, I’m sorry about that! Let’s just resume our walk as if nothing had happened, and then we’ll go home- I
82

 think we’ll just make the opening of The Lawrence Welk Show on television.”
UNFORTUNATELY, SOMETHING HAD HAPPENED ON THAT walk, and Henry knew something would have to be done. Move away? He hated to consider it, but things were really escalating now .
He looked over at his wife, Martha, who smiled back at him, and then back towards the television console that was playing. It was Sissy and Bobby, the dancers! As he watched the wholesome duo spin about the stage, his grim look relaxed.. He would call their youngest son Jimmy tomorrow, and they would discuss it. ‘Jimmy is a good boy’, he thought, and then he himself was smiling at the dancers, Myron Floren, and above all at the melodious sounds of that cham- pagne music of a more genteel, civilized era.
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
83

 CHAPTER 19 SUMMERTIME BLUES
 After I let out that scream, all hell broke loose. And since Esmerelda was to blame, you can imagine that I am speaking a literal version of hell breaking loose, nothing figurative at all.
My last chord reverberated loudly, insistently, and my scream also continued. But neither my hands, nor my throat, was paying any attention- all I could do was stare at Esmerelda. Spinning, twirling, bouncing- it was as if she was under a spell of some sort. She was out of control.
She came whizzing by my head so fast, I barely ducked in time, and then fell to the floor, cradling my precious Gibson in my arms. Charlie had crept under the stairwell, and I remembered how little Nel had called him her “creeping Charlie” as a child.
Right then, what I thought was ‘get out here, you little creep Charlie, and defend your master!’ But, of course, he didn’t, he only nestled as far in the corner under the stairs to the loft as he could get. Thinking that my best friend was showing me by example, I emulated his actions and curled myself under the kitchen table.
84

 It was well that I did. “Ezzie”, as I thought of her in shorthand when I was under unusual stress, was bouncing off the walls- literally! She was out of control, and totally caught up in her emotions- hey- I had been right- she was a female after all.
Bing- bang- Boom- she hit the table under which I crouched, and it split in two- not that she even noticed, she was already flying the other way, skywards, and struck the 10” beam of the ceiling, which cracked nearly in two, but did hold.
I was thinking that my musical experiment had been a really, really bad idea, when with a sudden lurch to the side, and a couple of bounces around the cabin that were like an old pinball machine, where the ball just caroms from side to side, faster and faster- with Ezzie putting deeper and deeper gouges into the oak and cedar of the cabin-at last she just shot out the window in the door, and disappeared into the snowy landscape outside.
THERE WAS ONLY, AT LAST, THE FAINT REVERBERATION OF my final scream, and the echoing susurration of my last chords. Standing up, pushing aside the table that had shel- tered me, it fell in two pieces, one piece of solid maple to each side of me. ‘Well, better than my skull,’ I thought, walking over to my amp, which was still humming softly.
Switching it off, I was at last treated to total silence; the silence of the primeval, snow covered forest. Except for the sound of rushing heated air, escaping through the window panel that Esmerelda had shattered. The lights from the overhead lamps were now dominant again- no hellish green glow dominating the scene.
Running to the tool box kept in the closet of the master bedroom, I again grabbed the Gorilla Tape.
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
85

 JESS THORNTON
“Don’t fail me now, Gorilla Tape!” I said aloud, and Charlie looked at me like I was insane. “And I could care less what you say, creeping Charlie,” I said as, true again to his name, he slowly creeped out from his hiding place under the stairwell. “Man’s best friend indeed”! said I, as I ripped off strip after strip of the strong black tape, and placed it over the hole in the glass pane above the door.
And I was struck with amaze- such had been the speed of the crazed gem, that it had left its perfect outline in the glass. No shattering, no streaks or cracks in the pane- just the perfectly preserved shape of an unnaturally large, multi- faceted gemstone. As if it had been sketched in place.
FINALLY, UTTER SILENCE. I COULD EVEN HEAR THE TICKING of the duck clock above the mantle in the cabin, faint as it was. But then, I could hear something more.
The sound of running water. If there is a sound associated with melting snow, I don’t know precisely what it is. But I heard it then- it was the sound of melting, maybe more of a feeling actually, but it was identified by the immediate sensa- tion of freely running water.
That’s all that I can say- that is what I sensed, and by looking at my dog Charlie I knew that he sensed it too. All animals possess this instinct, they can unerringly sense the long-awaited advent of spring. Never mind that this was July- spring had come after a day or so of an unnatural, deep Winter Day .
I knew it was Esmerelda. Excited beyond reason by the music, she had sent forth beams of green magic, and ended this unnatural winter. While blessing the sorcerous stone for that, I could not help but hope that I would never see that multi-faceted, music-loving emerald again for the rest of my life. Maybe my life would be pretty normal, from now on.
86

 I went to the fridge, grabbing another beer, and a huge chunk of cheese. Then, collapsing in the recliner by the fire- place, I guzzled and chewed, reflecting on my next move.
The sound of running water outside was so peaceful- there was a creek just to the east side of the cabin that only had rushing water during the spring thaw. It was roaring now, but in a peaceful, change-for-the-better kind of way.
Easing up from my chair, I walked out the front door, onto the porch that my brothers and I had built- a deck of cedar that needed a new coat of stain. I shook my head at this irrelevant observation- ‘Yeah, yeah- first things first’, I thought, and peered out at the land. There was a waterfall pouring off the bluff by the cabin, and the rushing water joined into the stream that led to the Baraboo river down the road.
I realized that I would not be going anywhere for a while, with the road to the cabin inundated with water. I was also belatedly elated to realize that the darkness was not caused by the blotting out of the sun! It sounds crazy now, but after what I had seen, that horrendous possibility had definitely been on my radar.
Sitting down in the recliner, I sipped on my beer. It was Blatz light, and although my beer snob friends would snort in derision, I could care less. Neither could Charlie, who, after his usual three turns in a circle, lay down by my side. We were simple males, following our basic instincts.
I lifted the footrest of the ancient La-Z-Boy, and eased back into the old tweed cushions. I let relaxation flow through my frame, slowly letting the tension out of my currently crazy, sorcerously-determined life. I was hoping that I was free, that I had exorcised myself of the Esmeralda from hell. Heck, wouldn’t you?
Totally relaxed at last, I lay there, my feet higher than my head, thinking about driving down to Illinois, slowly on back-
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
87

 JESS THORNTON
roads, and enjoying the journey. Dogs don’t purr, but Charlie seemed to be having similar thoughts, and he had a slow groan of contentment that escaped him periodically. I was falling asleep...
When, suddenly, that bitch Esmerelda came shooting down the chimney, and knocking down the fire screen, floated and vibrated in front of me, as if to say: “What do you want to do now?” My playmate from hell.
88

 CHAPTER 20 SWEET HOME CHICAGO!
 Igot it. Ezzie was mad! We had been in the cabin overnight, and a good part of the next day. She had had a little musical interlude, which she did enjoy immensely, and had rewarded me in her excitement by thawing out the huge snowstorm of an unnatural winter in July!
I was thankful, there is no doubt about that. It’s just that I had concluded, in the brief moments of relative calm where I had been free to think about things- whenever something bad happened, it was usually because of the emerald/Esmerel- da’s power being used.
That she later solved the problem, didn’t exculpate her- it only made her guilty, but somewhat exonerated after the fact by belatedly solving the very problem she had caused in the first place.
It was if a thief, caught red-handed, returned the stolen goods, and then all was right with the world...That’s not how it works. You just don’t steal in the first place.
•••
89

 JESS THORNTON
BUT, YOU DON’T ARGUE ETHICS WITH A SUPERNATURAL gemstone. (You can quote me on that). As Ezzie hovered, vibrating just before me, I realized that if she had had a face, and a voice, she would have been nagging me:
“You never do what I ask! It’s all about you, never me! First you want me to kill a hell-trucker, the next thing I know it’s giant wolves, then a snowstorm- what am I, your slave? Sure, you play a few songs, make nice to me, and then it’s all like OK?? You are so insensitive, you never think about me and my needs! You know I just want a nice, pleasant trip, and a little fun... why are you so self-focused??”
I never heard these words, not a one. And so why am I telling you this? Because, as that giant green gem stood vibrating intensely before me, I could just sense these words emanating from it. They were not spoken, but they were as real as if they had been engraved in, well, in a gemstone like an emerald! I knew what she was saying, as well as most husbands know beyond a shadow of a doubt what their disap- proving wives are saying (or thinking).
And since I knew, I went outside and surveyed the acreage about the cabin. The usually small creek to the eastern side was a roaring, class 5 rapids of rapidly running water that shot over downed trees, big sandstone rocks, and even threatened to overflow the small stream bed and flood the gravel drive to the cabin.
But not yet! The snow was over half melted, but as of yet there was no inundation of flowing water over the whole of Eagles Acres. But, it really was warm now, just as it should be in the middle of July, and there was plenty of snow left to melt- heck, even on the cabin roof itself there was probably 5 feet of snow, and up on the back bluff there was a whole wall of snow covering the trees and the sheer rock face. It was only a matter of time!
I ran back inside, and saw Charlie standing there, facing 90

 Esmerelda. If two beings that were bereft of speech could ever be representative of having a conversation, it was those two.
The only actual sounds were of Ezzie, vibrating with a faint electric sound like white noise, only louder, with the counterpoint of Charlie, with almost indistinct little growls and squeals.
But the body language between the two was a study of Ursula in The Little Mermaid-
“AND DON’T UNDERESTIMATE THE IMPORTANCE OF BODY LANGUAGE!”
I GOT IT. THE BODY LANGUAGE OF A VIBRATING SORCEROUS gemstone and a golden retriever that was definitely more empathic than most. Even I, an ex-mailman, could under- stand that there was a real, definitive, and definitely impor- tant communication going on here.
And when my dog, and then the gem, looked at me, there could be no doubt- They had been discussing me, and although I was late to the game, they had agreed what I should do. For them. And also, I fervently hoped, with me in mind as well! They had figured out what was going to happen now, with the snowmelt...
I grabbed a bag containing my few traveling possessions, and left the cabin that I had hoped would be my sanctuary, at least for a few days. Signaling wildly to my argumentative uberfuhrers, I propped open the door to the cabin, shot outside, and ran to my truck, jumping across rivulets of running water. The ground was soft, but not overly so- at least not yet.
Reaching my truck, Holly, I jumped inside. I turned the 91
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN

 JESS THORNTON
key, still in the ignition, and that formidable 223 engine from 1962 fired right up! Honking the horn loudly, I looked back at the cabin-
And here came two unlikely allies- a gorgeous golden retriever, in the prime of life, leaping across small streams deftly, with that golden’s smile fixed on his face.
And right above him, mirroring his every action in the air, was a giant, spinning emerald that, although she had no face, had a myriad of facets.
Every single facet, every one said the same thing, word- lessly: Let’s MOVE, let’s PARTY! She did look back at one point, and the cabin door shut with emerald power. I’m sure it locked as well, and maybe even a hex was added for good measure.
I got it: Charlie was in league with a thing way beyond what he could comprehend. He wanted to shield me. She wanted to exploit me, and I suppose protect me as well.
I guess, in dog language, they were on the same side. Like a pack! And so was I. The Leader of the Pack!
VROOM VROOM!
WHATEVER- ULTIMATELY, I KNEW THAT WE WERE ALL IN this together, me and my unnatural gemstone from hell, the dog that was my best friend of all time, and my truck- which was running, thank all that was holy.
WHEN “THE PACK” GOT INSIDE THE HOLLY TRUCK, I jammed it in gear, and we were off!
•••
92

 IF YOU’VE EVER SEEN HIGH SPEED CHASES IN MOVIES AND ON TV... this was definitely not one of those. Sorry. I never left second gear, which means a top speed of about 25 mph, opti- mistically. But don’t think I was bored!
I was pulling on a steering wheel that was huge, by modern standards, and thankfully so- because without power steering (or brakes), I was at a huge disadvantage.
This handicap was due to this: when a stream of water appeared under our 2 wheel drive bias ply wheels, I had to pull as hard as I could to both avoid and/or get out of it. We were still in Eagles Acres when a really large stream, almost a creek sized stream, materialized under our front wheels.
Being a rear wheel drive vehicle, my Holly; I thought we might make it through, but no- the crevasse before us was so big that we came to a complete stop. Charlie, sensing the trouble, started barking angrily, looking at the stream like it was a ferret or worse. The stream didn’t care.
But Ezzie did! Flying angrily out the open passenger window, (luckily so, or it would have been smashed I’m sure), Esmerelda hovered above the offending stream like the 3- Legged Towering Machines from the H.G. Wells novel War of the Worlds.
Although Ezzie had no legs whatsoever; just hovering there, the rays that shot from her were just as devastating as those in the novel- the rushing stream instantly evaporated. End of story. Nothing left.
Charlie stopped barking, and smiled his golden smile at the hovering gem, that was just next to him in the passenger seat. ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’ he seemed to be saying, nonverbally .
I WISHED I COULD BE AS EASILY SATISFIED AS MY DOG HAD 93
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN

 JESS THORNTON
been. I knew nothing good could be the reaction to the sorcerous melting of the unnatural winter, and now add the evaporated stream to that. Action and reaction, that was the Ezmerelda curse.
94

 CHAPTER 21 LEADER OF THE PACK
 It started off well enough. The three of us, (God, it sounds strange saying that about myself, a dog, and an emerald), set off together on our journey with fair weather, and clear skies. The road was damp, old highway 33 heading south, and the usually placid Baraboo river that flanked the road was a raging torrent.
I was glad we had gotten started when we did, because I could tell it was just a matter of time until the river encroached its banks and engulfed the whole road. The bright sun shone down, and the massive snowfall was melting in the more normal 75 degree Wisconsin July heat. Ezzie had been right, but I didn’t want to give her credit, especially since I knew there would be hell to pay for her sorcerous assistance. There always was.
It was strange, the three of us fellow travelers. A golden retriever, in the prime of life, sticking his head out the side window, the wind blowing back his long ears and his golden fur simply glowing in the sunshine. He was as happy as only an animal can be, living entirely in the moment, relishing
95

 JESS THORNTON
each nanosecond of movement, warmth, and his master by his side.
I had turned on the old AM radio, that with the old tubes instead of transistors. Most younger people have never heard a tube radio or amplifier, but the sound of the tube radios vastly surpasses that of modern radios, in much the same way as vinyl records put CD’s and mp3 recordings to shame.
There was a far away oldies station playing- WDJO out of Cincinnati of all places. For the other strange thing about tube radios is that, coupled with a long, tall antenna that was standard on old vehicles like my truck Holly, stations could be received that were far, far away- at least on clear days, or late at night. This station was one of my favorites, and now it was playing...
LEADER OF THE PACK!BY THE SH ANGRI-LAS!
"IMETHIM ATTHECANDYSTORE
H e turned around and smiled at me You get the picture
"Y es, we see"
That's when I fe" for the leader of the pack.”
I SWEAR, I FELT LIKE THE LEADER OF OUR LITTLE PACK. THE music flowed loudly through the little cab of the truck, and I could see Charlie smiling widely, his tongue hanging out in a big toothy dog-grin. I also can attest that Ezzie started swaying around in time to the music, and a green glow grew in the interior of that cab, which was already painted a deep, Ford Holly green. Even the music got louder, and I never
 96

 turned up the dial- I know it was Ezzie, who we already know is a sucker for music-
“ONE DAY MY DAD SAID FIND SOMEONE NEW
I had to te" my Jimmy we're through
H e stood there and asked me why, but a" I could do was cry I'm sorry I hurt you, the leader of the pack”
THE THREE OF US WERE SO HAPPY, GROOVIN’ AND BOPPIN’ along with the Shangri-las! “Nothin’ could be finer that to be in Caroliner in the Morn-ing!” That is how we felt, just happy as the day is long. We all know the feeling- “Oh What a beau- tiful morn-ing!” yeah, that kind of feeling too. Things were black and now they’re great and “Zippadee doo dah, Zippadee A, my on my what a wonderful Day!”
Yes indeedy, that is how we felt, the three of us, until there was a huge “Whump” from the bed of the truck, and the whole vehicle started fishtailing and skidding. I looked into the rear view mirror, and right in the bed of my old truck stood a vision of nightmare and raw violence incarnate.
A huge grizzly bear was standing on the bed of my Ford F- 100 pickup, easily at least a 1,000 pound alpha-monster version of the breed. Perhaps more, since my old truck weighs roughly 3,000 pounds, and for a few moments it had stood on its rear wheels as if I was doing a “wheelie” with my meagre horsepower from my “mileage maker” engine that had difficulty exceeding 55 mph.
And it’s not as if the bear was just standing there- it was pounding on the cab roof with its massive paws, jumping up and down in the bed as it did so. Charlie looked back through the glass, and started barking crazily, as I slammed on the brakes. It’s strange, but I think the song that still blared
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
97

 JESS THORNTON
liquidly through the truck affected me greatly. I felt strangely calm. I was the leader of the pack! I wasn’t Jimmy- but hey, my brother was...
I braked sharply, and leapt from the truck. “Charlie- down!” I shouted. He went down on the bench seat. I looked back at Ezzie, who was starting to vibrate wickedly. “Ezzie- NO!”
For not having a face, only face- ets, she still looked shocked. No one told Ezzie what to do!
The grizzly was so massive I can scarcely describe how it towered over the truck, and all of us. It kept pounding on the cab roof, each time resulting in massive dents that soon would shatter the back glass- this decimation of my truck, my pride and joy, was the last straw for me. I’m quite laid back normally, but wanton destruction of people and things I love is the ultimate violation.
The bear, staring at me, went into that classic grizzly roar and flex standing pose. The one that is meant to freeze you as prey before it runs at you and tears you into bloody remnants. And a grizzly can move fast, much faster than any human. I swear it gave me an evil smile of triumph, just before it was about to run at me and tear me to pieces.
Except, I had taken my Ruger SP101 from my pocket and aimed it at the beast. I knew it was not pure beast not only from the size, which was larger than a natural grizzly, but from the intelligence in its eyes- this bear knew what a gun was- it leaped with speed faster than I could have imagined, throwing its huge bulk directly towards me-
“I FELT SO HELPLESS, WH AT COULD I DO
R emembering a" the things we'd been through? In school they a" stop and stare
I can't hide the tears, but I don't care
98

 I'" never forget him, the leader of the pack”
EZZIE AND CHARLIE WERE WATCHING, I’M SURE, AS A 1,000 pound monster of talons and teeth threw itself atop me. I wondered briefly what I had been thinking when I told them not to help me. What was I thinking?
But I pulled the trigger reflexively - BANG BANG BANG- BANG BANG !!
“OOH, THE LEADER OF THE P ACK NOW HE'S GONE the leader of the pack now he's gone
the leader of the pack now he's gone”
IT WASN’T EASY, BUT I PUSHED AND SQUIRMED MY WAY OUT from under that huge, smelly brown carcass. I was very pleased that I had changed my loading protocol from .38, .38 special, .357 magnum to .357 all six rounds. If I had not, I would not have survived, since the bear was actively moving against me until the last shot.
Even as it was, I was lacerated, torn, and exhausted. Even a one second attack of a dying grizzly was enough to evis- cerate a man, but I had curled myself into a ball, and tensed every muscle in my body to resist being torn apart.
At last, I extricated myself. The truck had huge dents, not only in the cab where the taloned fists of the creature had pounded in, but also in the bed, where it had unnaturally dropped (from where?), and two huge paws were embedded in outline into the metal.
Dragging myself upright, I looked over to where Ezzie and Charlie were looking at me. They both looked amazed, I think mainly to see me still alive. Charlie panted happily,
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
  99

 JESS THORNTON
tongue out, and Ezzie spun a bit, I think in total amaze that I could do anything without her help. Then the radio spun the next tune:
“OH-SOMETIMES IWONDER What I’m a gonna do Cause there ain’t no cure For the summertime blues”
I STAGGERED OVER, AND DRAGGED MYSELF BACK BEHIND the wheel. The hot July sun was blazing down. It felt good.
I keyed the engine, and as it started up, I said, “The leader of the pack is not gone- and you know the cure for the Summertime blues?” Ezzie and Charlie just watched me, speechless.
“It’s to kill a goddamn grizzly!!” And with that, off we drove south.
100

 CHAPTER 22
THE THREE STOOGES
 It was all well and good to consider myself as the “leader of the pack”, but as we went on our way southwards through the rural backroads of southwestern Wisconsin, I ruefully thought that I was really rather more like one of a far less grandiose group- The Three Stooges!
Sadly for my self esteem, I am afraid that I most closely resembled Moe from that illustrious group, the leader of that sad “pack”! No James Dean was I; and to carry the metaphor home, Charlie would have to be Larry, with reddish hair and few words. Ezzie, although she would never, ever admit it in a million years, was as unpredictable, crazy, shiny-domed and nutty as Curly. What a group.
And so, we of the Stooge Pack headed down to Illinois, through the small cities of Baraboo and the Wisconsin Dells. We passed right on through the Dells, avoiding the water parks and fudge shops, the animal petting zoos and cheese- head stores, until we finally got onto highway 12.
We went, the Stooges and Holly the truck, slowly, sedately, and without event across the state of Wisconsin at a long, slowly descending angle. It was so peaceful, and without
101

 JESS THORNTON
traffic as it always is, that first Charlie/Larry, and then Ezzie/Curly fell asleep- at least, Ezzie didn’t vibrate or glow, which I took as her version of slumber.
I only stopped once, in Whitewater, so that I could use the restroom, I could take Charlie out to do the canine equiv- alent, and even Ezzie shot out the window after we stopped, to do who knows what gems do. I had stopped at a Culver’s, which is the cleanest, nicest fast food restaurant that exists, and is native to Wisconsin. Two triple butter-burgers is what I ordered, without the bun, along with a large chocolate malt and two glasses of water.
As I set Charlie’s plain burgers on the ground, pouring his water into a bowl I’d packed, I dug into my own lunch avidly. There was just not enough time to eat, not when you were fighting magical battles. I’m sure you can relate- it’s a common problem.
I will, as an aside, mention here that a Culver’s butter burger, without the bun and with swiss cheese, onions, tomato, and mustard, along with one of their custard choco- late malts is a wizardry in its own right, and one to be relished- try it. Without the bun, you really taste the quality of the meat.
I thought to myself that wow, here was my claim to fame- ‘Moe, leader of the Stooge Pack, says that Culver’s is the place to go!’ That would sell a lot of burgers... NOT! And then, on the commercial, I’d poke Charlie in the eyes, and slap Ezzie on her green “head”, saying “Why, I oughta —”
I WAS REALLY HOPING THAT OLD ESMERELDA WOULD JUST not come back, now that she had flown away. Well, I was torn- I knew she still had repercussions in waiting for us, since she had vaporized that stream earlier, and magic use
 102

 always needed to be punished, it seemed. And, she was gone for a long time. Charlie kept looking out the window, rather wistfully I thought. I resisted the urge to Moe-like bat him under the chin- I’m rather valiant like that.
But then, just as we rolled into the quaint old town of Cambridge Wisconsin, right on the Illinois border, a flash of green came spinning into the truck cab. She landed on the dash, and positively glowed with happiness and vitality .
Charlie beamed as only a golden can, panting with pure joyousness, and the oldies volume immediately raised to ear- splitting volume. “There’s an old Piano and they played it hot behind the Green Door!” (#1 in 1956) Welcome back Esmerelda.
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
103

 CHAPTER 23 ILLINOIS
 After the peaceful interlude of Cambridge, a beautiful little town, we entered into Illinois. Luckily, we had taken the back roads, bypassing the onerous Illinois tollroads, with their ultra-high speed drivers, and a total lack of police monitoring. It is a horrible wake up call to a small town Wisconsin person, used to civility and rules of the road, to enter into a lawless state like Illinois. The transition (as well as the expense) is mitigated greatly by taking the two lane, more civilized back roads.
But still. After you hit Illinois, land of (Republican) Lincoln, and now the land of over-arching liberal Democratic rule, everything gets progressively worse. Progressively- get it? Traffic grows incredibly bad, since now the people of Illi- nois will pay anything, and drive as long as it takes, to not be subjected to the big government, top-down bad democratic uber-rule of Chicago!
What was once rural northern Illinois, has become a form of super-expensive, gated community for those who have to live there, but do not want to use Chicago’s substandard schools and police protection, or to face the onerous bureau-
104

 cracy and corruption of that once great city. I was startled, really, to see that the suburbs of the city now have spread all the way to the northern border of the state- and I’m sure some Illinois workers now reside even as far as Cambridge, Wisconsin- very, very sad.
I was heading to the town where my parents lived, and also my old (dead) friend Peter. I needed to figure out just what was going on, and now I was getting close. Unfortu- nately, this part of the drive got progressively worse, the farther I went, although I continually gave thanks that I had taken this back route.
Even considering having paused to battle a giant supernat- ural grizzly, and my stop at Culver’s, the whole way through Wisconsin had taken just a few hours. No traffic, just beau- tiful scenery, if you don’t consider a sorcerous snowmelt a negative.
But now, in Illinois, the traffic slowed to a hideous crawl, and I kept my hand on my reloaded pistol periodically to reassure myself as we got closer and closer to the city. Heads were swiveling in my direction, not only because I was white, but because I was driving an old pickup with Wisconsin classic plates- such a site was not only rare, but a black swan in Chicago/near-Chicago suburban territory!
I don’t think it helped that my ancient tube radio was still pumping out classic oldies hits, while all around us the sleek late model autos were positively vibrating with rap songs about killing police and white people, pumping out a huge bass line overwhelming in volume, despite all the windows being up to keep in the air conditioned air.
And here we Stooges were, in a truck from a vintage before civil rights were even a thought, windows down, blaring out the highly treble tones of songs that no one around us even dreamed anymore had ever existed.
A big SUV pulled up right alongside us at a stoplight. Of 105
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN

