The Pearly Gates of Hell

THE PEARLY GATES OF HELL

‘Please, don’t do it.’ Ms Ferngrove’s student had been a pain in the butt, dragging her heels, ever since they landed.

‘Please, don’t do it, Miss,’ the girl repeated. ‘It’s too dangerous. I don’t want to die … let’s go back, Miss.’ She had stopped and was pouting, arms crossed.

'Come along, dear. Watch me. It is NOT difficult.’   Ms Ferngrove took three long strides, hoped for the best, and leapt across the gap.

‘Your legs are longer than mine,’ the girl shouted defiantly. ‘Not doing it, so there.’ She turned to go back the way she had come.

'You stop right there, young lady,' Ms Ferngrove snapped. 'What would your parents think? Now come along, get a move on. Don’t be such a drama queen, and let’s get this done.’

Her student muttered under her breath but did as she was told.

Ms Ferngrove watched the young thing slowly climbing the path, gingerly stepping from stone to stone, each glowing like pearls in the moonlight.

She wanted to go home as well.

The day had started as usual. Ms Ferngrove arrived at the academy and joined other staff members for a brief meeting. She collected the register and joined her students in their classroom. The morning drifted uneventfully into the afternoon. When the bell rang, the class enthusiastically dispersed, apart from the individual standing by the gap in the pathway. Students were usually eager to do this final test. Under her wing, they always passed with flying colours. However, this student was not like her peers. She had moaned, groaned, and sulked when her tutor told her she would be taking her end-of-term test that evening.

‘Did you hear me, Lily? It’s not as difficult as it looks.’ Ms Ferngrove endeavoured to disguise her impatience.

Lily looked down into a dark chasm. Her smooth tresses coiled into tight curls as warm, moist air rose from the depths. Her eyes darted around as if seeking escape.

‘No, Ms Ferngrove. Can’t.’

Lily's coursework included details about this practical task, but nothing prepared her for this. There was no mention of GAPS. She stepped back in horror as something moved in the darkness below. ‘No, no, no, NO.’ There was no mention of MONSTERS.

Hands on hips and adopting a firm but encouraging tone of voice, Ms Ferngrove called, 'It's a short jump. A longer step forward than usual. So easy. Keep your eyes on me, and don't look down.'

There was no response. The student stood like a statue.

'I must not fly off the handle. I must not fly off the handle.' Ms Ferngrove repeated the mantra. ‘I really must not fly off the handle.’

A strong breeze moaned upwards.

‘Why can’t I—'

‘Certainly not.’

‘Can’t you carry me?’

‘You know very well; you must do this unaided.’

Ms Ferngrove sighed. Never, in all her days, there had been a considerable number, had she faced a challenge like this. She hadn't wanted to follow this career path in the first place, but it was expected of first-born daughters. She had done her best as a tutor, and it had been fine until now.

The first-born standing transfixed opposite her was seriously thinking about making an about-turn. She was tempted to defy her mother, father, aunts, and uncles by joining the feminist movement. So many of her friends had claimed their independence and survived the wrath of their families. This was a new age. Grown-ups should move with the times, and Ms Ferngrove was being unreasonable. Who, in their right mind, would put young people in dangerous situations like this? Why had nobody reported her for her lack of attention to health and safety?

Ms Ferngrove was losing patience. At this time, she was usually snug in pyjamas with her nose in a book or communicating with friends on the grapevine.

'I could really do with a cigarette,' she thought. 'Or a drink.'

Both were frowned upon. It was against the law, and she indulged in secret. In her youth, she enjoyed breaking the rules and living life on the wild side. Nowadays, she had to be satisfied with a glass of wine, and a cigarette, as naughty rewards after arduously long teaching days. Forbidden, they tasted better.

Looking at the truculent student, she promised herself double treats when she got home. She thought today's exercise was enough to push anyone over the edge, glancing from the gap to Lily balanced on the edge. She should have let the child go first. The present situation may have been avoided with a prod from behind. However, she recalled a comparable moment, years before, when she actively encouraged a student to attempt a similar activity.

