Peter's Punishment

Everything changed on the day that the world was supposed to end. On October 31st, 2023, a comet hurtled through space on a direct path for the United States. Morrigan’s comet was set to impact Iowa, but the fallout would devastate the globe. The damage would wipe out all living creatures through various cataclysmic events. Peter, his parents, and his younger brother were camped in their living room. Everyone, except Peter, watched the comet’s progress from live streaming satellite feeds. Peter utilized his last hours to log into his social media accounts and compose scathing assessments of his most hated classmates. After each masterpiece of vitriol was created, he painstakingly reviewed for flaws of thought or grammatical errors. Once satisfied with each content, he clicked the submit button and waited anxiously for the world’s end. 

The television timer counted the last minutes and the few remaining seconds. Peter’s parents clutched each other with small Ian crying and crouched between them. Peter rolled his eyes as he endured their blatant displays of distress. Although Peter was only twelve, death had never evoked fear for him. He rather enjoyed the idea of the chaos and destruction that was about to occur. His only regret at this moment was that he could observe the comet’s aftermath and not see his classmates’ devastated faces after they read his social media takedowns.

As the loud buzz of destruction emanated from the television screen, Peter closed his eyes and waited for the descent into oblivion. A bright, hot light filled the room, blinding even with closed eyes. Heat spread across Peter’s skin with the sensation as though he had slipped into a piping-hot bath. Shocked by the bizarre assault on his senses, Peter opened his eyes to assess his surroundings. His family sat up in their chairs with wonderment, taking in the warm glow that had filled the house. Colorful, translucent forms stood before his parents and Ian. The figures reached out and touched the faces and hair of the shocked family. 

“What happened?” Peter stretched forward to examine the figures more closely. The figure closest to this mother appeared vaguely familiar. 

It appeared to be an older woman with shoulder-length salt and pepper hair. Peter was thoughtful momentarily and then gasped as memories of his quiet, kind grandmother flooded his brain. 

“Grandma!” The woman drifted closer to Peter, and with surprising force from the transparent figure, he felt a painful tug to his right ear.

He clutched the side of his face and yelped out. “What the heck?” 

Peter’s parents laughed raucously. “What did you do to make Grandma upset?”

He slumped back sullenly and grabbed his phone. He did not know what was happening and why dozens of bizarre-looking figures were floating through their house, but he was determined to record the scene. This otherworldy scene would undoubtedly make a viral video on his social media.

Peter’s mother and father walked through the living room, greeting familiar family members and introducing themselves to ancestors of old who had long been dead.

The family’s celebration was suspended when the doomsday television broadcast resumed. The beautiful blonde reporter appeared on the screen with dark streams of mascara down her cheeks. Her background was filled with similar translucent figures floating just beyond the realm of our reality.

Her ordinarily strong, even voice faltered with emotion as she began to speak to the viewers. “It appears today that people across the world expected the worst. Total destruction as anticipated from Morrigan’s comet did not occur.” The broadcaster stared intently into the camera. “But something else entirely has occurred that cannot be explained.”

Peter huffed in annoyance and stomped off to his room. “A bunch of old dead people decided to come back is what happened.” 

He flopped angrily onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. His parents hadn’t even bothered to check on him and see why he was leaving the bizarre reunion. “Typical.” He muttered angrily. 

Ian’s soft voice broke Peter’s angry silence. “What are you doing, Peter?”

“Oh, go away, you brat!” Peter reached for the hard rubber ball on his nightstand that he used to deter his little brother from entering. He threw the ball with all his pent-up anger and frustration, but there was silence instead of the typical thump and cry of pain.

Puzzled, Peter sat up in the bed and looked at the doorway. Ian was standing with an emaciated cat missing its tail, a snarling black dog with absent patches of fur, and a dark hole where its left eye used to be. The ghastly dog grasped the ball between its decayed teeth and growled in Peter’s direction. 

Ian waltzed into Peter’s room and whispered, “They told me what you did.”

Peter shrank back in his bed, “I don’t know what you are talking about. I never did anything. What are these hideous creatures doing here?” 

The cat prowled through the air, stopping slightly above Peter’s bed, eyes glowing menacingly. Ian shrugged casually, “You know their names. The family’s long-lost four-legged friends. You remember the many hours mother and father spent looking for Rufus and Whiskers. No one could figure out exactly why they disappeared into thin air.” Ian walked closer to the foot of Peter’s twin bed. “But now I know.” 

Coldness washed over Peter as he realized the ghostly forms were the first family pet, Whiskers the cat, and Rufus, the goofy family dog. Peter had always hated those animals. The way the animals begged for attention from his parents. The pair followed little Ian devotedly and avoided Peter whenever possible.