 JESS THORNTON
course our two windows, and our fly windows as well; those little triangular windows that pull open on the side of the regular windows were all wide open! They were a low-tech way to capture the wind generated by the huge momentum of the 223 engined F100, as it flew along the rural highways of 1962 like a speedy horse. The four black men inside all looked over at us, as a new song blared out of Holly’s surprisingly loud, tube-fed speaker.
A-WELL-A, EVERYBODY'S HEARD ABOUT THE BIRD Bird, bird, bird, b-bird's the word
A-well-a, bird, bird, bird, the bird is the word A-well-a, bird, bird, bird, well, the bird is the word
SOMEHOW, I INSTINCTIVELY KNEW THIS WOULD NOT BE something these guys would like to hear. I reached to turn down the volume, but as I did so, Ezzie started glowing brightly, and the volume of that radio went through the roof! Not only to the limits of the old Ford’s speakers, but way, way beyond. For whatever reason, Esmerelda loved this song by the Trashmen from 1962!
And also, for whatever reason, these black men in the SUV beside us did not. The doors of their vehicle opened abruptly, and the four of them exited, all looking at me. All were armed, and not just with revolvers, but with automatic big magazined repeating pistols.
THE MAN IN THE PASSENGER SIDE OF THE LATE MODEL SUV to our left got out, his steel gray pistol at his side. It would be a 9 millimeter cartridge, I knew that, while I had my trusty .357 magnum, which is almost twice as powerful as a 9. BUT,
106

 there were three of them, each with a similar gun, and only one of me. I had only 5 powerful shots, but each of their auto pistols probably carried 20 rounds- one in the chamber, and 19 in the clip.
The man facing me through my side window was big, and his face was twisted into a leer. “Yo’ wanna turn down that honky bullshit yo’—” he broke off abruptly, as he caught sight of a giant emerald, just lying on the seat by my side. Pointing his pistol at my head, he reached across me to grab Esmerelda and pull her outside. He froze, just gazing deeply at what I’m sure he considered unbelievable riches- but he just kept look- ing, fixedly. I had been there; Ezzie has that effect- I think she does it on purpose.
Meanwhile, the other three black men were surrounding the car. We were at an intersection, stopped at a red light, with a wall of cars behind us. As the drivers saw the armed men, they began making u-turns, heading back the other way as fast as they could. I was next to the one holding the emerald outside my door, and there was one from the back seat on that side coming up as well, pistol out.
The other two were circling the truck, one around the back to Charlie’s side, and the other around the front. Why did they hate this music so much? Or was it just that I was white? Or that I had a Goldwater for President bumper- sticker on the back window?? Who knew, but hate us they did, and they meant us extreme violence, as shown by their drawn, pointed guns, and leering faces of unprovoked hate.
I did have my Ruger at my side, and I determined that when they were about to fire, I at least would get the one next to me, still fixated on Esmerelda, his eyes wide and entranced. One shot would blow him apart at that range...
“Wadya’ doin’ Ruf?” is what it sounded like to me, what the other black man coming up behind the gem-holding man at my side said, but since it was not in actual real English I
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
107

 JESS THORNTON
can’t say for sure. But he was questioning the emerald gazer, that’s for certain. He looked over to see what he was looking at, and then he was staring as fixedly as “Ruf” was.
And so it went with the other two- as soon as they got close enough to see the emerald in Ruf’s hand, they stopped and stared, their pistols, indeed their whole intention seem- ingly forgotten. They were like ebony statues, frozen in motion, as if they had been carven that way and set into place around my truck.
It was eery- Charlie never even barked, and I didn’t move either. It seemed as though we were all just frozen, but I knew that I could move whenever I wanted, and Charlie looked over at me, bewildered. Ezzie glowed a bit, and then came floating up from the black hand that cradled her so possessively .
I thought that would break the trance, and the violence would commence. I lifted my pistol- but the black hand never moved. Even his gaze never left the spot where the emerald had been- in fact, all four of those angry black men did not move a muscle- they stayed exactly as they had been when they first laid eyes on the enchanted emerald. Literally, like statues, caught perfectly in a motionless still-life.
I looked ahead- the light had also changed- to green. I suspect Ezzie of doing that as well, but then, she had no power over traffic lights, I supposed- it was just due to change. All around us, cars were running off in any direction they could, on the sidewalk, into the other lanes, just to get away from what looked like a “situation”. I didn’t blame them a bit- four black men with pistols, surrounding an old truck?
I cautiously put the old truck into first gear, and let up on the clutch. We eased forward, and the men around us never budged. Ruf just stared at his open palm, as if he still held the treasure of a lifetime there, and the others also stood in atti- tudes of wonder, and held their pistols as if they intended to
108

 commit violence- but they never moved. Their SUV still running, they stood all around in the next lane, utterly motionless.
The radio had never stopped, during this whole event. It seemed to have taken forever, but the same song was still playing, although now near the end. Ezzie glowed brightly, and I almost feel she gave me a huge wink of shimmering light. And the radio volume went through the roof !
“PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA Pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-
ooma-mow-mow
Papa-ooma-mow-mow
Papa-ooma-mow-mow, papa-ooma-mow-mow Papa-ooma-mow-mow, papa-ooma-mow-mow”...
I DROVE SLOWLY ALONG DOWN THE ROAD. THERE WAS NO traffic now; it was all behind us, trapped behind four statues of black stone, all holding pistols, with one holding his empty palm up to his face in utter fascination.
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
109

 CHAPTER 24 MATTESON ILLINOIS
 Once again, Henry and Martha were sitting in their living room recliners. “Ah one, and a-two, and a...” Music, the beloved champagne music of Lawrence Welk, flowed through the old-fashioned living room. This scene was duplicated in many, many living rooms around the nation, as the Lawrence Welk Show had become the main revenue generator of public television stations nation wide. Folks longing for a lost civilization...
Matteson, Illinois, where the residence lay of Henry and Martha Hawkesworth was not one where such music was widely listened to, however. Not any more- nowadays, after the government HUD placement of blacks within the once almost all white community of German ancestry; a beat- laden, throbbing rap music of hate-lyrics was now ubiquitous.
A throbbing bass-heavy vehicle stereo was blasting loudly, just outside the picture window of the Hawkesworth’s. Bright headlights shot through the window, just before a couple of bullets smashed into the living room, shattered glass flying all over the carpet. ‘Again?’ thought Henry .
Henry was on his feet in an instant, shielding his wife 110

 with his body, and then running to his bedroom afterwards. Hate filled shouts emerged from outside, mixed with laugh- ter. Henry emerged with his pistol in his hand, and ran to the gaping hole opening into his home. Black figures capered on the lawn, and someone shot at him.
He returned fire, and then half-pulled, half-coaxed his enfeebled wife into a back room for her safety .
“Get ‘em, Hank!” she said, and then fell back into a chair. Henry came out again into his own living room, and dialed 911 on his old table top phone.
“Attack here- get out right away- gunfire!” Knowing the telephone call would show his address, he crouched down, and peered out a window. There was one vehicle outside, and at least six black figures. One was lighting what appeared to be a kind of flaming torch, preparatory to throwing it at the house.
Aiming carefully, Henry shot him in the center of his mass. He fell instantly, and the others reacted predictably for their type- they ran into the car, abandoning their compan- ion, and rapidly drove away. After one more shot at the retreating vehicle, Henry Hawkesworth sat down in his recliner in the ruined living room, shards of glass all about him, as the Baby Elephant Walk was played by the Lawrence Welk orchestra in the lush tones of yesteryear.
HENRY KNEW THAT IT WAS THOSE SAME PUNKS HE HAD scared off the previous week, pistol whipping the one who grabbed at Martha’s purse. He knew their psychology far better than they knew themselves- they would only attack if they felt completely safe themselves. Punks were not warriors, quite the opposite- total cowards, jackals that attacked only the wounded or helpless.
A loud knock on the door, followed by “Police- coming 111
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN

 JESS THORNTON
in!” The unlocked door opened, and officer Jeffrey Lee entered, followed by another officer, who was black, and who had an angry look on his face.
“What happened here, Mr. Hawkesworth?” asked Officer Lee respectfully. He had looked up to old Henry since he had been a boy.
Before Henry could say a word, the other black officer said “Where is the illegal gun, old man? You are in a world of hurt!” Slowly standing up from his recliner, Henry handed over his service pistol, his 1911 Colt .45 service revolver. “I shot the
criminal outside”, he said simply. “He shot first”.
From the look on the black cop’s face, it was as if he had said the worst pejorative in history. “You have the right to remain silent...” he began, but his attitude was such that he might as well have been saying “You are the most white racist
m-f-r ever, and I am gonna hang yo’ ass...” and so on and on. Officer Lee cut him off. “Jamal”, he said, “cut him some
slack! He was defending his home, for Christ’s sake.”
At this point, old Martha hobbled into the room. Her face bled from a glass cut, to which she held a handkerchief. Henry helped her into her recliner. “I hope that boy outside is dead!” she said. Her sweet, old face did not look vindictive
at all. She just looked like a person who wanted justice done. Jeff Lee feared that Jamal would run and attack her, but he just fumed silently, mad as he could be. ‘These old white
fossils’- he thought they should be killed themselves.
“No, Mrs. Hawkesworth, he’s not dead, but he’ll probably not walk again.” Sirens sounded outside, and the red lights suffused the living room. “Looks like that .45 shattered his
spine.”
Henry and Martha didn’t say anything, but they both
looked rather pleased by the horrific news. Officer Jamal looked as if he had just seen the relative crime statistics of
112

 black versus white crime, and was sure that no- it couldn’t be true! He was sure that whites were the ones that committed violent crimes against blacks- despite the facts.
OFFICER JAMAL TOOK GREAT PLEASURE IN CUFFING OLD Henry, and bringing him down to the station. Officer Lee did all he could to mitigate the humiliation, talking old times with Henry, and telling him that he was sure he would be fine, what with self-defense as his plea and all.
The press and television newscasters were all over this crime; although crime of this nature was now a nightly occur- rence in Matteson- a crime with a white person shooting a black one was almost nonexistent! They loved it. There was endless footage of an elderly white man, shuffling along in cuffs, juxtaposed with footage of photos of the black youth he had shot, mostly from about six years before, when he was in middle school.
There was no footage of the shattered glass, or the elderly woman sitting in front of a television, exposed to the outside, waiting for her husband to come home and help her repair the wreckage that had been done to their home and to their lives.
Henry did get out on bail, $50,000 that decimated their savings, and that of their children. Their youngest son, Jimmy, came over and personally boarded up the window, and cleaned up the glass fragments.
And then, the protests began! Black people showed up and marched around the house, setting up camp in the street in front. Black Lives Matter was the chant, repeated inces- santly. Henry’s lawyers told him that yes, although he was justified in defending his home, the gun laws made it possible that he could be jailed for up to a year. At ninety years of age,
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
113

 JESS THORNTON
Henry knew he would never survive a year in jail, not in Cook County .
PROPERTY VALUES CONTINUED TO PLUMMET- THEY HAD been ever since the Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) had started moving indigent black people in from nearby Chicago. The houses on either side of the Hawkeworth’s went up for sale. They were expected to be on the market for months- houses in Matteson were becoming less and less desirable as crime in the increasingly black community exploded. But both houses sold almost immediately- to R.M Hawkesworth on one side, and L.A. Hawkesworth on the other.
THE HAWKESWORTH BOYS WERE COMING HOME TO RALLY around their parents.
114

 CHAPTER 25
I VISIT PETE
 After I had left the ebony statues that had attacked us before being petrified, I just wanted a peaceful drive. I had decided to see my old friend Pete, who somehow was still 10 years old, where I was in my mid-30’s. How could that happen?
I remembered the address in Matteson, not far from my parents’ house. What a wonderful, early 1950’s post WW2 community it had been! And as I drove up to his house, and parked my green pickup in front, I was amazed to see the same wood-sided station wagon that they had had when I was a boy. It was older than my truck- what in the world?
I left Charlie and Ezzie lying on the bench seat- I didn’t bother to give a “down-stay” to either one, since they wouldn’t have listened anyway, (especially Ezzie!)- and just walked up the old gravel drive to the ranch house I remem- bered so well. I rang the bell on the side door by the garage, just as I used to do. (Neighbors never used the front door back then).
I heard footsteps, and then an all too-familiar face smiled down at me. “Well hello, Wade!” said Mrs. Hughes. “Are you
115

 JESS THORNTON
here to see Pete?” Then she walked off, presumably to fetch my childhood playmate.
There were several things wrong with this scenario, I knew. For one- Mrs. Hughes was my friend’s mother. I knew it was her, because she was exactly as I remembered her. But that was the problem- EXACTLY. As in not-aged, or the same age she had been when she was my 10 year old friend’s mother. In other words, she was just about my age now .
And next, Pete came to the door. He too, was just as I remembered, just as I’d seen him when he rode his bicycle up to see me in La Crosse Wisconsin, roughly 375 miles away. He grinned his gap-toothed smile, and came out on the cement stoop.
“Should we work on our fort today, Wade?”
I WASN’T QUITE SURE HOW TO ANSWER. “NO, PETE, I’M A grown man now in my mid-30’s, although I know we were both born the same year, in 1952.” That didn’t seem right. I blurted it out:
“Pete- how can you and your mom still be the same age you were all those years ago? And how did you get all the way to La Crosse to see me on a bicycle?”
My childhood friend looked at me, and smiled that freckled grin with the gap between his front teeth. He ran his hand back through his close-cropped red hair, and said simply, “Well, Wade- I’m dead, you see. I’m still here though- I’m in the Afterlife!”
Pete went on. “Now, I’m just a kid still, I don’t really understand a lot of it, but I’ve been here so long that I have some stuff figured out. I could tell that you hadn’t awakened to your situation yet, and so I left you be. Heck, it took me years to figure out I wasn’t really alive anymore, at least not like before when we lived here down the street from you and
116

 your family. My mom and dad know, of course, but they like it so much, living here with me and my brother, we just stay on here, because you know, you can stay in the Afterlife as long as you want!” And then, he just stood there, smiling away at me. “And you can, too- as long as ever you want.”
My mind was reeling, but what he was saying rang true. He was dead, I had known that subliminally from the start- but I was dead too! Lots of things started falling into place. Why was my favorite dog, and all of my cats, all together with me in my old neighborhood? And why were my wife and daughter not with me?
It was as if Rod Serling of the old Twilight Zone had just walked onto the scene, and started explaining all of this to me, after the obligatory creepy music:
“IMAGINE IF YOU WILL- A MAN WHO IS DEAD, BUT WHO HAS had no idea, until now? A man who lives in a favored spot, a place called the Afterlife. He can only see and interact with those of his past life who also are dead and in the same place- like his dog, and his cats, and his old friend Pete. He can also see and interact with living folks whom he has never known, but only indirectly- they cannot see him, although he can see them.
A MAN NAMED WADE, WHO WAS OLD AND WHITE-HAIRED when he died, but was restored to his prime after his death, along with his pets- also restored in their prime of life. He still lives in his old house, but only with the neighbors now who have also died. And then, when he leaves and drives out of his own little beloved valley, everything he sees is as it was when he was in his prime, when he was thirty-five years of age, not in his senior years as he was when he passed away.
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
117

 JESS THORNTON
Populated with younger people that would never know him, only remembering him from when he was much, much older...
WELCOME TO THE AFTERLIFE, ALONG WITH WADE- IN THE Twilight Zone!”
OF COURSE, I NEVER HEARD ROD SERLING SPEAK THEN, not literally. But sometimes, when your subconscious mind takes over, it’s almost as if “voices” take over- all the things that your subconscious has been tracking beneath your notice just suddenly fall into place- and you understand! Pete had given me enough of a clue, that I finally got it, it made sense, and I knew beyond a shadow of doubt that he was right.
We were both dead, sure, but in a kind of transition world, a Limbo if you will. Perhaps the mythical world of ghosts- we were ghosts- but not mean, haunting, creepy ghosts. We were happy, enjoying our perfect Afterlife and checking up on our loved ones, before we went off to the final, resting Heaven awaiting us- we just weren’t ready yet- it was a gift.
“I KNOW WE CAN STAY AS LONG AS WE WANT TO,” SAID Pete. “I stayed the same age as when I died, but for older folks, I notice that they generally get younger- mid-thirties is about average. Me, I was always a kid- what is mid-thirties to me but just old.” He laughed infectiously, just as I remem- bered he did when we were kids, and I remembered why he had always been my best friend. “But mom and dad, they love being middle aged, with all of their kids that have passed
118

 away, alive again around them- and why not? They are in no hurry to leave, I’ll tell you!”
“But Pete, one thing- how did you get to La Crosse on a bike?”
“Well, Wade, I’ll tell you. After awhile, you just figure out some things. I know the way this all works, the Afterlife, you’re supposed to stay put. I mean, the folks in charge, all the supernatural ones I try not to think about too much; well I know God of course is in ultimate charge- he keeps us all here, as long as we want. But there’s other things around too, dark forces, and they try to keep us in our little areas, so we don’t interfere with earthly life. So, I might ask you- how did you get here?”
I thought about the hell-trucker, the giant wolves, and all else that I’d passed through to make this short journey, and I realized that what he had said made sense- I had not been meant to leave my little La Crosse river valley! There were forces, forces of great strength set in place to make sure that I did not leave, but somehow- I had left. So, how had I succeeded?
Ezzie! It hit me all at once- if not for her magical inter- vention, never would I have gotten past Wildcat Mountain and the trucker from hell, who probably, I now realized, liter- ally was from Hell.
I no longer believed her magical intervention caused the subsequent sorcerous occurrences, as I had originally. I now thought that she just kept forestalling the attacks- Ezzie was kind of a magical wildcard, something of a loose canon in the Afterlife- and she had fallen to me!
These revelations came to me quickly, as such things often do when long denied through lack of sufficient informa- tion. Pete was watching me, still smiling. “I know that when folks join us here in the Afterlife, it is really confusing. When
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
119

 JESS THORNTON
I heard you had come, I wanted to help you out, my old buddy and all. So, I headed up there,” he said.
“But how, if we are all meant to stay in our own little areas?” I asked. Somehow this seemed crucial to understand, that there should be some kind of Afterlife-Logic. My old friend, a little sage of the afterworld that scarcely stood 5 feet, looked up at me, his 5 feet 10, bearded best friend, and passed on his wisdom.
“Wade, after a long time, I figured out that I had an affinity for birds!”
Well, Pete might have been 10 years old, but he had actu- ally existed for as long as I had. In time spent as a thinking boy, he was as old as I was, and so of course he must have learned quite a bit. Street smarts, that type of thing. Afterlife smarts, I suppose.
“I found that, if I really look, if I really concentrate on a bird, any type of bird, well, I can kind of “join forces” in a way with it.”
He looked somewhat troubled. “I don’t know exactly what the word would be, but it’s like we really understand each other,” he said. “And then, me and the bird, we just kind of- fly together!” He smiled again, continuing eagerly now. “It’s like, the bird-friend is still there, but it’s like he says ‘You can be in charge Pete!’ And then, I can just fly and fly, wher- ever I want! It is so much fun, I can’t tell you Wade! And then, whenever I want, I just think ‘Here would be great, bird-friend.’ And then, I am just kind of me again, wherever we have flown to.” He laughed out loud then, and said “It is so much fun! And that’s how I came to see you.”
I STAYED AT PETE’S HOUSE FOR QUITE A WHILE. IT WAS great seeing his dad, a tall red-haired man of around my age (35, of course), and his mother, a striking woman of the 1950’s
120

 with a pile of dark permed hair and a slim-fitting house dress. His brother Larry, only 9 or so was also there, black hair and a big smile, and we all had a dinner of meat loaf, mashed pota- toes with gravy, and cherry jello with real cherries inside.
As we ate the dessert of homemade lemon pie with perked coffee (for the adults like them and me), we discussed the neighborhood. Not surprisingly, now that I knew about the Afterlife, nothing had changed in town- it was all exactly as it had been in those halcyon days when Pete, Lar, my younger brother Jeff and I had run around the neighborhood on our bikes.
The Good Humor man still came around the neighbor- hood every Wednesday, and sold his Dreamsicles and popsi- cles, and Mr. Softee likewise came around on Mondays with his “soft serve cones”. From Mr. and Mrs. Hughes (I never called them by their first names, they were so much older than me), I learned that the ranch houses were still being built on the “prairie” just west of town, and Matteson was the same great place it had always been! For them, HUD and “political correctness” had never, and would never, come to exist.
In a weird way, I reflected, the car crash in the wood-sided wagon- still parked in their driveway, that car that had killed them all, was a blessing. For as Mrs. Hughes explained, as I ate her wonderful lemon meringue pie- “If you are in the Afterlife, well, what it means is, you have ‘made it’. Heaven is the next step. You can go whenever you want. Those who have not made it, well, there is no Afterlife for them! They are gone, in a flash of brimstone and sulphur, and both the heavens and the earth is rid of them.”
She shook her head softly, with not a shred of vindictive- ness, but only sadness. “If only they had known, if they had been reached,” she said. “Life is made for us all, and so is- the Afterlife!”
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
121

 JESS THORNTON
When we were done eating, Mr. and Mrs. Hughes told us they had a dance that evening at the High School gymnasium, put on by the PTA. Parents and their high school children were all invited- and just then 16 year old Renee, Pete’s older sister glided into the room.
Renee Hughes had always seemed like a movie star to 9 year old Wade Hawkesworth, and never more so than now. Her ringleted dark hair was put up behind her long white neck, and her white poodle skirt was gorgeous, set off as it was by her high-heeled saddle shoes.
She said hello to me, just as she had when I actually was 9, and was escorted out on the arm of her father, who looked at her with justifiable pride and happiness. They left the side door for the woody wagon, happiness incarnate. A proud father with his pride and joy on his arm!
Mrs. Hughes followed, a beaming smile on her face. She was anticipating a wonderful night with her husband and their beloved daughter, all together at a dance, dressed up and happy- a night to remember.
As she passed me, she looked over, her eyes moistened with happy tears, and said, “Just think Wade- she is forever 16!”
122

 CHAPTER 26 STONE FREE
 Ileft my boyhood friend’s house, armed with new knowledge of the Afterlife in which I now knew that I lived. I realized that I, and all of us in this alternate reality, were the favored ones. It was like we were given a second chance to appreciate life; and also to observe, and help, our loved ones.
Knowing this, I got in the truck and started it up. Ezzie and Charlie woke up, as if they had been enchanted, Ezzie glowing expectantly, and Charlie yawning excitedly as dogs will.
“Ez,” I said, “I have no idea about your deal- I’ll ask you later, but I have to get over to Marie and Nel’s place. I know now there was no falling out, they did not abandon me- I died, and they just had to move on- they may need my help.” And with that, I put the truck into gear, and we set off for nearby Chicago.
I will say, parenthetically, that driving a 54 year old truck around the high speed, no real traffic regulation environment of the Chicago area is harrowing, to say the least. Even if you are dead, you want to stay in the Afterlife just as much as a
123

 JESS THORNTON
living person wants to stay in his life- all life is precious. I could die in this second life, and that would end my second chance!
Vehicles cut me off every chance they got, perceiving me as a “slow moving vehicle” as much as if I had had an Amish Orange Triangle sign affixed to the rear bumper of my horse drawn carriage. I had no power brakes, no power steering; in fact, no fuel injection, no nothing, except a really cool vintage tube radio- I was perceived as an obstruction to modern, fast- paced living, where every person should be able to drive as fast as possible from one place they hate to be, to another place they hate just as much really fast, so as not to waste time not being in either place.
In other words, most people of the current rush-around, crazy world live in Purgatory. Only I was totally relaxed, living in the moment and relishing it. But then, I knew that I was living in the Afterlife. My second chance.
I watched them, honking and veering about me, crazily shooting by and giving me a finger salute, and only felt pity. Their lives were consumed with worry and fear, status- seeking and the dismissal of all that was truly valuable in life. They truly did not know that I, sedately driving in a really old truck with my wonderful dog and a magical gem beside me, was far, far luckier than they .
THE NORTH SIDE OF CHICAGO WAS NOT THAT FAR FROM Matteson, but the horrendous traffic made it hard to get there, even in the evening. My heart was gladdened by the wonderful state of the Hughes family I had known so well in my boyhood, and I hoped that Marie and my daughter Nel were doing as well in the living world as they were in the Afterlife.
I headed up Lake Shore Drive, alongside Lake Michigan, 124

 since I knew that the Edens expressway, and the Stevenson, were both beyond the capability of my truck, which had a top speed of maybe 55 mph. I was driving along, and Ezzie, Charlie and I were listening happily to tunes on the radio. In the old days, WLS would have been the station, but nowa- days it was all “talk radio”, which Ezzie in particular disliked. (You don’t want to make Ezzie angry).
I actually don’t know exactly what station we had on, but from that old tube radio poured the most amazing sounds of the 1950’s and early 60’s- it was as if none of the lousy tunes from later days even existed. We were listening to one of my favorites-
DOM, DOM, DOM, DOM, DOM, DE, DOOBE, DOM Dom, dom, dom, dom, dom, de, doobe, dom Dom, dom, dom, dom, dom, de, doobe, dom Wah, woh, wah, wah wah
DOM, DOM, DOM, DOM, DOM, DE, DOOBE, DOM Dom, dom, dom, dom, dom, de, doobe, dom Dom, dom, dom, dom, dom, de, doobe, dom Wah, woh, wah, wah wah
LOVE, LOVE ME DARLIN' Come and go with me Come go with me 'way beyond the sea
I need you, darlin' So come go with me
•••
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
125