Ms Ferngrove gazed down into the dark hole. Remembering.

The student had fallen into the depths of a chasm, and with great difficulty and endangering her own life, she managed to bring her to safety. But unfortunately, following the hullabaloo created by the student's parents and the authorities, she had no choice but to fly to pastures new and change her identity from Miss Erin Gove. Since then, she had learned to control her impatience with herbal remedies and meditation.

Perhaps it was time to retire, but joining a Knit and Natter group, flitting off to foreign climes, or baking fancy fairy cakes did not float her boat. Instead, she would welcome the opportunity to clip her wings, and imagined sitting in her garden dabbling with watercolours, her pet, Worm, beside her. Yes, retirement would suit her down to the ground.

Ms Ferngrove gave herself a shake. Enough of her flights of fantasy. It was time for tough love.

Angrily tapping her foot, she shouted, ‘Let’s get this done. JUMP. For Pete’s sake, JUMP.’

Lily stepped back, shaking her head before bursting into tears.

A wet, slurpy sound and rumble from below put wings on the youngster's feet. She screamed and leapt across the gap into the arms of her protector.

Ms Ferngrove gently extracted herself from Lily’s iron grip and sighed with relief. ‘There, what a fuss about nothing.’

Lily scowled and blew her nose on her skirt, ignoring her tutor’s disapproval.

Ms Ferngrove pulled a long slender cord from her pocket and looped it around the stone they were standing on.

‘Isn’t this stealing, Ms Ferngrove?’ Lily’s tone of voice was accusatory.

‘Just taking it early, dear.’

‘But it’s not usually done this way, Ms Ferngrove. Is it?’

‘You must be prepared for emergencies in this job.’

Lily raised her eyebrows. ‘I suppose you’d get into trouble if I told Head Tutor.’

Ms Ferngrove shook her head and finished tying knots. Once upon a time, she reflected, students did not question those in authority. Oh dear, how times changed.

'Hold this and PULL.' She thrust the end of the cord into the student’s hands.

They pulled. Nothing happened.

'Jump up and down,' Ms Ferngrove ordered Lily, and as they did so, the stone wobbled and loosened. Ms Ferngrove grabbed the young girl and pulled her to safety as it swung free over the chasm.

The monster reared up. The ground beneath their feet trembled.

Ms Ferngrove tightened her grip on the cord with one hand. With the other, she clutched the youngster. 'Hold on. We don't want to lose it.' The chasm contracted. A gale-force wind released from the depths knocked them both to their knees. The student was babbling incoherently with tears flowing down her cheeks. Ms Ferngrove thought she heard Lily cursing.

The ground shook violently and settled. The monster retreated into the darkness.

Ms Ferngrove shuddered. That had been too close for comfort. It was a sign, she believed, that someone younger should be escorting the students through this task. It was time to hand over the reins to a teacher more in sync with modern youth and their attitudes.

She felt exhausted.

‘Come on.’ She started walking down the path, dragging the object of the exercise.

In forty-five minutes, she would be home. She deliberated between two or three cool glasses of elderberry wine and several herbal cigarettes.

She intended to dust off the watercolour paints and write a resignation letter.

Yes, this episode had done her a favour.

Ms Ferngrove was going to do exactly what she wanted when she wanted. She had done her duty.

Lily, in the meantime, had undergone a transformation. Tears and frowns were replaced with smiles. She skipped beside her tutor, radiating happiness.

'Am I a fully-fledged Tooth Fairy now, Ms Ferngrove? Am I? Ms Ferngrove? Am I? Am I? I am, aren’t I, Ms Ferngrove.’

 The programmer removed his VR headset and sat back. Satisfied.

‘Dad?’ Jemma shouted from her bedroom. ‘Were there any glitches?’ She placed a headset by the computer and ran her fingers through her hair.

‘No, pet,’ he called. ‘It worked perfectly, this time.’

There had been more going on than he realised.

He hadn't created a game in a virtual world.

There are no virtual worlds.