 JESS THORNTON
COME, COME, COME, COME Come into my heart Tell me, darlin'
We will never part
I need you, darlin' So come go with me
THE DEL VIKINGS!! I SWEAR, EVEN MY OLD TRUCK HOLLY was swerving along in time with the insistent beat. There is nothing like a classic song done proud on a vintage tube radio, nothing...
AND THEN, OF ALL THINGS, I HEARD A SIREN. IN THIS Chicagoland, a place where murders went routinely unpun- ished? Who could this heinous offender be?? I kept scanning in my rear view mirror- I saw the blue lights, just a little behind me. I looked all around- who would be the horrid grandmother-murderering/terrorist/rapist that they would finally be forced to apprehend?
Strangely, at the last the blue lights of the cop car were directly behind me! I pulled to the side of the road, so as to facilitate the police pursuit of whatever horrible criminal there was that had superseded all of the monstrous axe murderers, and father-rapers that Chicago had ignored for so long...
And the police car followed me to the side of the road. The officer got out, slowly, and came gradually up to my driver’s door- very, very slowly. So, to facilitate matters, (I wanted to get to Marie’s place), I opened my driver-side door and got out, and walked towards this turtle-of-slowness policeman.
Instantly, he drew his service pistol from the holster 126

 draped about his huge gut, and slowly pointed it at- me!
“Get back in your vehicle, NOW!” he screamed, as if I
was the biggest threat of all time in Chicago.
“I’m just trying to see what you want-” I said, as he went
into a quasi-combat crouch, which he could scarcely achieve due to the hugeness of his belly, which precluded bending.
I stopped, hands up. “Well now, that’s better you crimi- nal,” he said, and came up closer. “Did you know that trucks are not allowed on Lake Shore Drive?”
Answering honestly, I said “No officer. I am just going up to the north side, and since my truck can’t make the speeds required on the expressway, I came this way...”
“You cheeseheads disgust me,” said the officer, apropos of nothing. He had seen my blue classic vehicle Wisconsin plates. “Comin’ down here to the big city like you own the place,” he grimaced at me, his thick lips twisted into a sneer. “Probably gotcha damn Wisco-beer in there-” and he shone his big flashlight into the cab. “I’m gonna take you down to the station, you ain’t travelin’ nowheres tonight! An’ if I find anything not roadworthy in this ancient pile of shit truck, we will impound it fo’ yo’ own good,” he said.
“Got a filthy mutt, too, jus’ why all o’ yo’ hicks need one of them I...” He trailed off, his flashlight beam locked onto the reflecting facets of the huge emerald lying before him on my old vinyl bench seat. He reached for the jewel, and grabbed it. His huge black hand completely engulfed the large stone, obscuring it from view. Looking directly at me, he grinned with large white teeth gleaming in the oncoming headlights, along with the large whites of his dark eyes.
“Ooooh- looky what I found! Mebbe I let you go, aftah’ all, cheese-boy- you and your little doggie can just drive on home, and leave me my little present!” I’m sure this corrupt Chicago-land “civil servant” was excited at finding such obvious riches in the cab of an old truck, and he was walking
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
127

 JESS THORNTON
away, back to the blue flashing lights that designated the Chicago police from all other departments.
As he walked, he seemed to recede into the distance rapidly. I wasn’t worried about Ezzie- she had repeatedly shown that she could take care of herself- and I was relieved that the cop appeared to be letting us go. But how far had he walked after pulling us over, surely it had only been 50 feet or so that he parked behind us.
But now, he appeared so far in the distance that he should have been 500 feet or so- then I realized what was happen- ing- he was not getting farther and farther away from us, and closer to his police car- he was getting smaller.
He was a large, fat man; perhaps 6 feet 3 inches in height, perhaps 350 pounds. Now, though, he appeared about half that size, maybe less. And he was still shrinking!
All at once, he seemed to understand what was happening to him. He started running towards his car, hoping to get inside and speed away from whatever was going on- he reached his open car door, and his head was lower than the floorboards of the car. The large emerald fell from his too- small hands, and lay glowing on the asphalt. The cop looked at it, and seemed to realize that the gem was responsible for his predicament.
He drew his tiny service pistol, and started firing at Ezzie. The bullets were in keeping with the small gun’s size, and the tiny b-b’s just glanced off the hard mineral. It was horrible to watch, really, as he kept on shrinking. Little bigger than a grasshopper now, Ezmerelda flew above him, and pulsed with a weird greenish light that might have been laughter. The sheen of the weird emerald light on his tiny face further likened the bad cop to a tiny grasshopper.
Then, she flew back into the truck, and lay on the seat. She looked smug, at least to me.
Putting the truck into first gear, I eased off the shoulder 128

 back into the busy traffic. He was a bad cop, like so many in this city, but I did not wish to witness what would become of him now. Continued shrinking, or perhaps an untimely death at the eight “hands” of a spider? I shuddered, and thought again on just what Ezmerelda really was?!
I noticed that even Charlie drew back from her on the seat, as if he sensed a strangeness, something unhuman and sinister about the cold emerald stone by his side. She pulsed with light, green and amber, but with subtle shots of deep red shooting across her surface, like a spray of bright blood across a green, pleasant meadow .
AS I DROVE, MUCH LESS CAREFREE NOW THAN BEFORE WHAT I had thought would be a routine traffic stop, I thought deeply. Charlie and I were in the Afterlife- we knew that now. But what indeed was Esmerelda, the enchanted and enchanting gemstone?
She had fallen to me from the hands of the hell trucker- was she, then, from hell herself? I guessed not, since she had merely been his tool, his weapon of attack. And she had helped me, us, a number of times. In fact, without her, Charlie and I would at best be trapped at the cabin under an unnatural July snowfall, or have been slain and sent out of the Afterlife before a time of our own choosing, several times. Just what was she- and was she a blessing or a curse, overall?
Charlie was looking over at her as if he, too, was thinking along similar lines. And I remembered earlier, when he had appeared to communicate with the stone, squealing and yipping, as Ezzie glowed and shimmered in response.
He was intently studying her now, and growled at her, and she glowed and vibrated in response. Body Language again! I only wished I could hear what they were saying- I laid my
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
129

 JESS THORNTON
hand on Charlie’s soft, furry yellow flank- and I could hear what he was “hearing” from Ezmerelda.
Only it was not hearing, not at all. It was as if I could somehow sense the history of Esmerelda, who was an extraterrestrial life form, and of an age undreamed. She was transmitting her story to my dog, and somehow I was privy to it:
I AM FROM AFAR, BEYOND YOUR WORLD AND SOLAR SYSTEM. My people had a world of their own, and after uncounted millennia our very star died, a huge green sun that nurtured our life and planet. Our planet exploded then, shooting off fragments across the nighted depths of cold empty space. I rode a fragment of our once lush earth, and believe that I am the final survivor of my race, a race of mineral-based life, far in advance of this world.
The lives of my people are not as of yours; for countless centuries I have existed. I crashed onto this world eons ago, riding my rocky fragment down in what you would term a meteor. There I lay, barely glowing, in the dim yellow sun of this world, until apish creatures approached. Barely advanced beyond the animal, yet they were entranced by my glowing beauty, and took me to their tribe.
I dwelt there, worshipped as a god for a thousand years. When they battled, they brought me, raised on a tall stan- dard, to bring fear and awe to their enemies. Sometimes, they sacrificed captured prisoners to me, and dipped my green self into their red blood as it flowed. I found this gave me strength, and I demanded more. My strength and what you would term magic continued to grow, as I nourished myself on humanity and its violence.
For not just on blood, but on violence and strife is built the strength of my race. My people had dominated galaxies;
130

 now it pleased me to rule a small, backward world with a dim little sun, and brutish inhabitants. I am neither good nor evil, as you would term it. I am simply a life form so superior to those of you, that it is as if you would do “good” or “evil” to a worm- such a notion is absurd.
I am so ancient that it would blast your reason to know my age- you would not believe, nor comprehend! I like your Afterlife, and am enjoying it with you life forms. I only wish to accompany you to your Heaven when you choose to go- I am tired, and I despised those who are in your Hell- that is why I escaped to you- I allowed you to take me.
When you decide to leave, only take me with you. Do that, and I shall serve you both until such day arrives!
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
131

 CHAPTER 27
MARIE AND NEL'S PLACE
 ‘Shazam!’ I thought. ‘So now, I am the Leader of the Pack of not only the Three Stooges, but also the leader of an extraterrestrial mineral intelligence that not only
wants to stay with me and my dog until she dies- and then accompany me to heaven after that!’ Talk about respon- sibility .
At last, we pulled up pretty near in front of Marie’s place. I say pretty near, because parking is such a nightmare in Chicago, even in north side residential areas, that we were more than a block away. Opening my door, I exited the truck, and went around to let Charlie out. He jumped down onto the curbside, and Ezzie floated-glowed-vibrated through the air. I knew she was my friend, but as to her alien nature, I could not imagine what her ideas of “friendship” actually were.
A long line of old homes were all about us. I knew that this was one of the most desirable, historically, of Chicago’s neighborhoods. Whether it was called Uptown, Bucktown, the Gold Coast, Wrigleyville or Andersonville- I had no idea, neither did I care. They were all under siege now, under a
132

 corrupt liberal Democrat regime for decades, the police force had been all but dismantled.
For it had been determined by the liberal elite that, since blacks committed virtually all of the violent crime in the city, well then it must be because of police racism that only blacks were arrested. There was absolutely no logic behind this, only political expedience, ( that is- black votes). And so, the end result was a complete breakdown of law and order, and even simple civility .
I felt sick that my wife and daughter had wound up here, and resolved to get them out, somehow, and back to a small town environment where law and order were not just a foot- ball of political correctness, but deep convictions. I wanted them back in my farmhouse outside of La Crosse, Wisconsin.
There were roving gang members walking on the sidewalk around us. I was not afraid, since I carried my Ruger SP101, now constantly loaded with .357 magnum loads... (I had learned it was a very, very dangerous world on my journey south).
Strangely, although they appeared to be out cruising this fine evening for ‘easy prey’, meaning elderly whites, the disabled, and Asian immigrants- their usual targets- they never looked at me once. Or my gleaming yellow dog, or my glowing emerald ‘companion’. They did not see us at all- period.
But the evil shrinking cop had seen us, had seen the ancient truck, and decided to pull us over and harass us. I looked over at Charlie- he was looking at Ezzie, and then back at me. So, he suspected it as well- smart dog! But then, he knew Ezmerelda even better than I, through body language of course.
Ez just tried to appear nonchalant, with an ‘oh-I-don’t- know-what-you-are-looking-at’ kind of vibe, but even she had a guilty green glow. I determined that although those who lived
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
133

 JESS THORNTON
in the Afterlife were invisible to living folk, Ezzie could make us visible, or invisible, on occasion. Although just as to why she had made us visible to the cop on Lake Shore Drive, well you would have to know a lot more about ancient mineral lifeforms from galaxies far away than do I. But really- I suspect she just has a sick sense of humor, and those eons of living on sacrifices of blood have made her a tad more vicious than most...
Am I just “profiling” an ancient emerald life force? Proba- bly. I’m politically incorrect.
AT LAST WE WERE AT MARIE’S DOOR. I WENT UP AND knocked. Nothing. I rang the bell, and knocked again, louder. Nothing. Again.
I looked over at Charlie, who looked back at me. I looked at Ezzie, who was studiously ignoring me, floating at an angle to my side, facing her facets away. I tried the door, and it opened. We all entered, and I shut and locked the door behind us.
What a peaceful scene stood before me! There was my beloved wife Marie Hawkesworth, holding a small baby in her arms. The lamplight shone off of his reddish gold hair, and also off of the reddish gold hair of my daughter, Nel. The Victorians had called that color amber, and it was the hair color most prized by them.
Nel was sitting on the floor next to my wife, where they were both comfortable, playing with little baby Gus, my grandson that I had never met. Since they constantly chanted his name to him, I quickly figured that out!
Gus gurgled contentedly, enjoying the attention as his grandmother and mother both held tiny toys before him, and read him little picture books. My son-in-law, whose name I gathered later was Brian, was engrossed in playing a fiddle,
134

 and singing aloud as he did so. So engaging was his playing, and the vocalizations that he added, that everyone in the room could not keep from singing along.
I'VE GOT A FRIEND IN CAPE COD, LITTLE LIZA JANE Bullfrogs singing in the pond, little Liza Jane
Oh little Liza, little Liza Jane
Oh little Liza, little Liza Jane
I've got a friend in Tokyo, little Liza Jane Springtime cherry blossoms grow, little Liza Jane Oh little Liza, little Liza Jane
Oh little Liza, little Liza Jane
BRIAN HAD A BOOMING, DEEP VOICE, AND IT WAS infectious! Nel and her mother also sang along lustily, getting into the feeling of the reeling fiddle as it droned out the beat along with the lyrics. With a start, I realized that I was singing at the top of my lungs- even Charlie was yipping along and howling, as Ezzie spun about the cozy living room, leaving little trails of green light that remained, and only then gradually faded. It was intoxicating-
Then, the strains died away, and we all just stood there. Or, at least I did, and Charlie just sat there, smiling as goldens do. Marie just went back to playing with baby Gus, as did Nel, after both had applauded Brian’s performance. I did as well, but no one heard, or acknowledged that I was even in the room.
I LOOKED AT EZZIE, AND IT WAS AS IF SHE WAS preoccupied- in fact, she actually shot out of the room. I
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
135

 JESS THORNTON
don’t know if she couldn’t make me visible, or if she didn’t want to. Whichever it was, I was stuck with her decision.
It was then that I noticed the large, black cat lying on the floor. A handsome cat with thick, glossy black fur- I knew that this was Marie’s pet. She loved cats, and in fact had introduced me to cats many years ago, after we were first married. I had grown to love them too.
This cat raised his large head, and gazed directly at me- in fact, at us, Charlie and me. He saw us both, that was clear, and his big green eyes regarded us inquisitively. Nel noticed his movement, and asked “What is it, Cole?” He was obvi- ously staring at something that no one else could see.
Cole let out a soft “Mur”, and then stood, walking slowly towards me. He was staring directly into my eyes. It was hypnotic. I didn’t want to look away; I didn’t know if I could, really, even if I tried. His bright green, shining cat-eyes seemed to grow bigger, and bigger, and he stood stock still, just staring. I’m sure I did too.
And the next thing I knew was: I was looking outward, through strange cat eyes- at MYSELF!
IT WAS BEYOND STRANGE- I WAS A CAT! NOT REALLY, I mean I was still Wade Hawkesworth, eldest son of Henry and Martha Hawkesworth of Matteson, Illinois, and lately of La Crosse, Wisconsin. But, I was currently looking at the world through the eyes of a house cat, and furthermore- I was looking at me.
I thought back to what my old friend Pete had said:
“WADE, AFTER A LONG TIME, I FIGURED OUT THAT I HAD an affinity for birds!”
“I found that, if I really look, if I really concentrate on a 136

 bird, any type of bird, well, I can kind of “join forces” in a way with it.”
PERHAPS- JUST PERHAPS- MAYBE I HAVE AN AFFINITY FOR cats!
I STARTED WALKING AROUND THE LIVING ROOM, AS A CAT. It was as if my body was electric- the sensations felt by a cat, both through the nose in heightened olfactory response, the eyes, which were like super-eyes compared to those of a myopic human, and even the skin- the slightest current of air, a tiny vibration- all of me was hypersensitive to any stimulus.
And my hearing- my God, it was as if my large, pointed ears were stethoscopes, magnifying the slightest sound into a roar of information! I looked at myself, a big, dumb human, standing vacant and largely senseless by the door, and I felt a kind of pity. I appeared to be lumbering, slow, and insensible to almost all in my surroundings- and, compared to myself as a cat, I knew that it was true.
I walked over to my wife, Marie, and looked up at her. She was more beautiful than I had ever recalled, as I now could see her with the heightened senses of a cat. She smiled, and reaching down, petted me lightly on the head, and across the back.
Never, in my entire life as a human, have I ever felt anything as divine as being stroked by a human. My skin was a living canvas, on which I could feel the caress with such pleasure as to be unimaginable to any of the unfeeling human race. The feline sense of touch is so acute as to put to shame any of the arts of mankind, be they never so clever, as to that experienced by a cat when petted. All the plays of Shake- speare, the novels of Dickens, and the movies delighted in by
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
137

 JESS THORNTON
the present ages pale to nothing when compared with the feel of a human hand across a cat’s supple back. Nothing!
I looked next at little Gus, my grandson. Cute little fellow, he weighed just about what I did as Cole the cat, maybe 18 pounds. I stood on my hind legs to get a better look at him, and he looked right back at me with hazel eyes of green and blue. He smiled, and reached for me. I let him pet my head, and then dropped back to all fours.
“Did you see Cole just then, Mom?” asked Nel. “I’ve never seen him do that before- stand up, and let Gus pet him. It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen!”
I knew she’d never think that again, after the front door was rammed open, and five gang-bangers barged into the room. Two were holding a large metal battering ram, and the other three held automatic pistols in their hands. They looked angry, they looked wildly violent, and they were all black.
138

 CHAPTER 28
HENRY AND MARTHA GET VISITORS
It was a nice summer night. Henry Hawkesworth and his wife Martha sat in their recliners. The evening news was over, and they had finished supper an hour since. There had been no violence in their neighborhood for a couple of days, ever since their boys had bought up the properties on either side of theirs. Lee and Roger were good sons, and they had stood outside with their other brothers- Dan, Ron, Jeff, and Jim- standing in front of their recently acquired houses that flanked that of their parents’ house.
All held concealed carry permits in the state of Illinois, and this was a fact they did not try to hide- in fact, they advertised it! And ever since they had put signs in their yards trumpeting that fact, the protests and Black Lives Matter demonstrations had pretty much faded away. No one wanted to mess with Jeff and Jim, in particular, who were so bulked up with weight lifting that they looked like two Terminators from the classic movie starring Arnold Schwarzenegger- who would have given anything to look like either of them!
And Dan, Lee, Ron, and Roger had trained themselves into amazing shape, spending their afternoons putting on karate,
 139

 JESS THORNTON
judo, and other martial arts displays in the three adjoining yards. Roger would stand, flexing his muscular arms like the Colossus of Rhodes, as Dan would leap up, his lean, whippet-like body contorting as he landed on his brother’s broad back. He would do a back bend, so far back that you would have thought that his back would break, but then he would slowly raise himself up into a handstand on his brother’s broad shoulders.
Next, Ron would come driving up in his Prius, racing the engine for effect. Leaping out, holding his nun-chucks in his hands, he would go into a demonstration of Chinese martial arts, screaming monkey cries ala Bruce Lee as he flung the nunchucks about his head like a flailing whirlwind!
At this point, brother Lee would cartwheel into the yard, his long golden hair confined by a scarlet headband, and would shout “AIEEEEEEE!!” As he did so, he raised his arm, and Jeff would throw him a long- bow he had by his side, which Lee would catch in his opened palm.
As Lee again screamed, like a panther, he threw the bow into the hand of Dan, still in a handstand on his brother’s back. Dan then took the bow, and put it between his upraised legs, drawing back the bowstring with his toes, and notching an arrow as he did so with a free hand. And then, drawing the bow back with his legs, while still in a handstand on his brother Roger’s muscular, Atlas-like shoulders, he would shoot the arrow, rapidly, at a target in the adjoining yard.
Here, brother Lee would again cartwheel, although this time one-armed, over to the target. Taking from his girdle a curved sword, he would leap up, cutting in two the arrow shot by his brother Dan, which was inevitably right in the bulls-eye! “AIEEEEEEE!!” again he would shout. And then, they all would bow, so low that their limber heads would touch the earth.
There was always a crowd, and television cameramen, and 140

 they always applauded in amazement. It was more than a little intimidating- the videos went viral, and the Black Lives Matter protests in front of the Hawesworth home disappeared.
AND SO, HENRY FELT SAFE IN SAYING TO MARTHA: “THINGS are looking good here- I’m out on bail, and the boys are looking after us- let’s go see our grandchild in Chicago!” Marie eagerly acquiesced, and they went out to their old Lincoln town car.
They headed out of their way to Lake Shore Drive, so as to avoid the crime plagued south and west side neighbor- hoods, and were soon on the north side of Chicago, with well-kept tiny lawns and town homes of perhaps a century in age.
And then, there they were, pulling into one of the rare parking spots near Marie’s home. Henry noticed an old green Ford pickup nearby, and thought how like it was to the one his eldest son Wade used to drive, back in Wisconsin. ‘You don’t see many of those anymore,’ he thought nostalgically. He scanned the street reflexively, as any ex-soldier would do, and felt for the 1911 Colt .45 pistol in his pocket. ‘There weren’t a lot of those around anymore, either,’ he thought wryly .
He smiled over at his wife protectively as she slowly walked towards their daughter-in-law’s house, where their grand baby lived. “By God, Martha, if that cop thought I’d give him the only gun I had and just say ‘fine’, why he is dumber than he looks!” They both laughed.
WALKING UP THE STEPS TO THE OLD TOWNHOUSE, HENRY 141
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN

 JESS THORNTON
got a dose of suspicion that tingled across his shoulders. The instinct of an old warrior never dies...
Motioning Martha back, he softly cat-walked up the rest of the way, shouldering aside the half-opened door. Inside was a frozen tableau- five black men stood, three of them pointing guns at his daughter-in-law and his grandson. Brian was across the room, open mouthed, and only a black cat was standing, belligerently it seemed to him, between the armed men and his grandson.
As he entered, it was as if the room became supercharged with tension, and the first thing that happened was- The Black Cat Leaped!
I HAD BEEN SITTING AS COLE, THE CAT, WHEN THE DOOR was rammed open by the five criminals. Of course, no one saw my true body, standing invisible and unoccupied to the side of the door. My first reaction was to get between my wife and grandson with my cat-body, and so I stood upright- I know this startled them.
No one expects a house cat, however large, to be stand upright. Especially blacks who, by and large, have no experi- ence with cats. Even black ones!
Also, no one expects cats to be aggressive. They usually aren’t, at least not towards humans. But, I wasn’t just a cat- I was one pissed-off grandfather cat, and these scum gangsters were not going to get away with this!
All at once, I saw a new entrant into the scene- it was my father, Henry Hawkesworth- and he was holding his trade- mark 1911 Colt .45 pistol- ‘Hallelujah!!’ I thought in my little cat brain, augmented however by Afterlife dweller Wade Hawkesworth’s human knowledge- and I leaped!
It’s hard to keep track of things in situations such as that, where everything seems to happen at once. There were five
142

 to three innocents in that situation and those five scumbags were totally confident, ready to do whatever they wanted- they usually had no opposition. They were armed, young and strong, and were attacking a woman, a baby, and her husband unawares.
But then: a man comes in behind them. The woman’s husband quickly and unexpectedly throws his fiddle at the foremost one, and then lunges at him- and Brian is a big man, six and a half feet at least, and fast!
And I like to think that I, Cole/Wade, by leaping at the foremost gangster’s face had a strong effect, since I had all four paws out, claws ready for action, and I landed right on his face.
That’s the other thing about being a cat- my gosh, can we jump! It’s uncanny, even for us, let me tell you- and with adrenalin behind it- forget about it!
The leader, whose face I literally savaged, I mean tore apart in a fraction of a second, instantly dropped his pistol, clutching at his mangled face. I did to his hands what I had already done to his face, and he dropped, sobbing, to the floor. Then, I leaped at the next gangbanger, right at his face. He dropped his gun instantly, after seeing what had happened to his compatriot’s face, covering his own ugly mug with his arms.
Old Henry’s Colt barked three times, and all three of the gun wielding gangsters dropped instantly, as if they were marionettes whose strings had been cut. An apt metaphor, since they would never rise again in this life- and I do not believe that they would be offered the Afterlife as an option- they would go Directly to Hell- Do Not Pass Go. You pays your money and you takes your choices!
Only two of the intruders were left, holding the metal battering ram they had used to gain entrance illegally to attack my wife, daughter, grandchild and her husband. With a
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
143

 JESS THORNTON
sudden clatter, they dropped the ram, and ran out the door they had busted open. I know modern liberals would have let them go free, only to attack more innocents on another night.
And actually, like I felt after Hillary Clinton lost the elec- tion to the presidency, even though she had been so corrupt that she certainly should be imprisoned, I was likewise here inclined to just let them go. But I was wrong, and Ezzie was right. She knew that evil, pure evil that was left unpunished, would reemerge, again and again, destroying those who played by the rules, and obeyed the law. Ezzie knew-
And so, that green-glowing gemstone, floating as it had by my human side next to the door, came to life suddenly. Twin beams shot out from her, and lanced through both of the fleeing black criminals. A green nimbus of light played about their human forms, and then, where they had been, were two little black mice.
They scittered about in terror, their tiny claws scratching for purchase on the smooth floorboards as they ran to escape. Small squeaks replaced their more customary screams of profanity when in human form, and then, my cat instincts taking over, I sprang to my duty- two small corpses lay on the floor, their heads ripped from their bodies.
If I had been all cat, I would have played with them first, for a long time... but, I was quick and merciful. I sensed that Esmerelda disapproved!
IT WAS DECIDED THAT TO CALL THE POLICE WOULD BE... counterproductive. All of the decisions were arrived at by my father and mother, my wife and daughter, and her husband. I was not visible. Neither was Ezzie, or Charlie- we were part of the Afterlife, natch, and I got it now- no living person, at
144

 least those whom we had known when alive could see us, hear us, or anyways sense us at all!
I thought of the old song by the Buckinghams -
KIND OF A DRAG
When your baby don't love you Kind of a drag
When you know she's been untrue
OH, LISTEN (LISTEN TO ME WHEN I'M SPEAKING CAUSE YOU know the words I'm thinking)
To what I've gotta say (and I know that you've been cheating, oh, I hope that that we'll be meeting)
Girl, I still love you (ooo, I still love you)
I'll always love you (ooo, I'll always love you) Afterlife
Afterlife
Afterlife!
IT WAS KIND OF A DRAG, WHEN NO ONE COULD SEE YOU, and you’re thinking “ ooo- I love you- I love you, I love you,” and then, of course, substituting Afterlife for Anyway. Because, of course, the Afterlife was why I was invisible, Anyway. Anyway. Anyway!
I COULD SEE EVERYTHING, HOWEVER. MY FATHER HENRY going over to comfort my wife and grandson. My mother, kicking aside contemptuously the corpses of those that had broken in, and then my son-in-law Brian, also hugging and
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
145

 JESS THORNTON
comforting my mother and my wife. All of that was wonderful to see.
But, I was thinking, how would they explain those three remaining black corpses on the floor? To report them to the “authorities”, corrupt as those entities were in the city of Chicago, would be suicide; especially considering how already in trouble my father Henry was with the politically-corrupt in Matteson.
Ezzie instantly comprehended, being a superior intelli- gence, and solved our dilemma- with a blast of green light, that I don’t think even registered with the living in that room, those dead bodies were gone. Replaced with three small mice, mice that had met a violent and well-deserved end. Problem solved, and I have no idea how those living people comprehended it at all, I think they just put it up to divine Providence.
I would have.
At any rate, Martha got a broom, swept the small bodies into the dustpan, and deposited them in the garbage can. Of Mice and Men sprang to mind, inappropriately .
THAT EVENING TURNED OUT TO BE A WONDERFUL ONE, both for the living, and for those of us in the Afterlife. I, personally, felt great that I had been able to help out, even though it was in the form of a cat! Also, I was so happy to know that I, like my dead friend Pete, had an affinity for a living animal, as did he, that could help me interact in the living world. Pete had birds, I had cats. Liberating, really, for someone who was dead.
For the living ones, my wife Marie and my daughter Nel, Brian and little Gus, our arrival had proved very fortuitous indeed! What they would have undergone in that home inva- sion was unthinkable, but we had been able to prevent all of
146

 it, with the help of the living, the feline, and the dead. And I was starting to hold Esmerelda in a higher estimation than ever, since she had saved my family, and myself, over and over again.
I had been afraid that Esmerelda had been a tool of evil origin. Now, I knew that that assumption was totally false- she had helped me to conquer true evil on numerous occa- sions, and never gone over to the other side, not one whit! She was neutral- this was my conclusion- like Switzerland in the modern world, Ezzie had come to us from another planet, another galaxy or dimension, and she had no vested interest in our world whatsoever. She made her own decisions, based on what she saw, plain and simple.
I do think she “riled up” the evil of our world, and they retaliated with unnatural snowstorms and such, because they were threatened with a new, outside power. But Ezzie herself- I think she was just a totally alien power source, like the meteor she had ridden in on from outer space- she was a wild card. Self-determined, and she would do what she thought she should- no vested interest on any earthly side- a Free Spirit!
I was just glad that she was on my side.
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
147

 CHAPTER 29 MARIE'S TAXES
 Charlie, Ezzie and I had been in Marie’s place now for quite awhile. Since we were invisible to them, we explored the place, I hope I am not guilty of invading their privacy. Charlie loved it, scampering around- he remembered Marie well, and tried to lick her over and over, repeatedly; but, unfortunately, his licks never connected in the real world. Poor Charlie.
I felt no such compunctions, since I was only there to help. As a dead person, help was really all I had to offer! I searched through the desk that was in the small office, and it was devoted to BILLS! Endless bills, but one over-arching bill took precedence:
PROPERTY TAXES!
IT WAS HORRENDOUS HOW MUCH PROPERTY TAXES HAD increased in the City of Chicago in just the past few years. During the same time period that public housing, under the
148

 federal domination of HUD had mandated ever-increasing federally financed housing being placed in heretofore all private communities- the end result was ever-increasing and impossible levels of taxation for those who only wanted to hold on to, and live in properties that they had already bought and paid for.
I thought again of the term I had coined, explaining what had happened to our country: PC- but not meaning only political correctness, but encompassing the true meaning of the term, and what it accomplished- Political Corruption. The actual, working citizens in the USA were being sold out, being replaced by the Democrat party increasingly by buying the votes of those who would go along with robbing others, through endless taxation, and giving that money to those who did not work, or save, or build.
It was like the last days of the Roman republic, when the dole was given out to all citizens, and the small landholders who had originally made up the legions that made Rome great were taxed out of existence. And then, the illegal immi- grants of the time, the barbarians had been brought in to man the legions. The enemies of the republic were now the “foxes in the henhouse.”
Suffice it to say that Marie, Brian and Nel, despite owning their property free and clear, (thanks I gather to the insurance payment they received upon my death), owed just over $50,000 to the City of Chicago for property taxes. And, this was for just two years taxes, on a modest prop- erty, with a tiny yard. And, I reflected, with virtually no police protection, no city services (the streets and alleys had to be plowed by private contractors to even get around in winter), and city water that was loaded with chemicals like chlorine, fluoride, and other toxins. Not to mention the city schools, which thankfully little Gus didn’t even need yet, and which he would never attend, since they were horrible
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
149

 JESS THORNTON
places of no learning, rampant crime, and complete corruption.
I thought rapidly. The only solution was for them to live in my house north of La Crosse, in the tiny rural area that was their birthright! Why weren’t they there now? I knew that I was, and I knew that somehow by my being there, they had been forced to relocate- why, I don’t know. It must be the rules of the Afterlife, I supposed, but I was going to get around it. They needed to live outside of Chicago, and more, they needed to live in my perfect little farmhouse, with land, and wildlife, and trees, and a garden- far from this urban nightmare of crime and corruption!
I was going to take them back, back home where they belonged, and if the rules said that then I couldn’t stay there, (as I was beginning to suspect they did), why then I would leave. Not them!
Perhaps we could raise the money for these horrid taxes, and then sell the place in Chicago to HUD or whoever- that would help my wife and daughter out. But, the main thing was just to get out of Dodge! Abandon the sinking ship of Chicago, and urban America.
I felt better, my mind made up, my path clear. I had to transport my family back, back to my home in the Afterlife. And then, I had to leave them there, and die permanently. I smiled, but I don’t know how it looked, since I was still Cole the cat. Probably kind of a feral, scary smile.
IT WAS STRANGE, BUT WHEN I HAD ENTERED INTO COLE the cat’s body and mind, I seemed to have a kind of sixth sense. I don’t just mean the cats extraordinary sight and reflexes, but the ability to sense, and even influence, what humans about me were thinking!
For instance: I jumped up onto my daughter Nel’s lap, and 150

 nuzzled little Gus who was also being held there. He smiled at me, and then batted at me, much too hard. I thought ‘No, Gus, do it much softer, grandson,’ and he looked at me as if he had heard every word I had ‘said’, and petted me incred- ibly softly. And he couldn’t even talk yet.
I realized then that cats have a real ability to communi- cate- telepathy? I’m not sure, but whatever it is, it definitely works. I deliberately looked then at my daughter, Nel. I concentrated, and gave my fatherly advice, albeit from a big black cat.
Nel looked over at her husband Brian, who stood talking with my father Henry. Henry was holding up his pistol, and explaining about it, while Brian nodded his head. I knew that Brian also had guns, being an avid hunter, and the two seemed to be definitely of a like mind. I was glad of it.
“You know, Brian- I think we should move back to La Crosse!” said my daughter Nel, all at once. “I hate this city, and this last bit of violence makes me want to leave as soon as possible.” She almost looked as if she was surprised herself by what she had said.
“Suits me,” said Brian. He was an engineer, and could easily get a job anywhere- he had only moved here with Nel to support her mother, but he yearned for wide open spaces with woods and streams.
My mother piped in- “I never knew at all why you kids moved here,” she said. “Henry and I, when we moved to the suburbs back in the 50’s, it all made sense. Good schools, jobs close by, good neighbors... now, it just sucks!” Henry, Nel, Marie, and heck, even my feline face all were in shock at that. But, she was right.
“I only left La Crosse because it seemed that- I couldn’t live in that house where I had dwelt with Wade all those years. It almost seemed as if somehow- I wasn’t allowed to remain- that the house was to be used by someone else. I
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
151

 JESS THORNTON
can’t really explain it, but that is really how I felt. But now, all of a sudden- I just want to go back,” said Marie.
“Get out now,” said Martha. “Henry and I, we aren’t going; we have a point to prove, and we’ll be damned to be pushed out now! But you kids, heck, especially little Gus- I don’t want him exposed to any of this Political Corruption. Hopefully, in a few years or so it will be gone forever- but we will have to be ever-vigilant that it does not come back. Socialist, left-wing evil is always lurking on the sidelines, ready to corrupt those who are lured into it. Avoidance is the best solution!” And by way of emphasis, she kicked the kitchen trash bin, wherein rested the tiny corpses of the violent home invaders that had been transformed into mice.
Old Henry, in support of this impassioned speech by his equally ancient wife, shot his remaining three shots from his 1911 Colt
.45 into the ceiling, startling baby Gus. But then, the baby smiled- he loved loud noises, and his great grandpa was really good at making loud noises- he clapped his little hands, and said “More.”
His first word! Everyone was excited and happy, and Marie piped up again, as she stroked my back while I lay upon her daughter’s lap nearby: “Let’s leave this Sodom and Gomorrah place tomorrow!”
If he’d had any more bullets left in his clip, I know my dad would have shot them upwards as well, but he didn’t. But everybody cheered, and I saw Charlie jumping around as if he’d seen a squirrel, and Ezzie was glowing to beat the band- I knew she was a female gemstone, but it was as if she had put on makeup and a fancy outfit- she was positively radiant.
I relaxed under the petting. You have no idea, unless you’ve been a cat, just how relaxing it is. Tomorrow would be another day- right now- relaxing! I fell asleep.
152

 CHAPTER 30 LEAVING CHICAGO
 Henry and Martha drove back to Matteson that night, and went right to bed. Tomorrow, they had pledged to Marie, Brian and Nel, they would come back to Chicago to help them pack for the journey north. They slept like logs, not used to keeping such late hours, since they had not gotten into bed until almost ten o’clock!
They finally awoke to a banging on their door. Henry, taking up his reloaded, and always ready 1911 Colt .45, (he had several, unknownst to the police), went to the door. Opening it, he saw the unwelcome face of the black cop, Tyrone. He was smiling, with a very unattractive smile indeed, and holding up a piece of paper. He read from it:
“Yo’ bail has been denied. You are herewith ordered to accompany me to the po-lice station downtown, where yo’ will be incarcerated until such time as yo’ trial will be held.” He pushed open the door, and followed by another black offi- cer, he grabbed the arm of Henry .
Shaking off his grasp, old Henry stepped back, bran- dishing his Colt. “Touch me again, and you’ll be in hell,” he said softly. The cops backed off. Martha came into the living
153

 JESS THORNTON
room, wearing her night gown, looking bewildered, yet became instantly angry at the sight.
“Leave my husband alone,” she said belligerently, reaching behind the toaster where she kept her revolver. She held it up, a .38, and said “Get out of my house.”
The black cops, holding their hands high, backed up. Tyrone’s face was twisted with wrath and frustration, he had expected an easy arrest, and the opportunity to vent his black-racist venom on the way to the station. Not this! The other black cop just looked amazed, and scared, and like he wished he’d never come on this assignment.
“You don’ wanna do this, ol’ man,” said Tyrone, the words coming out wrapped in venom. “The law will come for you...”
“You’re no law, you little puke!” said Henry. “You come here, when my sons are at work- you know they would make mincemeat of you- and you threaten an old man and his wife- you hate us, and the only reason is because we are white.”
This statement of the bald truth enraged Tyrone beyond anything, and he suddenly screamed- “I hate you white oppressors! You are the “snow people”, the people that Mohammed and other prophets called the white devils! YOU THINK I DID NOT BRING BACKUP??”
And he reached for the pistol in his holster. Martha shot him through the heart, and he crumpled to the floor, the hatred fading from his black eyes like a lamp being snuffed out. The other officer just backed up, and Henry gestured with his Colt, the gesture meaning ‘just get out of here.’ He ran outside.
Henry looked at Martha, and spoke, as the whir of heli- copters sounded overhead. “The corruption is far, far worse than we thought, Martha.” He looked at her with fond, old eyes; eyes that had stood by her for a lifetime. “They are determined to snuff us out- we are of those that forged this once great nation. Let’s go out proudly, dear!”
154

 She nodded, and the old couple, who had raised eight productive children with no assistance, and who had defended our nation against socialist Nazi attackers in WW2, went out to meet their deaths by the attack of a socialist democrat police department that found an elderly white couple living in an increasingly black, violent, and corrupt area unacceptable.
Henry, in his pajamas, stood in his yard, bathed in the swirling police lights of 6 cars. Police stood about, bran- dishing guns, while a helicopter hovered overhead, guns bristling from the cockpit.
Looking over at Martha, Henry smiled grimly, and holding up his beloved Colt pistol, opened fire at the heli- copter above. He had no desire to shoot at those police offi- cers, who were simply obeying orders, standing in his yard. He would have killed a few, and Martha would have as well. They didn’t want that on their consciences. She followed his lead...
AND SO THEY DIED, SHOOTING THEIR ROUNDS OUT AT A helicopter, in a gesture, however futile, that showed defiance unto the end! The strafing of the machine pistols took them down almost instantly, a heroic old man and his wife, both in their 90’s.
For nothing but P.C. - Political Corruption!
WOW- HOW SURPRISING WAS THIS! HERE WAS MY WIFE, MY daughter and her husband, along with little Gus- all packing up to leave to live in my home. Sure, they didn’t know I was even there, much less Charlie or Ezzie, (they would never understand her- for that matter, I don’t think I ever will either), but at least they were getting out. I was all for it,
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
155

 JESS THORNTON
although I didn’t know where I would go- but that was small potatoes compared to my families’ welfare.
And I don’t mean Welfare- I mean, isn’t it incredible how the language itself can be cynically twisted by political corruption to make a perfectly normal word- like welfare- mean something entirely perverted and twisted? That welfare can be twisted to mean take from someone who works and give to someone who doesn’t? It is decadence, pure and simple- a socialist sickness foisted off on society as “compas- sionate,” when it is anything but.
They had one vehicle, a big Ford SUV. They loaded in all of their necessary possessions, and, as Cole the cat, I heard Brian say to Nel that he had loaded his pistol, and also his shotgun and rifle, and put them all underneath the front seat of the Ford. He then looked back to Marie, and handed her a revolver, fully loaded. Little Gus was in the carseat beside her, looking on happily. He liked the gun!
“Just in case, Marie,” he said in a low voice. Marie looked at the pistol doubtfully, but Nel came up, nodding solemnly .
“Let me show you how to shoot it, Mom,” she said. “I think it’s important.” And then, she showed her how to use this simple, yet deadly tool. “It’s part of defending true civi- lization, Mom,” she said. Smiling, she said “Without force, we will only be victims, not heroes. Let’s be heroes, Mom- for us- and for Gus!” That hooked her- Marie practiced, she listened, and then she got it- she was on board- For Gus!!
THEY WERE FINALLY ALL LOADED UP, AND READY TO LEAVE. Locked and loaded. They were no innocents; they knew what the modern urban environment and political corruption had become- they were ready .
I was idling behind them, with Charlie and Ezzie by my 156

 side, Charlie glowing with his golden dog-essence, and Ez literally gleaming with an unearthly, greenish, lambent and very weird light- which, I have to say, I was getting downright used to, and actually kind of liking. I might be dead, and I might not know art- but I knew what I liked!
BRIAN PULLED AWAY FROM THE CURB, AND I, UNBEKNOWNST to them, followed behind in my old F100 Ford pickup. I was invisible to them, but I could see them very well indeed. I only hoped they wouldn’t drive too fast for me to keep up, and I also fervently hoped that they would take the back roads. I had always espoused these roads to Marie and Nel, back in the old times when I was alive, and I hoped they would still remember.
THEY DID! THE SUV PASSED BY THE TOLLWAY- 294, AND took highway 31 North- Hallelujah, I thought! Not that I would have to pay any (invisible/dead/means no-pay) tolls, but that now I could keep up with them. Every- thing was looking up- I was getting my family out of Chicago, back to where law and order still reigned in smaller cities and communities, and I could help to protect them on their w a y there- I had things figured out, for now...
THAT IS WHEN MY PARENTS SUDDENLY MATERIALIZED ON the front seat, crowding Charlie way over to the side, and Ezzie, startled, hovered just below the rear view mirror with a bright, startled glow of green. My mother, Martha, and father Henry- they were right next to me on the black vinyl bench seat of my old truck!
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
157

 JESS THORNTON
What’s more, they were smiling and happy, and not only that- they were just about my age- 35 or so!!
“WADE, YOU LOOK GOOD,” SAID MY DAD, HENRY. “WAY better than when you left us a few years ago, anyway.” He smiled, and when he did that he positively looked about 25. He squeezed my shoulder, in a gesture that he had always used when I was a small boy. I looked over at my mother, who was stroking Charlie’s long, silky fur. He smiled that golden smile at her.
Martha looked at me. “How are you, little man?” she said. She smiled, and I remembered then how beautiful my mother had always been. Not just when she was young, as she was again now, but during every age that I had ever seen her, beautiful inside and out. My eyes teared over.
“None of that, son!” said my father, that old disciplinarian voice coming out, although to any observer it would have been two youngish men of about the same age sitting there, crowded onto the bench seat of an old truck. “We’ve got work to do. We need to go back to Matteson- your brothers are in trouble now, what with us leaving the world of the living and coming to this wonderful Afterlife- that’s right, we know all about it; we were informed by a kind of emergency procedure so we’d be up to speed. You didn’t really need it, back when you died naturally, so you got the old laissez faire or “hands off” treatment that the Afterlife prefers- letting you slowly figure out where you are, and then come to terms with the whole concept. We didn’t have the luxury of time- things need to be done, now .”
To say I was confused, startled, dumbfounded- none of those terms really covers it. I’d been through a lot, lately, as you well know, but this was the most extreme of all. I glided
 158

 to a stop, while the two cars I was following moved away from me up ahead.
“Son,” said my mom. My gosh- I recognized that familiar voice so well! “The thing is, your brothers moved into houses on either side of us to protect us. It’s not their fault, they had to go to work, and no one expected that the Matteson police department was so completely corrupt- they moved before we could suspect, they were going to put your elderly father into prison”- she cut off then, and both of my parents suddenly laughed. “Well, he was elderly,” said my mom.
“Anyway, we need to get back and help them, son,” said my dad. “They are going to go berserk when they hear what’s happened!”
“Dad- I’m following Marie and Nel, baby Gus and Brian back to La Crosse. Who knows what they’ll encounter, going back to the Afterlife- I’m sure they need my, er- our help.”
Here is where the green Emerald formerly known as Esmerelda made herself known, shooting up in front of my father’s face, and shining like a little green spotlight. Charlie barked happily, and Ezzie shot over to him, kind of petting him by rubbing her facets on his fur in a stroking action- he loved it!
Ezzie was getting better and better at both communicat- ing, and also with an evolving desire to help me, and us, out. Once again, that body language that Charlie and she enjoyed between them was working its magic. Charlie yipped, and barked, while Ezzie glowed, and shined, bright and then dim, in a kind of otherworldly Morse code. I laid my hand on my dog’s flank, and once again I was privy to their conversation, however one-sided it was. Maybe Charlie was answering, but I could only hear the gemstone talking.
I HAVE THE POWER TO HELP. YOU KNOW I AM COMMITTED 159
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN

 JESS THORNTON
now to you, and your family. I can protect them, up ahead- but then I will not be with you.
It is your choice, Wade of the Afterlife. Do you want me to help you, and your parents in the quest of the living, saving your brothers?
Or would you have me help your wife and daughter, and her family?
“THEM!” I BLURTED OUT, STARTLING MY PARENTS, WHO HAD heard nothing audible. I don’t think the gem heard me, but Charlie did, and he gave a yip that she seemed to understand, which elicited a shimmering light from her I had never seen. With that, she shot out of the driver’s side window in a flash, streaking like a small green comet up ahead. I knew she was on her way to connect with my wife and daughter. If ever anyone could protect them from the forces of life and the hellish forces of death, it was Ezzie!
I turned the truck around, and we headed back to my parents’ house, where they had been brutally and senselessly murdered. But then, I had a thought- I believed we had a stop to make first, on our way back through Brookfield.
 160

 CHAPTER 31 BROOKFIELD ZOO
 My childhood friend Peter Hughes had told me about the affinity he had discovered that he had for birds. It was a crucial piece of information about the Afterlife, and as we drove I was explaining it to my parents. I can’t describe how strange it was for me though, talking to my parents at such a young age, an age they were in in which I had only known them as a tiny child. It is one of the most unearthly, and yet at the same time, one of the most satisfying situations that I’ve ever been in. I recommend it to anyone, when you reach the Afterlife.
“And so, dad and mom, I discovered that my affinity is for cats. I have entered into one, and it is amazing, really- an experience not to be missed. The cat-mind is still there, but it’s like you’re in charge, with the animal as kind of a co-pilot. We’ll search for your affinities at the Brookfield Zoo. It’s all well and good to be a house cat, it served me well indeed at Marie’s Chicago house against some vicious intruders, but I think we three need some entities that are a bit more- formidable.
161

 JESS THORNTON
 THE ZOO, WHICH IS ONE OF THE FINEST IN THE WORLD, WAS right on our way. I had often gone there as a boy, with my parents as I was today, and had always loved it. And now- oh my- it had been renovated and vastly improved over the years, with various “Lands” consisting of various types of wild animals- The Living Coast, Feathers and Scales, Hoofed Animals, the African Savannah, and many more. I had my own affinity in mind, but what would be those of my parents?
I certainly hoped it would be something a little more threatening than a panda, or an aardvark...
THE ZOO WAS OPEN, BUT WAS GETTING READY TO CLOSE, since it was almost 5:00 PM. We weren’t worried about paying for a soon-to-expire ticket, however, since we would not be paying! I parked the car in a distant spot, since we were invisible. I didn’t want anyone hitting my also invisible (to them) truck, and we walked over to the gates- and then right through them, since the ticket taker couldn’t see us, of course. There are benefits to being dead!
Oh, before this happened, I told Charlie to “Sit- Stay!” He did, and then curled up on the seat and went to sleep- he’d been through a lot for a dog.
It really was fun, being back in the park with my parents again. The last time was probably about 60 years ago or so, when I was 8, and my brother Jeff was 7. We had really loved it, and there had been a little train that we took all around the zoo, disembarking periodically to view the animals.
There had been one particular place that we never forgot, where there was a kind of an island made of concrete, surrounded by a moat of water and a fence. Inside, on the island, were these kind of disgusting monkeys that we called
162

 apple butt monkeys, since their butts resembled ripe red apples. They somehow fascinated us as young boys, since their principle occupation seemed to be with eating grass and fruits, and then flinging their poos at one another. It was my fond hope that neither of my parents had an affinity for them...
WE WERE PASSING PAST THE REGENSTEIN WOLF LANDS, and while all of the “lands” were fascinating, my father, Henry, had stopped stock-still. A huge, grey wolf was staring at my father, and he at it, as if they were long lost friends.
“This is my affinity,” said my father to my mother and me.
I smiled. Well, this was a good affinity! I had fought wolves recently, and knew they were not to be trifled with. And, the more I thought about it, I realized that my father had always reminded me of a true wolf- in courage, in devo- tion to the pack, and in the fact that he was a true warrior. In other words, we don’t choose our affinities- they choose us.
AS WE WALKED ON, I’M SURE ALL THREE OF US WERE wondering what would be the affinity of my mother Martha. I had always known her as a good, protective mother- someone who would nurture and care for her many offspring as best she could, someone who would be likened to a bear guarding her cubs-
My mother had stopped- frozen in her walking, much as had been my father when he found his wolfish affinity. She had locked her gaze on that of one of the denizens of the Great Bears Wilderness. It was a huge, 10 foot tall standing up, pure white polar bear!
It was also true that my mom had been one who had had 163
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN

 JESS THORNTON
her hair turn pure white, at a very young age- right now, it was a rich auburn, a kind of combination red and gold color that was shared by both my daughter, Nel, and also my young grandson, Gus. A wonderfully beautiful tonsorial color, the most prized hair color of the ancient Grecians, and also the somewhat more modern Victorians.
But, she had had an early affinity for white, or platinum hair! And this giant, pure white bear was staring at her as if at her mirror image in the polar icecap. ‘Good job, Mom!’ I thought- ‘That is certainly a formidable affinity .’
164

 CHAPTER 32 NORTH TO ON-ALASKA!
 When Ezzie first appeared amongst them, I can’t imagine what was the reaction amongst my family. Here they all were- my wife, Marie, daughter Nel and her husband Brian, along with their child- my grandson Gus. They had abandoned their home and their lives in Chicago, and were heading northwards up to a small city in Wisconsin to begin life anew. All after I, as a housecat, had instigated all of this my vantage point in the Afterlife. (You literally need a scorecard to keep track of all of this)!
And now, they would have to accept that a supernatural, otherworldly emerald gemstone was here as their ally. Well, sometimes circumstances dictate alliances- as they did now-
NO SOONER THAN HAD THAT LARGE, MULTI-FACETED GREEN emerald flown in through their open window, that it happened that Brian spotted something in addition. A winged creature of some sort was behind them, and it was following along their northwards path. Nel saw it as well, and racked a shell into her pistol chamber. Marie, in the back
165

 JESS THORNTON
seat, was startled, and looking behind her, also spotting the winged- bird- on their trail.
Brian was fixated totally on the glowing emerald. The green was exactly the shade of green of Cole, the family cat’s eyes, sitting there on the front seat between Brian and Nel. The emerald pulsed all at once, pushing forth all the shades of green that there were, in alarm it seemed, and then shot out of the vehicle.
The flying bird behind them got larger, and even larger as it got closer. At first, it had seemed as if a rather small flying bird was behind them, following quite closely- but, after awhile, it was obvious that it was a really large bird that pursued them, and although it was a ways back now, it was fast closing the distance.
Looking in his rear view mirror, Brian was shocked. He had left his known life behind, and now he was being pursued? The creature got larger and larger in the mirror, and Nel turned her head to look out the back, as did Marie. The wings of the creature became more and more- reptilian, and the creature no longer even faintly resembled a bird. It was a flying reptile!
As Marie, Nel, and Brian watched, Brian with his foot to the floor to escape this pursuer from hell, that pursuer, which now was to all effects and purposes a dragon- something to which all of rational experience was impossible, stayed on their tail, and was getting closer.
“Get your guns ready,” said Brian. “This, whatever it is, is after us!”
“Guns won’t stop that thing,” said Nel, nevertheless pointing her pistol out the back towards the ever-looming- larger monster.
RIGHT THEN IS WHEN THE DRAGON, FOR SUCH IT WAS, 166

 breathed out a tongue of flame! It torched out in the long, yellow tongue from out of a nightmare- fire from a spike- toothed, reptilian mouth loaded with jagged teeth, and beneath eyes that flamed a yellowish-red that mimicked the floors of hell itself. There was something in those eyes, and in that flame, that revealed peril not only to life, to flesh and blood alone- but to that of the soul as well.
Nel, Brian, and Marie all started shooting at once! It was as if a visage from a nightmare was flying downwards, gape- jawed. Reddish-yellow flames were engulfing the car, and the huge claws of the reptile beast from the depths of hell were descending to rend and tear the speeding vehicle- The bullets entered the creature’s body, and it wailed in a sound like a dying dinosaur- but it did not slow its forward momentum at all. It merely sounded enraged.
A SMALL LIGHT OF GREEN SUDDENLY APPEARED IN THE SKY, just above the speeding SUV still sheltering Brian, Marie and Nel, along with their cat. Not to mention Baby Gus, who clapped his hands, looking up, as if at a fireworks display! The bullets fired had had an effect, but it had been...not nearly enough.
That little emerald light, small as it was, was like a shield, holding back the huge flames shooting towards the SUV. For a moment, it seemed as if the small green light would be extinguished, but as the three in the car kept shooting at the dragon, it seemed to be just enough to weaken that mighty winged form.
Hatred and evil shone from the red eyes of that dragon, hatred beyond that of mortal man. Truly, this was deviltry and foul blackness of a more than human kind- it was as if Lucifer himself pursued that lonely vehicle... whatever it was, it was not of this earth; it was a fallen angel- an angel of death, come
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
167

 JESS THORNTON
up from the bowels of hell, or from the cold darkness of deep outer space- so cold that it burns hotter than hellish fire...
But the green aegis, the shield of the gods, held. Tiny Ezzie, a gemstone from another planet, had interposed herself between this arch-fiend of our own- perhaps Lucifer himself! And, for now, the emerald shield was holding.
BUT THE GREEN SHIELD WAS WEAKENING, DIMINISHING BIT by bit. The incredible violence and savagery of the monstrous flying creature pushed against the protective light, smashing again and again with the incredible bulk of its body, and espe- cially the heat of its flaming breath.
At first it was as if a glowing wall of emerald green kept at bay aggressive red-gold streaks of fire, which bounced off of it. The dragon was kept from getting down to the travelers by this shining emerald wall. But after awhile, the flames would shoot right through the green-ness, and the hideous reptilian head would almost burst through to the other side. The green shield got thinner, and lower in the sky- and the color faded from a bright, angry green to a subdued, almost colorless tone.
All at once, the dragon shot right through the green shield, thrashing in its transports of violence, shooting down like a bolt of flaming horror at the defenseless SUV with my family within it. Ezzie regrouped, flying down once again in front of the giant hellish creature, and put a protective bubble just about the vehicle itself. The green-tinted faces of Marie, Nel, Brian, and baby Gus were all turned upwards, looking at a creature beyond nightmare. Cole hissed and spat, as if at a huge snake.
And the creature screamed- a scream of frustration! The SUV had just passed the border from Illinois into Wisconsin. The dragon stopped just before the border, sending flames of
168

 anger after the little vehicle. ‘How could this be?’ thought Brian, driving up on backroads highway 12, into Cambridge, Wisconsin from Illinois.
Just this: corruption and evil generates and empowers evil. Illinois had become, over many, many decades, the focus of evil, the decadent center of unwholesomeness. A democrat socialist, as in a Nazi socialist land, with those that were evil, as in Sodom and Gomorrah long ago, in the majority. ‘Find me 50 honest men,’ it had said in the Bible, and the state shall be spared.
Perhaps, with this one carful of honest folk leaving Illi- nois, and also considering the murder of Henry and Martha, along with their honest sons left guarding their home- there were no longer even 50 honest people left in that corrupt state. It was the evil that empowered that dragon from hell to gain so much power, and to attack these innocents, who were only seeking to leave.
The car sped across the border, and the dragon stopped, wailing hideously, with a sound as from the damned roaring from its awful, fiery mouth. Ezzie, with a show of bravado, hurled a final green bolt of light at the dragon, as she left. The creature batted it down, and shot a blast at the gem that almost consumed her- in fact, would have, except as she crossed the state border the flame from hell dwindled all at once to a tiny yellow spark. Esmerelda had almost met her match there, but for the intervention of heaven, against hell, in a world that had those things. Ez had sprung from a mineral world, with no notion of good and evil- but Good had spared her today!
And the car sped away across the pastoral, rolling fields of Wisconsin- leaving the flat, pesticide-laden, GMO mono crop fields of corn and soybeans; along with the industrial gloom and smog of Illinois behind.
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
169

 JESS THORNTON
“I think we made the right decision, leaving Chicago,” said Marie.
“You think so?” replied Nel, laughing with nervous relief.
Brian shot his whole pistol clip out the window with joy, just for celebration, as Ezzie put on a kind of fireworks display in front of the vehicle as it drove, all green and yellow lights, flashing and blinking across the road, and all around the car.
Little Gus, in his backseat carseat, clapped and squealed. “Light!” he shouted, signaling his finger-waving hand sign for the word.
And so, everyone screamed all together- “LIGHT,” as Esmerelda, the gem from across the depths of space, cele- brated battling the evil she had never known existed, by lighting up the evening sky with all of the sorcerous power she had left.
Then, her powers exhausted, she slid in through the passenger side window, and fell asleep; a small, faintly glowing stone, lying amongst the thick black fur of Cole the cat.
170

 CHAPTER 33
IN DEFENSE OF THE HOMESTEAD
The zoo was now closed. It was getting dark, and almost all of the employees had left for the night. Mom, dad and I strolled around the grounds, reacquainting ourselves with all of the animal exhibits, and of course with all of our future animal cousins.
At the Big Cats habitat, I was pretty sure I’d find an animal with which I would have an affinity- sure enough, they all looked at me with fascinated eyes like burning coals. The snow leopards were beautiful, as was the Savannah lion- given the right circumstances, I would love to be associated with either one.
But the huge, lemur tiger that stalked out from behind a big boulder, his magnificent striped coat rippling with the play of the vast muscles beneath, took my breath away. It was as if we were shopping for weapons- for our use, we wanted the big guns; we wanted awe and shock, power and speed. As the famous poem by William Blake puts it:
TYGER! TYGER! BURNING BRIGHT
 171

 JESS THORNTON
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
AND AS I LOCKED MY OWN BLUE-GRAY EYES WITH THE flaming golden eyes of the tiger, I could feel a sense of same- ness. Not physically, not at all, but in outlook and tempera- ment. This animal had a deep resentment of being locked up by humans, and wanted to reap vengeance for the humiliation at being caged by such puny creatures. And, as he gazed deep into my eyes, he could sense that I would help him to achieve that end.
MOM, DAD AND I SAT DOWN ON A WROUGHT IRON BENCH by the Big Cats, and planned our strategy. We had all found terrible, powerful beasts to help us in our plan, but somehow we had to get to Matteson, which was 35 miles by car, and only 23 on foot. I was pretty sure I could not drive the truck as a tiger, and in fact the combined weight of a polar bear, a wolf, and a tiger would likely crush the suspension just from sheer size and weight.
I thought briefly of becoming a chimp, if it were even possible (probably not- most folks have but one affinity), and even if I could, the thought of being in an adventure similar to the movie Every Which Way But Loose gave me pause. If you’ve never seen this classic comedy by Clint Eastwood, well, you should. Outlaw idiot bikers and all. And oh yes- the chimp drives a car!
But, this was no comedy. My parents had been killed unjustly, and my younger brothers were in real danger. We decided we’d have to make the journey on foot. We each had four feet: 23 miles shouldn’t be too overwhelming a distance,
172

 if only we could remain undetected. And then I thought the obvious- ‘Who would try to stop us!?’
I told my parents, and we all had a good laugh. Then, we went back to the Great Bear Land. We waited until one of the attendants came by, and my mother grabbed his keys surreptitiously. I raised my eyebrows at this display of dexterity .
“After you’ve raised eight kids, and slipped into their rooms at night to make sure they are all right, and gently taken any dangerous toys they’ve brought to bed with them without waking them, you get pretty darn good at ‘stealing’ things. And besides, we’re invisible!”
I took the keys, and opened a series of locks after the attendant had left. The deep brown eyes of the bear were locked on my mother’s every move- she could see us perfectly! I’ve since determined that animals can see those in the Afterlife, just as well as if we were alive- but they know we are different. I don’t believe it would even cross their minds to attack us.
My mother came with me, and just locked her eyes with those of the bear. After a bit, the bear was looking at me with a certain expression I remember my mother has when I’m not moving fast enough-a bit exasperated. So, I opened the last barred door, that would have withstood the attack of a tank, and pushed it open. The bear walked out, and kind of- smiled at me. And then, my real mother, standing next to me, just kind of fell against me!
I put my arm around her, and pretty much carried her back to a bench in front. Of course, her consciousness was now in the bear. Leaving my unconscious, invisible mother on the bench, sitting comfortably, my bear-mother, dad, and I went to Regenstein Wolf Lands, where I repeated the whole process, only this time I had my father stay on the bench in front of the cage, and lock eyes with a really large, grey wolf
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
173

 JESS THORNTON
from where he sat. Then, I could just go in (with a new set of purloined keys), and let him out.
Now came the tricky part. How would I, once inside a huge, tiger body, escape from the land of Big Cats? “Well, we’ll just have to try,” I said to the huge polar bear and the gaunt grey wolf that strode beside me. Of course, they did not respond.
IN FRONT OF BIG CATS, I NOTICED THAT THE TIGER, AND indeed all of the cats, were separated from the public not by bars, but by a big channel cut down into the ground that was too far even for a tiger to spring across. And then, there was chain link fencing on the lip on the other side.
My original, rather heroic plan had been to spring down into the channel, and then up- grabbing the links of the fence in my paws, and somehow scramble over them to freedom! I looked at my parents, the wolf and the polar bear. They were both shaking their heads in the negative- they knew me all too well. My mother pointed her huge white paw towards the distance, where I saw a uniformed employee coming in our direction, driving a small utility vehicle with Brookfield Zoo stenciled on the side.
My parents immediately drew back out of sight, behind a large rock outcropping built to simulate the native habitat of southwest Siberia, where tigers such as I would soon be are originally from. As she got out, carrying two heavy buckets of big-cat food, (which mainly consisted of raw meat), I reflected that my dining habits would be a little different quite soon. I let her feed the cats, and then, when she was getting back into her UV, I lifted the keys from her back pocket. ‘Child’s play!’ I thought.
And that’s when she jumped back out, clutching at her backside. “Who’s there?!” she queried, shrilly. Of course, wily
174

 dead person that I am, I said nothing. But then, she saw them-
The keys, that I had just stolen from her, were floating, seemingly unsupported, in the air. Actually, of course, they were in my undead hand. She screamed loudly, and I was worried that other employees would hear her and come running to find a polar bear and a wolf on the loose. Wisely, my parents at that moment revealed themselves, coming around from behind the outcropping, and looming in their beast guises over the poor attendant. She fainted, falling to the earth, insensible.
“Good job,” I said to my animal parents. And taking my keys, I let myself inside the habitat; and then, leaving all the cage doors open, I emerged as a magnificent tiger, if I do say so myself. I led the way, my tiger self being flanked by a giant Polar bear on his right, and a huge wolf on his left. I sure would not have wanted to meet up with us!
We left, leaping right over the gates in front, and ran quickly across Ogden Avenue, and then loped down the suburban roads on the other side. It was after midnight, and fortunately there was no traffic, and only a quarter moon. We set into our own distinctive four-legged strides, given to us by long evolution to cover distances with great efficiency. We would be in Matteson in no time, barring any interruptions.
‘No Moe, Larry, and Curly trio here,’ I thought. This was a little different- 3 different animals altogether! The cool night air felt wonderful on my short, striped fur, and I smiled, looking to either side as I did so. My parents were smiling as well, reveling in their animal-selves senses, and if you have ever seen a tiger, a wolf, and a polar bear smiling- well, you should try to forget it, or your awful dreams will keep you awake for the rest of your life.
•••
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
175

 JESS THORNTON
OUR NIGHTTIME JOURNEY WAS RELATIVELY UNEVENTFUL, considering our sheer size and the inappropriateness of our huge animal selves roaming amidst the slumbering inhabi- tants of suburban Chicago. We loped along side streets, detouring into back yards when we saw oncoming headlights- jumping easily over fences and shrubbery. Then, the lights gone, we would go back to the roads, for easier travel. Besides, I needed to see the street signs to navigate.
I absolutely reveled in the feeling of animal power and strength that I possessed. And I believe that my parents, father-wolf and mother-bear, enjoyed the feeling even more than did I!
Both had gradually suffered decreasing mobility for years, and I know that there were also mental issues as well. Forget- fulness, a feeling of brain-fog and sluggishness; those are the afflictions of age. No one escapes.
Now, looking over at my father, running effortlessly with gleaming eyes scanning the night landscape, he seemed posi- tively brimming with vitality and exuberant energy. As did my mother, who had been having increased difficulty with walking and standing- now, she was running along in an effi- cient, four-footed gait of good speed, that I knew for her was almost effortless.
This feeling of this extremely efficient economy of move- ment enjoyed by animals, particularly beasts of prey such as we were, was intoxicating! Think of being locked in a deterio- rating body, or even in one of relatively good health- and then- you are running through a summer night, you and two other fearsome predators, and your body is not only perfect- it makes the body of the most highly trained and perfect human Olympian athlete seem like that of a weakling.
Three beasts such as us, with all of our senses and strength magnified beyond the belief of any human, on that run we felt superhuman. And we were.
176

 I saw one woman, as we ran through her backyard, looking out through her window at us. Her mouth was open, slackly. I looked at her briefly, and stared at her frightened face with my burning eyes. She had been in her kitchen, washing dishes it appeared, and looked out to see a polar bear, a wolf, and a giant tiger running swiftly through her suburban back yard...and then, we were gone.
No way would she ever mention it, not to anyone. Would you?
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
177

 CHAPTER 34 PARENTAL VENGEANCE
 The Hawkesworth home in Matteson was in the national news, to put it mildly. Two elderly white people, a couple referred to repeatedly by those who knew them as “salt of the earth,” had been gunned down by the police.
The liberal, fake journalists kept on spouting their politi- cally correct lies: about how this despicable old couple had shot a police officer for nothing; for no reason whatsoever- just because he was black. It was utter nonsense- they knew it, anyone with a real brain knew it- but, most people nowa- days, particularly in suburban and metropolitan America had been brainwashed since their early years in schools that mainly taught- political correctness/indoctrination.
And so, the news crews reported their fake news, as the Matteson police staked out the houses of the Hawkesworth children that flanked the homes of their murdered parents. The BLM protests came back in front of the home where the boys’ parents had been murdered, where the formidable brothers were in mourning, and locked in frustration.
“How could this have ever happened?” asked Lee of his brothers, as they sat in front of his television. They were all
178

 there: Roger, Jim, and Jeff with their massive, pumped up physiques, dwarfing the very chairs they sat in. Lean, whip- pet-like Dan, standing on his head as he talked, tears streaming down his upside-down face to land in the carpet beneath, could not control his incredibly emotional nature.
“I’ll tell you how,” said Jeff in his commanding, low voice. His huge, muscular neck quivered in the intensity of his emotion. “It’s because we work! These parasitic bastards on the left, why, they have made-up jobs in academia, non-prof- its, or political organizing- no real jobs. And so, while we were working-” these damned parasites came and killed our parents!” He had been holding a thick, glass bottle of beer as he spoke, and crushed it in the intensity of his emotions, scattered shards of glass falling to the floor.
Jim Hawkesworth stood, and his massive frame shadowed the ground from the lamp behind him. “My brothers!” he said. “I don’t care what happens beyond this: but our parents must be avenged- our homes saved- and the corrupt Matteson police department must be stopped- and punished!”
Lee, his trademark scarlet headband shimmering in the overhead light as he stood, raised his glass. His incredibly defined, dancer/warrior body shone white in the light, his abdomen standing out in bold relief and extreme definition. “To avenge our parents!” he announced, holding his stemmed, fluted glass on high.
The other brothers lifted their mugs and bottles in a toast, and all drank deep. Even Dan, standing still on his golden, pony-tailed head, drank from a straw stuck into a crystal glass of rose wine. Roger stood, all of a sudden, his huge shoulders blocking the television screen as he swung towards the picture window in the old ranch house.
“The damned protestors are back!” he said. “Let’s go kick some ass!!”
The other brothers could see, once Roger swung around, 179
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN

 JESS THORNTON
because the extreme leanness of his waist allowed the viewing through the picture window- a crowd of protestors were gath- ering in front of the three houses, waving signs and chanting. And worse, the blue lights of the police were approaching in the distance!
Brother Ron leaped up, his nunchucks clutched in his iron hands as he stood shirtless, defined to the nth degree, not an ounce of fat on his lean white frame.
“For the Parents!” he shouted, as he whipped his nunchucks rapidly about his head, while screaming like a feral cat.
JEFF WAS THE FIRST TO ERUPT FROM THE HOUSE, SHOUTING in a deep roar like that of a lion. The Black Lives Matter protestors fell back, quailed by the ferociousness of that wild yell of rage. There must have been 100 or more of them, protesting mainly because they were being paid, because that was the only job they had. They were like mercenaries: only out for the money, and because they liked the carnage, the bullying, and notoriety .
But these brothers were fighting for family honor, for revenge, and above all, for what was truly right! It was all about the tenets of Western Civilization in the last analysis, and these Hawkesworth men had been pushed to the utmost by the corruption of this community, and political correct- ness as used by the democrat party to buy votes from their enslaved members. Because, although they did not realize it, these BLM “protesters” were the modern version of planta- tion slaves- it was just that now, they were the slaves of the democrat party, living in urban ghettos and placed on the barely subsistence level of the Master’s dole- welfare.
It was the very same democrat party that had run the KKK and orchestrated the Jim Crow era- they had just done
180

 a quick check of how the “wind was blowing”, and deter- mined that they could enslave the blacks in modern times, but in a subtly different way. Now, they would pander to them, telling them that the very Republicans that had fought a civil war to free them, and overwhelmingly given them the right to vote over adamant democrat opposition, now only wanted to keep them down.
How? By giving them all the rights of free men and women, including the right to the pursuit of happiness, which of course means the right to work for your own betterment, and that of your family- unimpeded by government.
But the democrats, like Satan himself, whispered in their ears these enticements: ‘If you vote for us, we will give you a living- you will never have to work- you shouldn’t have to, you have been persecuted your whole lives- just vote for us democrats.’
And again, just like Satan the lier, the democrats omitted the fact that the “living” they’d be given would come with endless strings attached, and would be at the whim of their Overlords and Massah’s in the government. For one, the living would be substandard, so low that they would always be in want; and two: they would always have to dance to the Overlord’s orders, and above all, vote democrat forever and ever.
And so, the brothers, few as they were, had morality and the right on their side, not to mention the integrity of being workers who had always provided for themselves- in other words- Free Men. From the Greeks versus the Persians, and the Founding Fathers against the British, free men had always won in Western Civilization. Because it was a civilization of freedom, not slavery as was that of the East- and the Middle East.
•••
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
181

 JESS THORNTON
ALL OF THE BROTHERS HAD SIDEARMS AT THE READY, pistols and shotguns, but they hoped to prevail under the crazy laws of liberalism, where firearms were forbidden no matter what. Jeff ran, literally beating his massive pectorals ape-like as he sped towards the BLM protestors, who were gibbering and dancing about like spider monkeys. They scattered.
Roger and Jim ran up alongside their fearsome brother, and each grasping a television camera that was filming the protest, they smashed them to the ground, where they shat- tered. Dan came cartwheeling onto the scene, and struck several protestors to the ground with his feet as he tumbled headlong in his endless artistic cartwheels of death.
The BLM protest and the newscasters were fast retreat- ing, and that is when the scarlet headband of Lee came whirling into view, as he, like his brother Dan, cartwheeled onto the scene. He struck one protestor, who was holding a big sign saying Old Whites Deserve to Die, and knocked him senseless with his foot.
At that moment, a giant black protestor, with huge arms and matching girth, ran wildly at Lee. He must have been on drugs to attack such a dangerous opponent, or just wildly enraged, but however it was Lee was off balance, and would surely have been injured by the giant black.
But Ron, at this point, ran onto the scene, his lean thews swelling as he swung his nun-chucks about his head. He leaped, somersaulted, and then jump-kicked his way in front of the attacking black threatening his brother, striking him numerous times with his nun-chucks about the head and face, as the large negro collapsed into a helpless heap on the ground, desperately trying to shield his face with his hands.
THE FIELD WAS THEIRS! THE HAWKESWORTH BOYS HAD 182

 scattered their attackers, and stopped the newscasters from harassing them, as they had been feeding off of the death of their parents by their fake news stories. Roger kicked aside contemptuously the cameras that they had destroyed, laying there on the lawn- CNN, CNBC, PBS- all the fake news networks that hadn’t practiced true journalism in decades. The reporters had run off, as had the BLM protestors, who were but slaves of the democrats...
AND THAT’S WHEN THEY SAW THE ADVANCE OF THE Matteson Police Department.
THE POLICE WERE ADVANCING WARILY. THERE WERE ABOUT fifty or so, and numerous cars with flashing lights. Almost all of the officers were black. This was probably because there was a strict requirement that required that all of the hired police must reside within the boundaries of Matteson, which had changed in relatively few years from nearly all white, to almost all black. And the qualifications of applicants, other than residency- be damned.
All of the officers had drawn their sidearms, and were advancing under orders from a particularly loud-mouthed and offensive superior named Sergeant Washington.
“C’mon- we gots to get these crackers!” he said. “I see they gots they little pistols, and what-not- but they’s what- 6 crackers? They ain’ gonna last long against all of us, and I for one want no mo’ honkeys lef’ in this here town- it be ours!”
“Draw your weapons,” said Lee softly. “They’re not going to follow procedure, it’s plain- they just want to eliminate us because we’re white- so get ready .”
Roger had a shotgun that he pulled out from its holster across his massive back, and Jim did the same. Jeff just
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
183

 JESS THORNTON
growled at the attackers, as if he was a giant gorilla, which at that moment he almost was. He had reverted to the primordial ancestors of his race, a paleolithic warrior who knew only that to sell his life in defense of his family was the highest good. He had a big bore revolver in each meaty fist.
Ron had his nun-chucks raised high in defiance, but in the other hand he held an automatic pistol, a .45 of which his father would have been proud. Dan was holding a bow, but his eldritch bow held an arrow with an explosive attached, one that would explode a tank. He was giggling uncontrol- lably, as he always did in battle.
Jimmy, the youngest, walked slowly in front of his broth- ers, drawing a gun that looked almost like a cannon from his holster. A Ruger .454 Casull revolver, this hand-gun looked more like something that should be mounted on a battleship or a tank than something to be held in a human hand. Most men could not even stand up to the recoil of such a gun.
Recognizing at last that a real threat still stood before them, the officers uniformly paused.
“You killed my parents, scumbags- come take a piece of me.” Jimmy said it softly, but the bright lights that gleamed in his blue-grey eyes gave them pause. He looked feral, and so massive that he was very intimidating.
“C’mon,” said Sarge Washington, mockery in his voice. “They’s only six- I don’ care how big some a’ they is, they is only six...” And with that, he ran forward, along with his bravest, or most foolhardy officers beside him. All were shooting as they ran forward onto the Hawkesworth property .
With a huge noise, Jimmy’s Casull cartridge, that was big enough to stop an elephant or a charging grizzly in mid- attack, fired. The recoil was such that even such a large, powerful man as Jim could not totally control it, and that sent
184

 his bullet slightly to the left, hitting the officer on that side of Washington, absolutely blowing him apart.
The other brothers instantly moved, some running forward, Lee and Danny cartwheeling and dodging forward in unpredictable patterns that made them incredibly hard targets. The firestorm raged on both sides, but even in their superiority of numbers the police of the corrupt town had the advantage of vastly superior numbers. They pressed forward, despite the huge carnage inflicted by the defenders, who were not only physically superior, but also more intelligent by far.
The Hawkesworth boys, besides being able to anticipate exactly what their less able attackers meant to do moment by moment, also were equipped with hugely superior firepower. The move in the United States to adopt the 9 millimeter round, which was now pretty much universal in police depart- ments nationwide, had left these officers ill-equipped to deal with rounds of real power.
The Casull cartridge was extreme, true, but it lent the notion of “shock and awe” real meaning. It was truly intimi- dating! The 9 mm was like a .22 compared to a .45, and that last is what the defender boys mainly favored. When the 9 hit, the Hawkesworth was left still standing- when the .45 struck back, the corrupt officer was not only down- he was down and out for good.
And so it went: there were no cameras left to chronicle, but at first the brothers took a heavy toll- officers dropped, and the brothers were still standing. But then, it was apparent that four of the brothers, although still standing, were wounded badly. The superior numbers of the police were telling. The police advanced inexorably, shooting from a huge supply of ammo.
The brothers retreated, slowly. “I’m ready to die slaying,” said Jeff, and Roger nodded his head in agreement. Both were wounded, and staggering from blood loss. Lee came cart-
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
185

 JESS THORNTON
wheeling over, still unscathed. The rage on his face was unfathomable, so extreme that he scarcely looked human.
“Let’s kill- KILL!” he said, nearly in a trance of pure hate. They were almost back at the door to their parents’ house, the place where all of this had started. Jim shot his Casull round yet again, and not only one officer went down, but the same round passed right through the first, and then took down the one behind as well. The police paused their advance, looking dazedly at the red ruins left of what had been two men.
AT THAT MOMENT, A HELICOPTER APPEARED ON THE horizon. It had bright spotlights, and they were shining down on the scene. A machine gun chattered, stirring up the ground around the Hawkesworth home.
“All right- that’s our chopper- let’s take down these honkeys now,” shrieked Sergeant Washington, spittle flying from his enraged lips. His hate was epic, and totally unfounded- how had this simple family offended him, really? By being white, in a city that German immigrant whites had founded, platted, built, and settled?
And the machine guns chattered, shooting bullets all around the spotlight-illuminated yard of Henry and Martha Hawkesworth, who had bought and tended this ground for decades. They had only meant to spend their last years on it, and for that had been killed by the police of their very own town.
And now, their children, the sons they had raised on this very land, were properly trying to defend it- but from whom? No, not invaders, no- they were defending their own and their parents’ property from the very police department they had funded through their many long years of excessive taxa- tion- the Matteson Police Department.
186

 The bullets rained down, and all around. As their brothers watched, first Danny was slain, falling mid-cartwheel as he went to the attack. Jimmy, tears raining down his face, pointed his Ruger Casull chambered revolver at the chopper that hovered overhead, dealing death. Three shots it took, but at last the helicopter started reeling from right to left- some huge damage had happened there. But the machine gun never faltered.
“Let’s die slaying,” said Roger, in a soft voice to his surrounding brothers. Faces alive with hate, they nodded. There was no hope, but honor demanded that they continue.
At least half of the police were still there, attacking and angry. Like a swarm of wasps that had been riled. The other half was wounded, or dead. Washington couldn’t believe what had happened, and his rage knew no bounds- “Get in now, and kill them,” he screamed, and it was almost like he was crying in anger. What kind of commendation would he get for losing half of his men?
The police advanced, as they had been trained, in a kind of rough phalanx. The difference to the traditional model was that the Sergeant was Protected; he stood in the rear, as opposed to ancient ideals where the leader was at the attacking point to lend credence and leadership to his men. How far they had fallen from Western ideals!
The remaining brothers stood defiantly, awaiting certain death, their firearms held in firm hands. The phalanx approached, inevitably; it was only a matter of time till the three fell along with their slain brethren...
The police were shouting in happiness, like it was a basketball game and they were about to win-
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
187

 CHAPTER 35
STILL NORTHWARDS BOUND
 Marie, Nel and Brian continued northwards in their Ford SUV, heading back towards La Crosse. They were pretty much exhausted at all they had been through, and Brian navigated carefully on the back roads, just as I would have. Soon he had reached highway 33, and was approaching Wildcat Mountain State Park, where I had first encountered the hell trucker, and the giant wolves on my way down. Nothing had happened untoward, and as Nel, little Gus and Marie slept, Brian scanned the horizon for anything, well- unusual. Or more than unusual, more supernatural in nature.
Ezzie was still drowsing, deep in the black fur of Cole the cat, who was also fast asleep. Cats often sleep 20 plus hours per day, and this cat had been through a lot- who knew how long he’d sleep, given the chance? And who knew if a super- natural emerald from another world actually slept, as we know it, at all?
The SUV began the long ascent of the “mountain,” which in actuality is a tall ridge, or bluff, in the driftless region of Wisconsin. 600 feet is as high as it goes, but it is a steep grade, with lots of switchbacks and curves to make it manage-
188

 able to drive, slowly, both up one side and down the other. Brian was careful to stay below 30 mph, just to be safe.
Ezzie started to glow dully, which Brian thought must mean that she was waking up. He hardly knew what to think about her, but so much was out of his experience lately that he just accepted her help. He thought dully that he sure had been going up for a long time, longer than it should have been for 600 feet anyway. But the road continued upwards, unim- peded, and he just kept going.
There was suddenly a bright green light illuminating the inside of the vehicle. Ezzie was floating in the middle of the front seat, and Cole had stood up, all of his back fur raised in alarm, his eyes glowing as green as the unnatural light from the gemstone. Marie, Nel and Gus still slumbered in the back, oblivious.
The SUV was still going up, but instead of the green fronds of pines and massive old oaks alongside the blacktop road, Brian noted with alarm that the landscape had subtly changed. The scenery now consisted of twisted, strange plants of black, stumpy trees he had never seen before. The sky had changed from a bright blue, to a kind of reddish cast, and looking at the horizon, he saw that the very sun itself was not yellow, but- red. And they were still going up.
Brain kept on driving, having no other option. The narrow road afforded no space to turn around, and that road itself had changed- from a comfortable, old-time blacktop road, to a bright red brick road. Looking down, Brian saw that the bricks were laid in no sane, orderly fashion, but were thrown in any random order, as if just cast down by a giant hand, and stamped perfectly flat. Sweat rolled down his face, as Ezzie started spinning in alarm, and Cole spit and hissed.
At last, the road topped out, the weirdest landscape he had ever seen all about him. Strange, many-legged creatures slithered all about, as large as dogs, and bat-like creatures
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
189

 JESS THORNTON
with flaming eyes of red swirled through the air. ‘Was this some kind of a barrier?’ he thought, and then, as he saw a strange, huge beast most resembling a toad in his rear view mirror hopping grotesquely towards his car, he hit the accel- erator, driver safety be damned!
And with that, he was no longer going up, but down- FAST!
BRIAN HAD BEEN ON REALLY FAST ROLLER COASTERS, IN fact, it was kind of a passion of his. Before he had married Nel and settled down, he had traveled with his buddies to all corners of the world to ride the fastest, and scariest roller coasters they could find. They had been to Superman- Escape from Krypton in California, and Kingda Ga in New Jersey, the tallest roller coaster in the world; they had even gone to Abu Dhabi just to ride Formula Rossa, which is the world’s fastest coaster at 149 mph.
But the tallest, Kingda Ga topped out at 456 feet, and Brian knew that Wildcat Mountain topped out, normally, at 600 feet. But, he also knew that he had been driving upwards for far, far longer than it should have taken to reach 600 feet, and also that it had been through a landscape nothing like the driftless region of Wisconsin, but more like the upper reaches of Hell!
It would have been a great theme for a roller coaster, better than anything he or his buddies had ever found, but this was no themed roller coaster- it was real- and he, and his family, were now headed down.
Actually, it was fortunate that they had reached the apex of the strange road, since that sped them away from whatever was pursuing them, that toad-like thing. Just as they passed the topmost point of the road, and headed rapidly down- wards, the thing sent out a long, black tongue that just missed
190

 the back windshield of the SUV. The liquid that dripped from that tongue ate into the metal of the car body, eating small holes through it in a fraction of a second, and right down through the frame of the car. The toad-like thing readied itself for a bound forward, bunching it’s reptilian legs to spring-
He glanced at Ezzie, glowing like a Christmas ornament on high power, and a beam shot from her, back at the thing- it blackened, like a piece of newspaper just catching flame, and then fell apart into ashes. More toad-things appeared behind, but now the SUV was moving really fast. Brian shud- dered. ‘Thank God this emerald is on our side,’ he thought.
As if reading his thoughts, Ezzie shot over next to his head, and blinked rapidly as if in Morse code. She seemed friendly, and Cole rubbed against her as she shot down by his side.
But that was the last second he had to think, because now it was all about reaction- the acid from the toad-thing must have done some real damage, because now- he had no brakes!
WHETHER IT WAS THE TOAD ACID BURNING DOWNWARDS through the chassis to the brake lines, or if it was one of those many-legged monstrosities all about that had done it- it really didn’t matter. To Brian, it was as if he had slowly ridden the roller coaster far, far higher than he had done in Kingda Ga, and he could see that the bright red brick highway laid by a madman went straight downhill. In more ways than one!
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
191

 CHAPTER 36
TYGER TYGER BURNING BRIGHT!
The brothers stood their ground, like ancient warriors defending their homeland. First Dan, and then Ron had fallen while dealing death, riddled with bullets. Each of the remaining three clutched a weapon in his burly fist, and each was consumed with the idea that these attacking- scum- had slain not only their brothers, but also their parents.
Bullets from the swerving, damaged helicopter spat into the dirt all about them, but the aim of the gun was offset by the erratic spiraling of the copter. It slowly was trying to land, and if that happened then the machine gun in the turret would be very accurate indeed. The machine gun stopped, anticipating shooting after landing, and the Matteson cops all stood, some laughing derisively at the brothers, so outnum- bered, standing there before them.
“She-e-e-t!” said one, laughing “we gonna get these m-f-rs now!”
And that is when the three brothers attacked the army of cops! Never ones to wait for the battle to come to them, they had caught each others’ eye, and then simultaneously ran right at the laughing cops. Each was shooting as they ran, and
 192

 the police instantly stopped their laughing to try to defend themselves.
At least a dozen cops fell to the earth, blasted by the big bore guns wielded by the three brothers. Not since The Three Musketeers had three comrades fought so valiantly against such overwhelming odds, and for such a worthy cause. And although these modern Athos, Porthos and Aramis did not say it, they felt it strongly:
“All for one, and one for All!”
Jim blasted away with the huge-bored Casull pistol, concentrating on the helicopter. It was erratically descending, landing back in the road behind the police. Sweat rolled down Jim’s face as he held the big pistol steady, fighting the recoil, shot after shot.
With a sudden explosion, his efforts were rewarded- the copter exploded into a tangle of metal, the occupants instantly dead. He had hit the gas tank- the machine gun was quiet. But the helicopter dropped from the sky, crushing Jimmy beneath it.
“Kill the white devils!” shrieked Sergeant Washington, all semblance of civilization wiped from his consciousness. He had reverted to his innate tribalism, thinking only of slaying those whom he had always resented, because he knew that they achieved what he and his kind could not. His men responded in kind, advancing and shooting their 9 mm rounds, which made up in sheer number of shots fired what they lacked in power.
Jeff and Roger, screaming with rage, advanced on the overwhelming numbers against them, determined to die dealing death to those who had killed one of their own. One cop, his gun out of ammo, started to run, but Roger, his massive thews swelling with effort, grasped him by his leg and haunch. Lifting him overhead, he smashed him into the ground, where he immediately lay still, his back broken.
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
193

 JESS THORNTON
But the many cops kept advancing, and the three brothers were lying on the ground, each sheltered by the corpse of one of the cops they had killed. They were frantically reloading. They knew that they could only attack once more, and die fighting. Nodding to one another, they all leaped to their feet, and started shooting.
MOMMA BEAR, PAPA WOLF, AND THEIR TIGER CUB, ME, HAD finally made it to Matteson. Not an unpleasant journey, really, running with your parents in animal form through the suburbs of Chicago- I recommend it.
But now- gunfire, just on my parents’ street! We loped with alacrity down the familiar road, past the wreckage of a burning helicopter, and dozens of cop cars. The police were all with their backs to us, and they were firing their weapons at- my brothers, and my parents’ children.
One particularly loud-mouthed, abrasive sounding person was screaming, over and over, in black ebonics pidgin English- “Kill the honkeys- kill them now- kill- kill - kill!”
He appeared to be some kind of an officer, a leader of those who were killing my brothers. I saw that my mother, Polar Bear Martha, saw it too.
She loped up behind him, and I think he sensed, through his rage, a large shadow limned by the moon across him. Sargent Washington looked back, just before my mom bit his head off.
With that as an introduction, Dad-Wolf and I, Wade the Tiger, stepped up to the plate. Of course, we had fear on our side, and surprise as well. But you have never seen such complete slaughter as we accomplished that night! I person- ally, your typical Siberian Tiger, weighing in at about 650 pounds, and that is solid muscle and fast-twitch power, know that I killed at least as many as twelve of those cops that had
194

 been trying to kill my brothers. But I don’t really know exactly, since once a tiger gets into the killing fever, numbers just kind of- fall off the radar.
My father also, as a huge wolf, was a wonderful killing machine, slashing and biting with abandon, and truth be told, with a kind of joy. All of us predatory animals enjoy killing, but when it is justified by our human standards as well- we love it. It’s like it is our sacred duty!
But mom- oh, I think my mother Martha, as a polar bear, took the cake. She saw her sons, her little boys, lying dead on the ground in front of these police, as they had defended her home; the home they had lived in as children. Her littlest three, and they had died defending that very house.
If ever a mother was happy to be a nearly 1000 pound bear of incredible power and bestial fury incarnate, it was Martha! If you want to see what she was like, just go into the arctic, and take a polar bear cub from its mother and run away ...
She didn’t just kill- she tore apart and eviscerated. Most of those officers; there was very little left recognizable after mom got through with them. And it was fast- I mean, I was fast, Henry my dad was a fast wolf, but the speed and ferocity of mom- well, I tip my cat-hat to her!
Bottom line? After a very brief amount of time, it was just mom, me, and dad standing over a yard full of the dead and gore, along with my three living brothers: Jeff, Roger, and Lee. These just looked so bewildered- they had stood and watched as the army of cops that they had thought would kill them, had instead been killed by three huge, wild beasts. And now, that polar bear, wolf, and tiger that had just saved them, were standing looking at them with- friendly, loving eyes?
Really, what would you have done? Tiger/Wade leaped over, and I rubbed my flank against my brothers’ legs, cat-
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
195

 JESS THORNTON
like, to show friendship. That’s all I could do. Jeff seemed a bit scared, but Lee petted me, lightly .
Mom came over, a huge polar bear, and roared in anguish over the bodies of Ron, Danny and Jim. And father Henry, looking down at his dead sons, and then upwards, bayed in agony to the full moon above. It was a sad, sad moment, but then we realized we needed to be moving on. Mission accom- plished! Back to Brookfield Zoo.
We left the old home place in our animal guises, traveling back the way we had come. Looking back over my striped shoulder, I could see my remaining living family, Jeff, Lee and Roger. I felt sad, knowing they’d be dragged through a long court system battle in that corrupt state, but I knew they’d pull through. After all- they are Hawkesworths!
196

 CHAPTER 37
DOWN THE MOUNTAIN
 It was actually a relief, Brian thought, to be plunging down the mountain so fast. At least he was leaving what had appeared to be the upper regions of hell, and that was some- thing in itself to be happy about! Those creepy red-eyed crea- tures, and the toad thing- he knew he’d have nightmares about that for the rest of his life.
Ironically, his family and mother-in-law were still all happily sleeping, as the car they were in plunged swiftly on a road the grade of which was seemingly straight down. And, he had no brakes. None.
It really was just as if you had a little toy SUV, and took it and threw it off of a cliff. The road, even if they had had brakes, was not even connected to their wheels. They flew in free flight, and Brian thought of Dorothy flying in her Auntie Em’s house, flying along inside of a tornado- he half expected to see men rowing a boat, and then the figure of the wicked witch, Elmira Gulch, riding her bicycle alongside his plunging vehicle, cackling with unholy laughter. He was just happy that his sleeping family would never know what had happened, since they would probably never awaken.
197

 JESS THORNTON
•••
BUT HE NEVER RECKONED WITH AUNTIE EZ! HER POWERS seemed to be restored completely, and she was glowing with an ever-increasing bright green light. She seemed quite angry- she remembered being used by the hell-trucker as a tool, and now she understood that she had been being used against her will. And now, the upper regions of hell were throwing her new family of allies off of a cliff! Well, she would not stand for it.
She spun, and spun, and spun faster, shooting forth bright yellow beams as they all fell through space. And then, her beam shot forth in a still plane of light, like a yellow road before them- and just afterwards Brian felt his tires bite onto a solid roadway! They were riding on a road of golden light, and the grade was very slightly downhill.
What’s more, the road of light led on this easy descent for a long, gentle way that was lit before him. The road of light resolved into a more concrete form, and in contrast to the hideous mad bright-red bricks they had seen on the road up above, golden hued bricks materialized under their wheels.
From plunging towards their death from the upper regions of hell, Ezzie had transformed their journey into an easy, slow descent into reality, and the ending point was revealed, in short order, as Wonewoc- and the yellow road led right to the doors of the family cabin, which now was completely snow free!
As they coasted up to the cabin, through the pines that graced their way, Brian thought that never had he ever seen such an inviting prospect as that cedar-logged structure, promising shelter and protection! The vehicle, totally brake- less, arrived effortlessly at the cabin door, and then just came to a gentle stop. Ezzie glowed and vibrated happily, and Cole
198

 the cat purred with real pleasure. Brian let out a deep sigh of relief .
Gus woke up then. “Home?” he asked happily. Nel and Marie woke up as well. Nel looked out to see a shimmering road of golden bricks beneath their SUV’s wheels.
Puzzled, she asked: “Brian, where did you find the Yellow Brick Road??” She was still half asleep, but she meant it.
Brian had no answer, but he just pointed over at Ezzie, vibrating and glowing to beat the band, so proud was she. He was so tired and stressed, that if she had suddenly produced a bunch of munchkins at this point- he would have tried to strangle that gemstone that had just saved them all. But she didn’t .
And, how would you strangle a gem anyhow? It was a mark of just how worn out Brian was that such a question would even cross his otherwise practical mind.
EXHAUSTED, THE WHOLE CLAN WALKED UP THE CABIN STEPS, and opened the green door that led inside. The key was hidden outside, but they hadn’t needed it- Ezzie blasted the door open with a burst of magical force. She was feeling exuberant, now that she was revitalized.
Nel, carrying little Gus, said “I don’t know about you guys, but we are going to sleep!” And with that, she carried her baby into the master bedroom, and shut the door. Marie collapsed into one of the two recliners in front of the huge fireplace, and Cole jumped into her lap. They both fell into a doze; stress will do that to you, even in the middle of the afternoon.
Brian, as the lone male in the party, felt he had to take care of things. Like fixing the brakes- he couldn’t rely on Ezzie every single time they had to stop at a stop sign. He went back out the front door and down the steps to the SUV,
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
199

 JESS THORNTON
tired as he was. He felt safe in leaving; as Esmerelda, that sorcerous gemstone, hovered in front of the porch, protec- tively, as he left. She had proven her ability to take care of those he loved, no problem. Some folks took comfort leaving a porch light on at home when they left- Brian felt far more reassured by the sight of a glowing, magical green gem floating above his porch, protectively .
He drove down to highway 33, the Main street in Wonewoc, and coasted slowly and carefully next to the library, at a place called Larry’s Garage. Wade had told him this place was wonderful, staffed by a lone mechanic that was way above average. The best part was, he was generally not that crowded with business, being located in such a rural, small town.
Larry, sitting in a chair in the back of his shop, stood slowly as Brian walked in, and greeted him.
“I have a brake problem, in fact, I have NO brakes what- soever.” he announced.
“Well, let’s have a look,” said Larry.
With great efficiency for such a small shop, Larry went out and drove the car onto his lift, slowly, and coasted to a complete stop with no problem, used to dealing with brake- less vehicles. Raising the car, they both peered underneath.
“What the heck did you drive over to do this?” asked Larry, pointing. The entire undercarriage was rotted away, and not only were the brake lines leaking or faulty- they were dissolved as if by acid.
“Whooooeee!” said Larry, laughing. “ This is like some crazy TV show- ‘cause what we see right here in front of our eyes is impossible! Brake lines gradually degrade, they don’t just up and- dissolve all at once.” Brian just shrugged, as if to say ‘heck if I know?’ To describe a weird toad-thing on top of Wildcat Mountain and a supernatural rollercoaster seemed, well, not to be such a good idea.
200

 And so, for the next few hours, Brian watched, and occa- sionally helped, as Larry grabbed brake tubing, and put it into place. It was like watching a brain surgeon, in a way, since the routes the brake lines traveled were so complicated and intri- cate, that no normal person could have come close to doing the job. Brian, as an engineer, was fascinated by the job, but he knew it would take a number of viewings to understand the process fully .
Finally, the brake lines were reassembled, and Larry quoted a price that was unbelievably low to a recent denizen of Chicago. Brian paid, and proffered his thanks.
“Well, I lowered the bill a might- I was so sure you would ask me about my brother Daryl, and my other brother Daryl- when you didn’t, I knew you weren’t a typical big city jerk like your Illinois license plates would normally proclaim you to be.”
They shook hands, and Brian rode the 1 mile back to the cabin. They were soon to be, as the song went- “on the road again!”
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
201

 CHAPTER 38
BACK TO THE ZOO- AND UP NORTH
The three of us loped back towards Brookfield Zoo. The carnage we had wrought bothered us not at all, since it had been done to protect the family homestead, and our sadly slain sons and brothers.
I don’t know if natural wild animals cry, but as I looked over at my polar bear mother and her wolf husband, I saw real tears fall from their gleaming eyes as they ran. I, as a tiger, thought myself above any of that, but I did get choked up as I traveled along from time to time, remembering my little brothers Ron, Dan, and Jim, lying dead in the street in front of our childhood home. I don’t think I dropped any tears, but heck- even crocodiles shed tears sometimes.
We finally made it back to the Zoo. I remembered how, when I was in high school in our nearby suburb of Matteson, we had been rivals of Brookfield High School. Our chant at big games had been “Beat the Zoo- Beat the Zoo!” Well, I felt that we had, in a way, since we had used the Zoo to beat the corrupt cops.
My parents and I were now all in the Afterlife. It was really comforting in a way- although we were no longer living,
 202

 we felt as if we were, and in a condition of wonderful health and wellness! Heck, we were all the same age, around 35 or so, even though right now we were vibrant predatory animals instead of humans... hey, maybe being in this state was the best of all worlds.
AT ANY RATE, WE FINALLY MADE IT BACK TO THE ZOO. WE led our animal selves back into their “environments”- the Wolf Lands accepted my dad’s wolf-self back, and my actual, 35 year old dad perked up on his park bench. He walked with his tiger son and polar bear wife over to the Savannah, where I left my fearsome self and again became a mild mannered, 35 years of age or so ex-mailman and writer.
Next, two youngish men accompanied a huge white polar bear to the Great Bears Wilderness. My mother, Martha, seemed a bit reluctant to relinquish her mighty bear-self, and who could question her on that? Someone who had lost most of her sons, why would she want to give up incredible physical power in the face of such injustice?
But, she did, letting her polar bear self walk back into her “environment,” and her human, mid-thirties self walk out to rejoin my father and myself. We all walked together back to my truck in the parking lot, to a slumbering Charlie lying on the black vinyl bench seat.
He leapt up, smiling exuberantly as only a golden can, wagging his yellow tail as we all petted him. I got a six pack of beer that I had stored back in the bed of the truck, and handed one to each of my parents. I watched, rather surprised, as they both chugged the beers down in one long draught! ‘My mother, the non-drinker?’ I thought.
She looked at me, as if reading my thoughts. “Slaying is thirsty work son,” she said in her soft voice, that sounded just like the youthful version that had read me so many story-
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
203

 JESS THORNTON
books in my babyhood. As I poured another beer into Char- lie’s dog bowl on the floor, which he lapped at appreciatively, I watched as both of my parents chugged another beer, crushed the cans, and threw them back into the bed.
“WHAT NEXT, SON?” ASKED MY DAD, HENRY. THIS surprised me: my father was a strong leader, I had always relied on him to know our next move, what we would do next. But here he was, looking at me for guidance. And so was my mother- these two who had changed my diapers and shepherded me through grade school- they were looking to me?
Well, it was different now, I reasoned. Not only were we all about the same age, I had been in the Afterlife far longer than they- I kind of knew the ropes. Just as Peter Hughes, who was only 9- he had been here so long that he knew far more than I did at 35 years of age! So, I thought of our next move. It was obvious, really .
“We’ve got to head up north, catch up with Marie, Nel, Brian and little Gus. I know they need our help- it is really tough getting through Wildcat State Park- I believe that is part of a magical border, a mine-field set up around the After- life to keep us in one location. Once you’ve passed on, the spirit world does not want you wandering around, disturbing the lives of the living. I think it will now be just as hard to get back in, as it was to get out! I know that they are alive, but I also know that they are somewhat in contact with us; and also they have in their possession, or at least in their group, one Ezmerelda, a magical gemstone that the powers of evil will want to get back- or, at the very least, get back at.
A STRANGE SPEECH TO SPOUT OFF TO YOUR PARENTS, DEAD 204

 or not- but they seemed to understand it, and what’s more, they seemed to agree. They nodded, and I don’t just mean my folks- even Charlie was nodding his shaggy golden canine head. It’s hard to argue with universal approval.
I put the truck into 1st gear with my four-on-the-floor, and we were off. We were driving west on Ogden Avenue, before we would head north once we got further away from the city of Chicago. No way would I drive through that crime-infested hellish, lawless land if I didn’t have to- even dead!
Once we were on Hwy. 83 headed north, I knew we could get out of Illinois tonight. My goal was to make it to the family cabin in Wonewoc- I thought we could make it before midnight. There, we could rest, and hopefully catch up with the rest of the family heading north the next day. They would need our help!
I felt bad, as I know my folks did, about poor brothers Roger, Lee and Jeff, the only ones left alive back in Matteson. But I knew that those three could cope- they had seen their brothers die, but ultimately, with the help of some possessed animals, they had triumphed!
I knew they’d wonder about the huge tiger, wolf, and polar bear that had materialized out of the blue to help them, but I hoped that they would just chalk it up to God. For after all, in the final analysis, that is what had given us the grace to be there to save them- the Afterlife had allowed us to help, from beyond the grave.
So, we headed north, into the star-studded night. The purr of an old, six-cylinder antique engine is a comforting sound in itself, and the nocturnal view from a giant wind- shield such as that in my old Ford was stunning on the small country roads I followed.
I managed to find, by moving the dial slowly on my old, tube radio, a station playing classics from the 1940’s. Both of
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
205

 JESS THORNTON
my parents, tired as they were, were tapping their feet as they lay back against the seat. My father had his arm around my mother, and she rested her head on his shoulder as they sat listening to In the Mood, by Glenn Miller and his orchestra.
My feet were tapping as well. It was such a peaceful drive...
AS I DROVE ALONG, MY ANTIQUE HEADLIGHTS BARELY illuminating the empty road ahead, I felt an exultation that we were finally back in Wisconsin. The difference between states can be so extreme, that it is hard to believe sometimes that they are in the same country. Illinois, a state that was once great, has now become so liberal, so democrat- and thereby socialist- that it is hardly a midwestern state anymore, much less the home of Abraham Lincoln!
I thought about it more: So Democrat- run the words together- SoDem-ocrat- SODOM! That is really what it had become.
My parents were both asleep, as was Charlie. I had so much to think about, I don’t believe I could have slept even if I had been able to since I was driving; but as I drove my mind was whirling with thought. ‘Would we make it back to La Crosse, or even to Wonewoc for that matter? How could we help my wife and daughter on their journey? What about Ezzie?’
I was so involved with my own thoughts, that I scarcely was aware of my surroundings for a bit. At last, I roused myself, noticing something in my rear view mirror. I was so startled, that I took my foot off the gas, and let the truck slowly come to a stop, right in the middle of the road.
Through the back glass of the truck cab, I could see three faces- grinning at me from the bed of my truck. It was my dead brothers- Ron, Dan, and Jim! Each was smiling, laughing
206

 actually, and they were acting up, sticking out their tongues and being kind of crazy, because they always had liked to torture their eldest brother, and they weren’t about to stop now .
I got out of the truck- my parents and Charlie were still fast asleep- and went back to look. There they all were, making faces and laughing so hard, just as they used to do when they were little, and I had to babysit them all. And I had just seen them all killed!
I passed my hands across each of their faces in turn, so thankful to see them alive and vibrant, living once again. I know I was crying, and I was also so thankful that they were not gone from my life. ‘Wow, mom and dad will love to see these three again!’ I thought.
Then, I noticed something else- they were all 35 years old or so, naturally. Perfect- they were in the Afterlife now, same as me, Charlie, Mom and Dad. And then, I wondered some- thing else:
‘I WONDER WHAT AFFINITIES THEY HAVE??’
UNFORTUNATELY, GLAD AS I WAS TO SEE THEM, ACTING LIKE goons and making faces, I had a sneaking suspicion that their affinities would be, at best- a kind of wimpy animal... But we still had a good ways to go through rural southern Wisconsin before we got back to what I had determined was kind of a border zone between the Afterlife and the living world. I just hoped that Marie, Nel and Brian had made it through, and were waiting for us on the other side, safe and well.
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
207

 CHAPTER 39
A PEACEFUL RIDE IN MODERNITY
After all that they had been through, Marie noticed a subtle shift in the atmosphere around the cabin. She felt safe, secure: as if all of the otherworldly, sorcerous things that had happened to them were lurking no more! There was no hint of the supernatural, of dragons with flaming breath flying about- there was just the faint ticking of the carved clock in the shape of a duck on the mantle, and the soft crackling of the fire that Brian had started before he headed into town to get the brakes fixed.
Gus was playing with Nel in front of the fireplace; he had just begun learning to walk. He would walk about five or six steps, and then collapse onto his butt, laughing as he did so. Outside, it was just a clear summer’s day, bright sun, but cool and friendly in the little coulee that surrounded the family cabin.
Marie walked out on the board porch, just as Brian drove up in the family’s SUV. He stopped with a squeak from the new brake pads, and jumped out with a happy smile. “The brakes are back, and Larry did a great job at a great price!” Brian sang out. He always loved a deal.
 208

 Marie smiled as well. Something was... different. Cole the cat came out on the porch, stretching his black body in contentment as he slowly strode out, completely unalarmed. And then, Marie thought it: ‘Where was that green stone, Esmerelda?’ There was no sign whatsoever of the magical being that had saved them from a fire-breathing dragon, of all things- none whatsoever. That creature from another world that had saved them all, that had stood guard over them initially at the cabin- it was gone.
It was a relief, really. Although that magical stone had worked on their behalf, Marie just wanted her normal life back, and a sorcerous gemstone had never been a part of that. Maybe things were normal again, after all of this craziness?! Oh, that would be wonderful!
AND SO IT ALL APPEARED TO BE. THEY SPENT THE DAY WITH Gus, as he would practice walking over and over from Nel to Brian, back to Nel, and then over to grandma Marie. Marie couldn’t remember laughing so hard, and being so relaxed.
Being at the cabin was part of it: after being in the corrupt city of Chicago for so long, she had forgotten how simple and easy life was in small town America. No crime, really; at least not violent eruptions of random violence that were now a full-time part of urban American big cities- small town Americana was still intact, far away from liberal bureau- crats and their corruptive influence. She wondered why she had ever left!
But now, not only was she back in a wonderful country- side, she had rescued her daughter and son-in-law, and espe- cially her little grandson! He was learning to walk- now, he would walk as a free man, in the free country of conservative, small town America- if not in her old house, she would return here to Wonewoc, and raise him in the cabin. It was a
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
209

 JESS THORNTON
wonderful thought, and it was reinforced as little Gus walked towards her, his arms outstretched, and as he laughed, collapsing into her embrace.
IT WAS A WONDERFUL DAY AT THE CABIN. ALL THE STRESS seemed to melt away as they lay around on the big couch and chairs, in front of a blazing fire. The crackling fire was there more for fun than anything, since it was perfect weather outside in that idyllic little valley, with pine trees all about and the soft wind whispering around the log walls.
Brian made a wonderful beef stew in the dutch oven on the fire in the fireplace, and as it stewed and bubbled atop the logs, little Gus continued his walking from person to person. Everyone laughed, but Gus’s merriment rang out like a clarion bell, high and infectious- everyone started feeling just great, just from that sound of a child’s laughter.
“We should leave for La Crosse tomorrow,” said Marie, after savoring a bite of the stew .
“I agree,” said Brian, as Gus threw a bit of beef from his high chair at Cole, who sniffed it, and then gingerly ate a little piece from the floor. Gus laughed delightedly. “I’ll bet I could get a job at the electric co-op there, no problem.”
Nel cleaned the gravy off of Gus’s hands and face. She looked up with an open countenance, and asked the obvious: “Why did we ever leave?”
MARIE AND BRIAN THOUGHT FOR AWHILE. WHY HAD THEY left? Finally, Marie answered. “After your father Wade died, it just seemed that I could not live in that farmhouse up north of La Crosse anymore. I can’t say why, but it was as if I had a message or something, a word sent from-” she looked about in some confusion,
210

 “well, from the Afterlife.”
“And so I left, and took you and Brian with me. I’m sorry, but at the time, it seemed that I had no choice, none at all. But now- we are going home! Are you both with me? Tomor- row, I want to go home to the house that I know and love, and the small town values that we all need, especially little Gus.”
As she spoke, Brian and Nel looked at her with rapt atten- tion. Even Cole looked up at her with his bright green eyes fixed on her face, as if hanging on her every word; it was almost as if she was a mouse, so attentive was he to her every word.
“It’s settled then,” said Nel. She looked with shining eyes towards her husband and her mother in turn, and then down towards her blonde baby boy. “We’re going back to the farm- house I love, that I grew up in, and we will raise little Gussie there, far from big city corruption!”
I know that Gus would have said “God bless us, every- one!” at this point, but, since he couldn’t talk yet, he didn’t. But from the looks in everyone’s faces, including his youthful one, that was obviously the going sentiment.
THE SUV RUMBLED DOWN THE LONG GRAVEL DRIVE THAT led to the cabin, and through the entrance. Getting out, Brian went back to hang the chain across the drive, right next to the No Trespassing sign, and waved once to the old man sitting attentively next to his picture window in the house adjacent.
The white-haired gent returned his wave, gravely, and sat back down into his easy chair. He had a shotgun by his side, and he looked at it briefly before returning to his book. Leonard was 96, but he took very seriously his role as guardian of the cabin. He had been watching out for the
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
211

 JESS THORNTON
place since I, Wade Hawkesworth, had been a young boy, and he was watching still- a faithful sentinel. The cabin was safe, even if I was dead.
Wending his way north, Brian steered the vehicle carrying him, his young wife cradling their toddler son Gus, and his mother-in-law Marie, who was holding the black cat Cole. He took the back roads towards Sparta, just as his father-in-law always did, enroute towards La Crosse.
After all he had been through already on this journey, he felt as if he was already home free. His thoughts turned to applying for his new job, for which he felt well-qualified, and the wholesome, safe life that his little Gus could look forward to in the small city ahead. ‘Nothing to stop us now,’ he thought contentedly .
He couldn’t have been more wrong!
“WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU ARE GOING?” BOOMED AN incredibly loud voice. The car Brian drove actually vibrated with the deep vibrations of that voice. And then a hand, a hand of huge proportions descended upon the car, and picked it up!
With a lurching suddenness, the car was plucked up into the air, and then all in it were staring into a vision of madness- a huge, blubbery face was before them, and peering through their windshield into what were to him the tiny occupants. It was a giant, a red-faced, scowling man of monstrous proportions, who held their car as if it was a toy, and leered at them with pleasure as they drew back in horror.
“WELL, WHAT SHALL I DO- WITH THIS SMALL CREW, Perhaps they’d like- to see the view!”
•••
212

 AND WITH THAT, HE TILTED THE CAR, WHICH HE HELD perhaps a hundred feet in the air, this way and that. Brian clutched the steering wheel to remain in his seat, and the rest huddled in their seat belts, which thankfully held them in place. Gus was in his little car seat, safest of all, but still he began to cry at the unaccustomed motion, which was increas- ingly violent.
Marie, peering out through the glass, had the impression of incredible evil. The giant, although hugely large, also had a face of such cruel expression, that she didn’t put out of her mind that he might want to eat them all, small fare as they would be to one of his size!
Brian reached under his seat, and pulled out his handgun, his Sig Sauer P227. It was a .45 caliber, which would reliably take down a moose a close range, but this monster was far larger, and far more evil. However, it did not appear to expect resistance.
The huge, flabby lips pulled back in alarm as the first of the 11 rounds chambered in the big gun struck home. The giant’s huge, yellow front tooth exploded into pieces as the bullet charged home, and the huge creature reacted strongly, hurling what was to him a tiny vehicle into the air, as high as he could. His flippant manner gone, and screaming in pain, he roared in anger- never had he expected any resistance from these tiny invaders into that area that he was stationed into, to keep interlopers out of the Afterlife.
Up, and up even more flew the SUV, toppling end-over- end as it violently rose higher and higher- then, inevitably, it began to go downwards. Marie and Nel were crying, scared as anyone could be as they plunged towards the earth, far, far below .
Little Gus screamed with laughter, believing in his baby- hood that this was some kind of a fun, wild ride! Brian, inured to such speeds of descent through his long-term fascination
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
213

 JESS THORNTON
with roller coasters, still determined to sell his life dearly, and focused on the giant standing below, blasting round after round into the creature’s huge head. He knew they were all doomed in that little vehicle that he had been counting on to bring them to safety, but he was determined to sell his life dearly- and so he fired, over and over, right into that grimacing huge face that loomed below his plunging vehicle, fixated only on vengeance, since he knew that they were all doomed.
214

 CHAPTER 40
THE BOYS ARE BACK IN TOWN
 Ezzie had realized, right about the time that Brian had driven to Larry’s to get his brakes fixed in Wonewoc, that she was no longer needed there. How she knew this, she could not have told you, but she knew. And she no sooner knew, than she flew!
Supernatural, other-worldly emeralds have senses such as you and I do not- trust me on this. Perhaps a “little birdie” told her, but I doubt it- she just took off, flying through the air back towards Wildcat Mountain. She sensed, she somehow knew that she was needed, and that is where she went- to once again protect me, Wade Hawkesworth, and my family in the Afterlife- but, I will say that I think it was mainly to protect Charlie the dog. There is something about a golden retriever that makes you want to protect them; but maybe emeralds, when they are magical and living, feel even more protective than humans. Who knows?
At any rate, away flew Ezzie, with a real sense of urgency. She knew, somehow, that a group of Afterlife folk were in need of her, and most especially an Afterlife DOG!
•••
215

 JESS THORNTON
CHARLIE SAW HER FIRST. WE WERE DRIVING PEACEFULLY northwards through the Wisconsin back roads, when he yelped; which got our attention, since goldens are normally a quiet breed. It was a joyous yelp, a welcoming of a long-gone friend type of cry, and we all looked in the direction that Charlie was looking at through the side passenger door.
My dead brother Jimmy saw it first, even before Charlie. “It’s a shiny green stone, flying right towards us!” he shouted. All three of my brothers, each of them in the Afterlife, meaning that they were as dead as me, all held their hands over their heads to protect themselves.
“The Four Stooges it is now,” I thought. But I held up my own arms for protections as well. Old habits die hard, dead or not!
And there was Ezzie, bright green and spinning, a whirl- wind of purpose and destiny. I had never seen her so agitated. Charlie made the strangest little dog sounds, and Ez crackled in return, sending out sparks of bright lights in a kind of otherworldly Morse code that somehow Charlie understood. My little brothers were looking on kind of like those monkeys you’ve seen so often- Jim had his hands over his eyes, Ron had his over his ears, and Dan had his over his mouth- See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil! Those three little monkey- brothers were trying vainly to block out what was before them, what they just could not understand.
But Jimmy, he was pointing- pointing skyward, up towards the magical green emerald that spun faster and faster above them, above my old truck, creating a vortex- a virtual tornado that pulled us, truck and all, into a spinning windstorm that sent us speeding away to- who knew where?
The last thing that I saw was Charlie, my faithful golden retriever, baying up to what should have been the moon, but was in reality a spinning, frenetic green gemstone that was
216

 sucking us into a whirling vortex of wind! Strangely, Charlie sounded happy about it.
AGAIN, FOR US IT WAS AS IT HAD BEEN FOR BRIAN, plunging down the Wildcat Mountain- then, he had been in free flight downwards, seemingly doomed. And now, here I was, riding in my truck with my parents, who were the same age as me, and my three younger brothers, also all the same age. AND, we were all being sucked upwards into a tornado generated by a spinning gemstone from another planet. You really can’t make this stuff up!
It was fast, too- before we had time to really get scared, we were gently deposited from the calm center of a whirling maelstrom of wind onto a peaceful, small town roadside. I glimpsed a flash of deep green, retreating skywards with the winds, heading northwards. Charlie yipped, it sounded like a farewell, probably to Ezzie, who had just left us - where? And where was she off to, in such a hurry anyway?
I looked ahead, to read a wooden sign- Ochsner Park and Zoo it said. We were in Baraboo, Wisconsin, right on highway 33, minutes away from Wonewoc- but why had Ezzie transported us here so quickly- and where was she going so fast as well?
I shrugged, and said to my family, my parents on the front seat, and my brothers in the truck bed, “I get it- we are supposed to assume our affinities- we must be needed. My little brothers all looked confused, and I understood- heck, they’d only been dead for a short time, what did they know about the Afterlife?
Although my natural big-brotherly instinct was to be like eldest brother Moe of the Stooges: to slap them each multiple times, raise their chins up with my hand, and then
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
217

 JESS THORNTON
knock them on the top of the head, before poking them in the eyes- but, I restrained myself.
“Well, knuckleheads, once you are in the afterlife, you have certain animal affinities. What this means, chowder- heads, is that you will know that certain animals can be entered into, and controlled by you, in a kind of symbiotic relationship. But, so far as I have seen, each afterlife person can only control one type of animal- for me, it turned out to be cats. Dad had an affinity for wolves, and Mom, believe it or not, can become a bear.
Jimmy was looking at Danny with wide eyes, as if to say “Whoa- Wade has lost his marbles!” Danny rolled his eyes as well, and Ronny was circling his ears with his hands, in the classic “crazy” motion. Then Jimmy said, under his breath- “Whoo woo woo woo woo woo!”, in classic Curly Howard fashion.
If they wanted to get my goat, as they had when they were young, they were disappointed. I got out of the truck, and beckoned to all of them to follow me. Charlie leaped out, and we led the way- to the Zoo. At least he, and my parents, understood that it was crucial for us to find our affinities, and take control.
I walked along with my parents, Henry and Martha, three young people just out to see the zoo. Behind us, four men of about the same age capered along like nut cases- well, until my mother turned around and glared at them, just as she had when they were toddlers. They slunk along quietly after that, heads looking at the ground, until we all came to the many cages, or habitats.
IT WAS A WONDERFUL, PERFECTLY CLEAN, AND ORDERLY little zoo. No one but us was around, since it was a week day, and people in small towns all go to work in the day. (In big
218

 cities, with endless public assistance, work has unfortunately become “optional” for all too many). But not here in small town Americana.
I saw a cage with a Lynx, which is a kind of wildcat, and striped like a tiger- I had found my affinity. A little further on, we passed a wolf in one habitat, and a black bear in another. My mother and father looked at me in acknowl- edgment, and smiled. They had also found their “alter egos.”
My little brothers still were clueless, and I waved them over. “You need to closely examine each animal you see here. You will undoubtedly have an affinity towards one type, which will be based on your personality in life- if you can sense which animals you have this affinity with, you can control and live within them.”
Strangely enough for me, my little brothers actually appeared to listen, something they rarely did when we were all alive! I think my parents’ occasional severe looks directed towards them did the trick...
We were passing by the Capuchin monkeys, when Danny and Jimmy looked towards one another with wide eyes. ‘Oh, not that,’ I thought to myself, but such was the case- my youngest two brothers had affinities for monkeys! And, as I thought it through, I realized it should have come as no surprise.
The problem was, these little monkeys were clever and fast, but they were tiny, only 3-9 pounds in size. How in the world could they help? Why, oh why were there not some gorillas in this zoo, or at least an orangutang, with some size and real power? But, there was not.
Only brother Ron was left. ‘Don’t let it be a prairie dog,’ I was thinking as we walked by their exhibit, and thankfully it was not. But, at the next display, Ron stopped dead, trans- fixed by the animal within. ‘Oh NO,’ I thought, but it was all
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
219

 JESS THORNTON
too true- my 3rd youngest brother’s affinity was - a Nubian Goat.
IT WAS NOT THAT MUCH LATER WHEN AN OLD FORD TRUCK was heading north out of the Baraboo Zoo. I had appropri- ated a covered trailer there on the grounds, one that looked as if it was used to transport large animals about the zoo.
It had a faded logo from the Ringling Brothers Barnum and Bailey Circus on the side panels, and rolled nicely behind the Ford as we left town. Most don’t know that Baraboo is also the home of that venerable old circus, but everyone around there did, and would not be surprised to see such a trailer on the road.
I had hooked up the trailer after overseeing my family members “transformations” into their respective affinities. I had again sat my parents together on what looked to be a seldom used park bench, and then opened their cages to let loose a big black bear and then a huge grey wolf. They walked on either side of me, their bright animal eyes gleaming with a strangely human intelligence, back to where I had left my three brothers.
“My God!” Ronny breathed, drawing back in fear from his parents in their animal forms. Danny and Jimmy literally ran away in panic, although I had explained to them all what was about to happen. My wolf-father leaped with a fearsome growl, cutting them off and baring his teeth to herd them back. They scurried back to me, looking down at their feet in fear.
“Now, you guys, these two are just mom and dad! So follow me, and I’ll show you all how to change as well.” I led the way to the monkey cage, and before long the bear, the wolf, and me were being escorted by two small, chattering monkeys that jumped and chittered in monkey talk. In truth,
220

 to me these little Capuchin monkey brothers looked and acted much as my two youngest brothers always had!
We all stopped at the goat cage, and before long a Nubian goat was walking along with us all, voicing its strange cry as it went. I shrugged, not knowing it such an affinity would help us, but I already had thought that my little monkey brothers would come in incredibly handy. It meant that I could take on my own powerful affinity, and not have to remain human for out journey north.
Emerging from my own cage as a sleek lynx, not a tiger of course, but still a large and feral cat of great quickness and power. My cage was closed behind me by my little monkey allies, confirming my hopes that their little hands could do much that human hands could. Charlie walked by my side, but even my faithful companion seemed to be nervous to be friendly with such a huge cat!
We needed to head north, back towards my old Afterlife home, I knew that. Whether the thought arose in my head from Ezzie’s magic, from the supernatural entities upholding the Afterlife, or from my own intuition I didn’t know- but know it I did. We were needed badly!
MY PARENTS GOT INTO THE TRAILER, WHILE RON THE Nubian goat jumped into the truck bed, his pendulous ears flopping. Even though these two predators were his parents, his goat sensibilities were frightened of being locked in with them, and I could hardly blame him. My father was literally the embodiment of the great wolf in Little Red Riding Hood, and my mother was a big, fearsome looking black bear standing 6 feet tall, and weighing about 500 pounds. Ron just felt better, alone in the truck bed. Charlie jumped in to keep him company, since it was going to be pretty crowded in the truck cab.
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
221

 JESS THORNTON
After the little monkey hands of my brothers had shut the trailer door, the two little guys jumped into the cab, grinning and smiling at one another, as I supervised them. I leaped in through the open passenger side window, and curled up on the seat. Little Jimmy monkey boy turned the key deftly in the ignition, and Danny grasped the steering wheel in his tiny little furred arms. I put my paw on the gas pedal, and then my other on the clutch, as Jim-monkey leaped over and pushed against the gear shift to put the truck into gear.
We were definitely the most amazing circus act ever, but more importantly- we were moving down the road.
222

 CHAPTER 41
CRYSTAL GREEN PERSUASION
 When I had first scooped up Ezzie, that day that seemed so long ago now, as she fell from the Trucker from Hell’s misshapen hand, little would I have thought that she would become a friend, indeed a savior of my family. But such are the happenstances of fate- this otherworldly gemstone had become a reliable friend in an increasingly hard-to-navigate world, a world of unimaginable oppositions and enemies.
She was flying, helter-skelter, as fast as her otherworldly speed could achieve, to save the family of Wade Hawkesworth, now in the Afterlife, but very much concerned with his family’s welfare. Ezzie had set up the rest of the family, as best as she was able, by dropping them off at the Baraboo Zoo- but now, she needed to act immediately, to save those in the plunging car from falling to their death, or being otherwise destroyed by the giant that had been put in their way; another barrier to their returning across the Afterlife barrier.
For, once Wade Hawkesworth had left the Afterlife, making it somehow across all the walls that had been set up
223

 JESS THORNTON
to keep him in place; well, literally- all Hell had been set loose! People were not supposed to leave, to escape the boundaries of the afterlife. It just was not done.
But Wade had done it; although without his capture of the magical Emerald from another world, Ezmerelda- who had been carelessly lost by a denizen of Hell that was supposed to protect the barriers about the afterlife- he could never have achieved it.
But he had. Hell’s Bells- they were literally ringing. The Afterlife boundaries were in jeopardy- so many things had been upset...
EZMERELDA, WHO COULD HAVE CARED LESS ABOUT THE standards of various boundaries on Earth, sped away north- wards- she knew that my family was in grave peril! As a mineral being from a mineral world, she had no notion of heaven or hell- but she did know that she had been held in a kind of serfdom by the Hell Trucker, and she knew that what she had seen since then was far preferable to that enslave- ment. Humanity had become to her a beacon of survival- and, more than that, she had found a love within herself for animals- like Charlie.
She had come to realize that life, all of life, be it mineral, or animal, was precious beyond belief. And Ezzie, fist-sized little emerald that she was from another planet, was here to protect and nourish life- because life itself was the most valu- able thing on not only Earth, but on every world. And she was determined to protect it.
AS BRIAN’S CAR FELL RAPIDLY DOWNWARDS THROUGH space, he was fixated completely on firing round after .45
 224

 round into the body of the giant that had thrown them upwards. The sheer size of the creature made anything he could do seem ineffective, but he was not one to go down without fighting.
All twelve of his rounds had been absorbed by the giant monster, and despite the shattered front tooth and other rounds that had struck home, the creature was still standing, laughing as they plunged towards the ground. Rage at being so helpless consumed Brian, as they dropped towards their death.
But at that moment, a soft green light appeared beneath their vehicle. It was like an small emerald cushion, that gradu- ally softened their descent- making what was a precipitous drop, a downwards plunge towards death, into a soft, escala- tor-type of ride, gently downwards to a soft rest below ...
The giant looked at this in disbelief, and ran forward with huge fists raised to hammer the vehicle he had thrown aloft into pieces. The very earth thundered beneath his huge feet as he ran, and Brian and his wife and mother-in-law quaked in fear at the inevitable destruction that was headed towards them.
WE HAD BEEN DRIVING ALONG FOR A GOOD HOUR OR SO, our amazing circus act, where DanMonkey steered the truck, his tiny arms working as hard as they could, as JimMonkey assisted, pushing on the wheel while his brother pulled. Monkeys don’t sweat, but if they did the cab would have been a swimming pool for me curled there on the floor. They were working so hard as the little creatures they were that I knew they couldn’t keep it up much longer!
Then I heard the siren- a police car was directly behind us on the little highway, lights flashing. I pulled my paw off of
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
 225

 JESS THORNTON
the gas, and we coasted to a slow stop. I knew we hadn’t been speeding.
The cop, a big-bellied variety with a self-important smirk on his face slowly walked up to the driver’s side door, clip- board in his hand. “Get out of this ridiculous, ancient vehicle now!” he said. “You been weavin’ all around the road, and—” He looked inside, and saw only a tiny little Capuchin monkey looking back. DanMonkey grinned at him as only an impish monkey can, and then JimMonkey jumped up beside him- but, he stood up on his hands, backwards, his little monkey butt aimed at the policeman’s face!
Many cops would have laughed- I believe that would have been my response, and that of most policemen as well. This guy was a jerk however; when faced with something he did not understand, his reaction was- violence.
He pulled his sidearm, and aimed it at the little monkey butt before him. I saw him tighten his trigger finger from where I lay on the floorboards- and I leaped.
As I jumped, the fastest feline in existence, I was ready to slash his face to ribbons with my razor sharp claws- but I stopped myself short. I just knocked his pistol aside with my paw, where it clattered to the floorboards.
I gazed at him with my yellow-green, lambent eyes, and then opened my large mouth, exposing my razor sharp teeth. I screamed, as only a large cat can.
He started to as well, but it stuck in his flabby throat. With a sudden gasp, he fell backwards in a faint, curled up on the grassy roadside, almost as if he had fallen asleep reading his boring clipboard of tickets.
We drove away, laboriously going through our ignition by monkey, gas by lynx, gear shift by monkey, clutch by lynx routine until once again we were on our way. I knew we were getting close!
•••
226

 IN THE REAR VIEW MIRROR OF OUR “RIDICULOUS ANCIENT vehicle”, I watched with sharp lynx eyes the still rotating lights of the police car as we sped away, the flabby body lying by the roadside, and my cavorting monkey brothers laughing and chattering in monkey talk as we went. I was glad that I had been merciful. But I knew that, if it were ever necessary, I would not be.
It was starting to get dark, and I was getting nervous about my living family. Would we be in time to save them from whatever was against them, as they strove to cross the border of the Afterlife?
IF EVER A ONE-FRONT-TOOTH-MISSING SMILE LOOKED triumphant, it was as we were ascending Wildcat Mountain. For there it was that I saw the grinning face of a huge giant, about half the height of the mountain itself, grinning like a monstrous creature from hell!
He was looking upwards with an evil grin, his small, piggish eyes glowing red. His huge, black-nailed fist was raised, as if in triumph. A small vehicle was above him upon which his eyes were glaring; a tumbling SUV that looked familiar... it was Brian’s car, and it was the very one also carrying Marie, my daughter Nel, and little Gus- the only living ones left of the entire Hawkesworth clan!
JimMonkey and DanMonkey began chittering in agita- tion, and I heard the strange “Meh, Meh,” of Ron as his goat- self from the bed of the truck. A screaming roar emitted from my own lynx-throat, but all that I really registered was pushing my paw as hard as I could on the gas pedal of the truck.
With a huge, unaccustomed roar, the old ‘Mileage Maker’ engine roared into overtime, screaming up the grade. I had rebuilt the engine, shortly before I died, and I was so glad that I
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
227

 JESS THORNTON
had- although not a fast engine on the flat, these old truck engines, and especially their heavy-duty transmissions, were screamingly fast on an ascent, especially in low gear. Charlie was barking agitatedly, probably because he was smarter than, and so knew of the imminent danger better than, my little brothers.
Those same monkey brothers were chittering in excite- ment as they steered us uphill, but I thought that we were too late- the car would crash before we could do anything. And really, what could we do to stop the descent of that car after being hurled so high into the sky? Cats don’t cry, but for once, I think a lynx cat did...
THERE WAS A GREEN GLOW, JUST ABOVE THE MONSTER’S head. A tiny, faceted gemstone hovered there, and the greenish light floated just beneath the plunging vehicle. It almost fell lower, when the green light grew brighter- and the SUV stayed just above the giant’s grasp.
If ever frustration was embodied, it was in the contor- tions of that giant. He leaped, he jumped, and grabbed as high as he could- he could not reach up to that car he sought to destroy. Coming back to earth from that jump- WHUMP!- when he landed his sheer weight seemed to shake the very earth- the mountain itself.
But even as we sped upwards, intent on attack and support, the bright green, sorcerous light that shone out, supporting the vehicle that meant so much to me, seemed to be dimming... a strange, red light shone from the piggish eyes of the giant- a light that seemed to be weakening the power of the green emerald.
The tiny gemstone, that emerald from afar- Ezmerelda- was fighting a losing fight. So small was she, fighting all the
 228

 powers of the Afterlife, that were now in the form of a hellish giant- she was doing all that she could. But it was apparent she was reaching the limits of her endurance. Her green radi- ance dimmed, as the red beam from the giant’s eyes enveloped her.
We were almost even now with the giant’s feet. He was totally unaware of our tiny truck and trailer, being focused entirely on Ezmerelda, and on the SUV he wanted to destroy, floating just above his grasp. I lifted my paw from the gas, and snarled at JimMonkey, who set the gearshift into 1st gear, effectively stopping the truck. DanMonkey killed the igni- tion, and I pointed with my paw back to the trailer, whence they scurried hastily like the little monkeys that they were, chittering and chattering in excitement as they went. I heard them in back, opening the trailer.
I WAS ALREADY OUT THE WINDOW, LEAPING AS ONLY A LYNX can leap. From out of my incredibly keen cat eyes I saw the light supporting the SUV turn from green to yellow, as the car tilted and started- slipping downwards. The giant, his slobbering lips curling in triumph, reached upwards with his huge hands to crush the vehicle he had meant originally to destroy with a rapid, satisfying fall from the heights into which he had hurled it...
I threw my Lynx self at the giant foot before me! No shoes were on that huge foot, and my claws and teeth tore the pale white flesh into ribbons in an instant. The titanic scream that resounded could only have come from a gigantic throat. With feline strength and determination, I then began to climb those giant legs, digging my razor claws in each step of the way. Charlie fell in beside me, and I never knew that
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
 229

 JESS THORNTON
such a normally gentle, wonderful pet could also be such a vicious fighting machine.
A roar of pain from a huge throat, and in my cat-heart I felt exultation in the sound, knowing that I had caused it to my giant enemy. I let out my cat scream in response, and continued climbing. That is when I felt the closing of huge, powerful fingers around my body, and I felt myself lifted skywards. The giant was holding me about my middle, raising me up to eye level, right next to his one-toothed, no longer grinning countenance.
I looked upwards, and saw that the SUV holding my family was still high above, but slipping lower. I didn’t know just how, but I knew that this monster, this giant from- well, probably HELL itself, needed to be defeated.
More immediately, I didn’t know how I would survive the next few moments!
DURING THIS BRIEF DIVERSION, SEVERAL THINGS HAD happened. The giant closed his huge fist around my taut lynx body, squeezing the air gradually from my lungs. I tensed my torso, I scratched, I bit- I slashed those huge fingers as if they were so many prey animals all about me.
The giant screamed in pain and frustration, and took his attention away from the falling vehicle that held my family, tottering on an angle, ready to plunge them to their deaths. The red beams from the giant’s eyes had ceased, so distracted was he-
Then, his attention really wandered as he felt the full impact of both a large gray wolf, and a huge black bear doing to his feet and legs exactly what I was doing to his hand! Turning away from the falling car and the tiny gemstone
 230

 supporting it, he started stamping his colossal feet, trying to rid himself of the painful creatures savaging him so.
And Ezzie, valiant Ezzie, who had been upholding my family, regained much of her power, freed as she was from the sorcerous power in the crimson, evil light radiating from the giant’s eyes. She straightened the SUV from its precarious angel, and then started emitting a huge, rosy fog- a mist really- that billowed out of her in clouds. She blazed in triumphant emerald green, spinning as she did when happy, and the rose-colored mist just kept coming, and coming...
I couldn’t breathe, clasped as I was in the huge fingers, but still I slashed and bit. I saw the rose mist, and wondered at it- perhaps I was leaving the Afterlife, my lungs crushed of life...would I go to cat heaven, or human, I wondered dully...
THE GIANT DROPPED ME, AND I FELL. GASPING DOWN A deep, deep breath of air, I reflected that I knew I’d land on my feet as cats always do- it was just that I knew that such a long fall would still kill me. And, although I was already dead technically, I was definitely not yet ready to leave this After- life, with most of my family all around me as various animals. Who would- it was a heck of a lot of fun, at least much of the time.
And as I fell, I looked one last time over at my living family, who were also falling in their car to their deaths- but to my surprise, I saw they were instead- floating. Floating on a rosy blanket of mist; slowly sinking through billowing waves that glided them downwards in a kind of misty liquid, gently and pleasantly. I heard little Gus laugh delightedly, as he clapped his tiny hands.
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
 231

 JESS THORNTON
LOOKING DOWN- THERE WERE MOM AND DAD, LEAPING UP and biting savagely on the monster’s bare legs, ripping bloody stripes down them. Even little DannyMonkey and Jimmy- Monkey were busy biting and scratching with their tiny little bodies, doing what they could to hurt the giant. And then, with relief, I saw that my living family was safe, on the ground, the mist dissipating. I didn’t know what Ezzie was up to now, but she had my eternal gratitude for having saved them- I prepared to die happy, knowing that my living family was safe.
An avian scream sounded by me, and I felt myself supported by two large sets of claws, grasping me firmly yet gently about my torso. A huge eagle was above me, flapping his white-tipped wings powerfully, slowing my descent. Finally, he dropped me, and I went down the last ten feet or so to land, as I knew I would, right on my feet! I didn’t pause, but threw myself at the giant along with my Afterlife family .
The eagle, without pause, flew upwards, right at the face of the giant! The giant screamed as the eagle clawed at his eyes, gouging his face with long, deep scratches gouged deep with razor sharp talons. From the hellish sounds coming from the huge creature’s throat, I knew that our combined effort was having the desired effect- But how long could we keep this up- this colossal opponent, once we were forced to let up for an instant-would tear us all, one by one, into pieces.
I heard a strange noise, as if of huge boulders shifting, as if an earthquake was erupting- but that was absurd. Never in the northern midwest, especially in the primeval landscape of the driftless region, would such a thing occur.
BUT THEN, I SAW THAT EZZIE HAD NOT REMAINED IDLE. Somehow, she had recovered enough sorcerous powers during
232

 our attack on the giant, after having made the mist, to open a huge hole in the earth!
IT WAS DIRECTLY BEHIND THE GIANT, AND AS HE BACKED up, he was heading right towards it. An opening yawned in the ground, leading downwards as far as even my keen, lynx eyesight could reach. Red, blazing lights lit the depths of that chasm, and I could faintly hear the sounds of agonized screams from far below, along with the rattling of chains and myriad groans of agony .
Bands of bright emerald spanned the cut in the earth, holding the mouth of the chasm wide. Ezzie spun above, faster than I’d ever seen her. I believe she was literally holding open the yawning gates of Hell.
AT THE VERY LAST, THE GIANT TOOK HIS BLEEDING HANDS away from his face, which dripped with blood, and roared in anger and frustration. He batted away the eagle that bedev- iled him, knocking him from the sky, and knotted his huge fists together in total rage. He leaned back, to gain leverage to power his fists downwards, to finally crush the wolf, lynx cat, dog, and bear that tortured him. His supreme advantages of weight and power would be enough, and then he would smash that SUV, the eagle, and anything else that had opposed him. He snarled wildly in his anger, but some evil intuition warned him, and he looked behind himself momen- tarily.That is when he saw the opened Hellish gates. His smallish red eyes went wide, and he quickly tried to regroup- to lean forward, to regain his balance, and then crush his
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
  233

 JESS THORNTON
tormentors once and for all... And that is when Ron, the Nubian goat, came into his shining moment!
LIKE A SMALL PUNTER, WHO WINS THE GAME BY A POINT just before the buzzer, the unassuming Nubian goat, floppy ears dangling, threw his 80 pounds or so into a huge leap, almost to the giant’s knee! That slight nudge was all that it took- with a look of horror on his giant face, the creature fell backwards- directly into the chasm that our little sorcerous emerald friend from another world, Ezmerelda, was labori- ously holding open.
Large as he was, it seemed he fell for a long, long time. He screamed as he fell, as if he knew that going home without accomplishing his task was not going to go well... After a loud, yet muffled Thump from deep in the earth, there was another scream, much shriller, and then a deep moaning from a giant throat. Then- a strangled cry, a yell of “NO!”, followed by awful panting, and then- nothing.
Ezzie let the earth close over the chasm, and lay, more yellow than green, motionless on the ground. The silence was a huge relief- but what about Ezmerelda?
 234

 CHAPTER 42 SAVING EZMERELDA
 The eagle was the first to reach her. He landed by her side, shielding her protectively with his large wings. The rest of us ran up as well, the two little monkeys, the black bear, the gray wolf, and the magnificent lynx tiger. (A little self-enhancement there, I know). Finally, even Ron the Nubian Goat arrived, preening as a hero, a veritable giant killer! Such a glory hound, especially for a goat...
As I looked down at little Ezzie, I thought of everything that she had done for us all. One little mineral being from another planet, saving us over and over, being used as a tool by those from hell to attack those of us in the Afterlife... And time after time, she had chosen to side with us, frail humans- dead or not dead- just out of a sense of loyalty and virtue.
I looked up at the eagle that had saved me, and he returned my gaze with a gap-toothed, or gap-beaked rather, eagle grin. I swear, he even had freckles on his face- on either side of his beak- it was my old childhood friend, Peter Hughes!!
I could tell he knew who I was too, why heck, that is why he was here. You gain a lot of intuition, the longer you remain
235

 JESS THORNTON
in the Afterlife. I roared in appreciation of his friendship, in my high, pealing scream that would terrify most people, and he let out his eagle cry in response. It was awesome!
And then bear-mother roared, father roared in his wolf voice, little DanMonkey and JimMonkey chittered, and Ron the goat went “Meh.” Very anti-climactic, but luckily Ezzie saved us yet again, this time from awkwardness, by rising up, seemingly somewhat revived. Charlie, who had been licking her there on the ground, yipped excitedly .
BRIAN AND MY WIFE, DAUGHTER, AND GRANDSON HAD ALL sped off, to resume their lives idyllically in my, and now their, farmhouse north of La Crosse, Wisconsin. They had escaped Chicago! I learned all of this from Ezmerelda, who along with all of her other magical powers, also seems to have telepathy with animals down pretty well.
It took a few days, there in the Wildcat Mountain state park, but we stayed, figuring things out. Ezzie was weak for days, but she gradually seemed to be gaining strength. The sorcerous, evil red eyes of the giant had almost destroyed her, along with the severe overtaxation of her powers. Time helped, recuperation comes with rest and time, but we also found some stones- meteorites actually, that had landed thereabouts, probably in ancient times. They had a faint green cast to them- but it was not simply from moss as we first thought.
As Ez lay on the ground, glimmering faintly, we tried various things to help. We kept her warm, we huddled around her and cuddled up around her. All of these things were bene- ficial, especially when my black bear mother held her tiny green faceted body in her huge black-furred arms, crooning to her in song- Ezzie loved that, and gradually seemed to gain strength as my mamma crooned-
236

 •••
BUT THE GREEN STONES- THEY WERE MAGIC.
IT WAS PETER THAT THOUGHT OF IT. I HAD DROPPED A small green stone, put it next to Ezmerelda, a tiny pebble really, from a cache that we had found deep in the woods, high on a bluff side. It was pretty, it was green, like her- I thought it would comfort her. Ezzie glowed briefly, a quick sheen, and then faded. I went to look for more of the stones.
Later that day, Peter flew up, dropping one greenish, fist- sized stone next to Ezmerelda- the results were instanta- neous. She glowed greener by the second! (His intuition in the Afterlife had become amazing over his many years in it)- I ran in my lynx body, really fast of course, and although it’s hard to carry a rock with no hands, I managed- using my mouth.
I DROPPED IT NEXT TO HER, AND EZZIE JUST BLOOMED. After that, it was only a matter of time. A huge black bear came, bearing a large boulder of a green cast, dropping it next to Ez. Then, a wolf with a stone in his mouth did the same.
And so it went: tiny monkey paws brought greenish stones, and even a Nubian goat brought a stone, held clumsily in its mouth, and dropped it. Ez gradually got greener, but it was not enough- these stones, probably the anti-kryptonite from her home world, were just not enough. We needed more- she had done so much for us, we needed to now save her. Except for her brief periods of greenish revival, she seemed to be steadily weakening.
•••
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
237

 JESS THORNTON
CHARLIE AND I WENT UP THE BLUFF SIDE, BACK TO THE cache I had stumbled upon in the woods. It was a cave, really- a cave sided with moss covered stones, like many small caves on bluffs in the driftless region. But as I padded within on my clawed feet, dog beside me, my keen feline eyes saw deeper into the gloom than any other had before.
There, far in the back of the cavern, was a chest! Not a chest as you would run across on earth at Ikea or at a yard sale- this thing looked like the pirate’s chest that Flash Gordon had found on the planet Mingo. Really, it was that weird looking; if you know what “steam punk” is, it was like that, only way more strange. As a lynx, I can’t describe it, of course, but even as a human I could do no better. Suffer.
But- it was a chest. Charlie and I went back to it, and I nosed the lid up. A bright blaze of green light almost blinded me! A strange lantern was within that chest, and it blazed with an emerald light. How it got there, I don’t know, but I suspect it was from Ezzie’s world; in fact I’m sure that it was. Her folk were far wiser than we- somehow they knew to send it here, to this time and place, long long ago. After all, she was the last of their line, and what would not all of us do for our sons and daughters, however far away they are from us in time and space?
I TOOK THAT LANTERN, AND CARRIED IT IN MY MOUTH back down the mountain, back to where Ezmerelda lay dying. Although it was dusk, a lambent circle of bright green guided our way, as we walked back down the steep, rocky hillside.
We came into the little clearing where Ezzie, our friend and savior was lying, pale and yellowish- obviously there was not much left of her vitality. Her color was pasty, and she appeared a almost a ghostly, pale white. Charlie ran in first to
 238

 lick her, something she always enjoyed. His form obscured me from her sight, a lynx with a magical lantern from another world in his mouth...
I honestly believe that Ezzie had been resigned to die. But, when Charlie, my beautiful, dead, afterlife golden moved aside at last, that wonderful little gemstone glowed like the Emerald City in the Wizard of OZ!
SHE DIDN’T REALLY HAVE A FACE AT ALL- ONLY FACETS- BUT they positively looked as though they were smiling. Radiant, literally! I padded over to her tiny emerald self lying there on the ground, and held the lantern so that its green light bathed her.
She glowed. It was as if Spring had come to Wisconsin- that nearly colorless little stone just bloomed, turning greener and greener and brighter and brighter! Ez was saved, she was rejuvenated- heck, she was a new sorcerous gemstone. It was as if we had plugged her into a battery charger, and now she was...back. In spades...
I think the other rocks in that cave; they had just picked up small portions of the power of Ezzie’s mineral world, just by being in such close proximity for so long with that other- worldly lantern in a chest- they helped her, but it was not enough. But now- it was as if we had not only brought her back from near dead, but this lantern had made her —-Super Ezzie!
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
 239

 CHAPTER 43 AFTERLIFE ADVENTURES
 After we saved Ezmerelda, I knew that now everything was OK, copacetic if you want to use that strange terminology of the 20th century that no one, literally no one knows the origin of! Or, to use a similar term, we could just say “groovy”. Same difference, really .
I knew that I wanted to check on Marie, Brian, Nel and baby Gus. I wanted to make sure they got settled in “God’s Country”, which is of course La Crosse County, Wisconsin, in the heart of the Driftless Region. I was so glad that they were headed to a place far from decadence, democrats, and diabolism.
THE OLD FORD CARRIED US NORTHWARDS, AND WE MADE IT to my old farmhouse with no further incidents. Driving along with my little monkey brothers, bear and wolf parents, and Ron the goat was no problem, really, as long as we had that trailer. Ezzie, resplendently green and totally recovered, just dozed in the cab. She was recovered, but even the stress of dramatic recovery takes its toll...Charlie occasionally had to
240

 go into the truck bed on my orders and nip Ron on the butt for excessive noise as we drove, but other than that, things were, as I said before- copacetic. Groovy. Whatever. Goats are kind of a pain, even when they have slain a giant from hell.
WHEN WE GOT TO MY OLD FARMHOUSE, EVERYTHING HAD subtly- changed. My neighbors, who before had also been dead and in the Afterlife like me, were gone- presumably into another version of the Afterlife. This version was back to the real world of the living, and all of the neighbors were new, and younger.
As I pulled up in front of my old house, my monkey brothers steered us over to the side of the road, and I lifted my paw off of the gas pedal. We all scurried out the doors of the truck, and even Ron the goat and Charlie jumped out of the truck bed. Monkey brothers opened the trailer doors, letting out my Bear Mom and Wolf Dad. Peter the eagle soared overhead.
All of us went over to the picture window by the living room, our animal heads peering through the glass. There we were, a lynx, black bear, eagle, wolf, two tiny monkeys, a Nubian goat, and a golden retriever smiling widely- all gazing into a rural farmhouse living room.
It was just as it had been when they lived in Chicago, but now their idyllic domestic scene was completely appropriate. They were in a totally rural, safe area- a small coulee in the driftless region. No gangbangers were around, cruising the streets looking for prey- it was small town, rural Americana writ large.
Lots of space for everyone. People were not jammed into tiny spaces, or into small apartments that had no property whatsoever. Everyone here had several acres, and were inde-
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
241

 JESS THORNTON
pendent- insulated from their neighbors; unlike in Chicago, where all had to live cheek-by-jowl.
MARIE WAS JUST TAKING A LARGE BEEF ROAST FROM THE oven as we watched, and I saw my father lick his wolf-jowls hungrily. It was a scene directly out of Norman Rockwell. My mother’s black bear arm slapped my dad, and she shook her fearsome head. They would feed later.
I also felt the salivary drool commence working on my own feline senses, but contained myself. The scene before us was straight out of Charles Dickens- a wonderful domestic portrait, a place where a family does exactly what they should be doing- Idyllic, really .
This was exactly what I had expected, and hoped for- my living family was saved.
I ACTUALLY FELT RATHER WONDERFUL. ALTHOUGH I WAS dead, technically, I felt great! I had my parents, in their vintage 35 year old versions by my side, albeit in fearsome animal form. (All the better)!
My wife, daughter, and her husband were all doing well, and living in a non-urban nightmare environment dominated by horrid politics- A-OK there! AND, although I was dead, I had not only my parents along with me, (as huge animals), but I had my three youngest brothers as small, and kind of annoying creatures. Life, or really- Afterlife, was good.
WITH MY LAMBENT, BRIGHT LYNX EYES I LOOKED OVER AT my parents. My wolf father gazed over at me, as did my mother with her dark brown bear eyes. Animals can commu- nicate without words, and do so in a manner far superior to
242

 human language. Raw emotion and instinct is visceral, and communicates directly, without obfuscation. Without discus- sion, we all knew instantly what to do- ala Captain Kirk!
TO BOLDLY GO WHERE NO MAN HAS GONE BEFORE!
DRIVE NORTH, FURTHER FROM CIVILIZATION AND corruption. Have adventures! In animal form, the senses are far more acute than in humans, and we were all currently in our natural forms, with our senses keen and vital.
I drove up to Perrot Park, a State of Wisconsin park in Trempealeau County, just north of La Crosse.
Charlie leapt out of the truck first, barking happily. The sun-dappled trees were all about us- a fit setting; as a lynx, black bear, and wolf entered the scene, padding out of the trailer that trailed behind the old truck.
All of us stood side by side, gazing out at the Mississippi river that met our eyes. My dad started to howl, but my mother-bear shushed him. A train ran by, its hooting whistle sounding, and a barge simultaneously came the other way, with a huge booming of its horn. It was as if we all stood upon the banks in the 1800’s- wild space all about us.
I LOOKED DOWN AT MY NECK, WHERE EZZIE RESTED IN A collar we had affixed. I would have never worn a collar, but to keep Ezmerelda close by us, to give her a “home base”- it was an honor. My little Monkey brothers had tied it about my neck, and I had made a point of sliding my sharp claws out as they were doing it, to let them know as I let them do it that I was still in charge. My claws are really sharp, and long- little
HALF WAY TO HEAVEN
 243

 JESS THORNTON
brothers, monkeys or otherwise, were always are looking to upset the natural pecking order...
Not that Ez stayed long in that collar setting! As we all headed northwards on the trails of the park, heading into wildness, she left my collar and spun before us, like a shining green light that said GO!
And go we did.
INTO AFTERLIFE ADVENTURES! DEAD, SURE, BUT WE weren’t ready yet for Heaven- taken before our time, we had lots of roaming that we wanted to do; much of this earth that we wanted to explore and experience.
I don’t really know where it will all lead. I’m just a lynx, surrounded by a bear, a wolf, a pair of monkeys, an eagle, and a Nubian goat. OH, and a supernatural gemstone from another planet.
THINK OF US AS DOROTHY AND HER THREE FRIENDS, heading off to Oz. We aren’t going to any Emerald City, but then we don’t need to- we have a real live Emerald showing us the way. Ezzie is spinning, glowing, and shining- what a come- back. We are following her lead, as she flies ahead of us into the wilderness, Peter the Eagle flying by her side. I really think they have taken a shine to one another, my 9 year old friend and the thousands-of-years-old mineral being! But we’ll see...
ONE DAY AT A TIME- IN THE AFTERLIFE.
 244