Peter released his anger on the pets with several tactics. He started first by cornering and capturing Rufus when no one was looking. Peter would shave patches of fur off the dog and then prick or slice the skin with assorted sharp instruments. For variety, he would sometimes hold a lighter to the exposed flesh, causing the dog to whine and frantically attempt to escape. Peter had secretly laughed when his parents repeatedly took Rufus to the vet to evaluate his ‘weird’ skin conditions. They were none the wiser of Peter’s handiwork. 

Ian sneered at Peter. “Rufus told me about the day you had him tied up in the backyard for one of your ‘sessions.’ And you brought out the vegetable peeler and a fire poker that you heated on the propane heater in the backyard. Rufus described the pain and fear that caused him to run from your torment.”

Angry tears welled in Ian’s eyes, “Rufus tried to jump the fence to escape, but instead, he dangled by the rope you had tied him up and then strangled to death.” 

Peter often thought of that day over the past couple of years. At first, he had felt a twinge of panic when he saw the dog wriggling and scrabbling up against the flat boards of the fence, struggling to live. But then, Peter felt transfixed, watching as the fight faded from the dog’s body until it moved no move. Peter had stood there dazed until he heard a car passing by. Worried that his parents would see the corpse, he grabbed his wagon, cut Rufus down, and pulled the wagon to the closest woods. To memorialize the day, Peter had taken a sharp stick and dug out Rufus’s left eye. The eye was one of his most prized possessions until the foul odor prompted its disposal in the outdoor garbage bin.

Ian’s crying was gaining momentum and volume. Peter grabbed his little brother by his shoulders and shook him, “Shut up, you little baby! You can’t prove anything!”

A sharp pain sliced through his right forearm. Whiskers was now beside Peter, claws at the ready and hissing with such vigor that her tiny body vibrated. 

Ian reached his thin arms out and shoved Peter with surprising force, “I also know what you did to Whiskers! You boxed her up, took her to an abandoned parking lot, and tied a firecracker to her tail! She did not die instantly but lost her tail and ran so far from fear that she couldn’t find her way home. She eventually starved to death, cold and alone.”

Peter had been furious that the cat had run away. He had hoped to examine her body after death and collect a better momento that would not decay over time. Enraged, Peter raised his fist to strike his sniveling brother and end this ridiculous conversation. 

Ian stopped crying and looked coldly at Peter, “You will never touch me again. No more bullying, no more fighting. If you do, I will let Rufus and Whiskers have their revenge. And I will tell Mother and Father exactly what you did.” 

Peter considered his options momentarily, “Fine, have it your way. We will see how long your dead friends stick around anyway.” 

Smiling at Rufus and Whiskers, Ian walked out of the room. 

“I have a feeling they will be around for a while.”

-----------------  

After a fitful night of sleep, Peter awoke to the sound of his alarm. Undoubtedly, the school would not be happening the day after the world was supposed to end. He cautiously walked to the kitchen, looking for Ian and the angry dead pets. His parents happily chatted with ghostly Grandma and translucent Tiffany, his father’s deceased older sister. They looked at Peter with surprised smiles, “Joining us for breakfast before school?”

Peter frowned at the freakish scene, “School has to be canceled, right?” 

Both parents rolled their eyes at Peter’s silly notion, but his mother replied. “No, Peter, they want everyone to report for work and school so they may be accounted for. Anyone that does not show up, officials will send investigators to their home.” 

There had been quiet rumors before Morrigan’s impact of families considering to ‘end it all’ before the comet’s impact to ensure that death came peacefully. Peter had contemplated different options for killing his family before the comet’s impact, but thankfully, he decided it would be more enjoyable to participate in the world’s end. Frustrated with the idea of returning to school, Peter scarfed down his toast with Grandma’s intense blue eyes, never leaving his face while he was in the kitchen. After a few minutes, Ian, Rufus, and Whiskers entered the hallway to partake in the breakfast. Peter hurriedly excused himself to get ready for the school day.

The bus ride to school was unusual. Peter observed that most of the children on the bus had a dreadful, opaque body lurking nearby. Some forms were human, while the other apparitions were dead pets, including cats, dogs, gerbils, guinea pigs, and even chickens. Peter felt jealously bubbling within as he was the only person without a ghastly companion. As Peter traveled to the back of the bus, the phantom animals snapped, hissed, and growled in his direction. To avoid interacting with the other children, Peter withdrew his treasured sketchbook and began furiously sketching and scribbling out his rage. 

Peter’s sketchbook was the therapist’s idea. His parents dragged him to see the ‘quack’ as he called her, when his third-grade teachers discussed Peter’s antisocial and volatile interactions with his peers. The therapist suggested writing and drawing to cope with undesirable emotions. The pages were well-handled and filled with grotesque imagery. His favorite picture was an inspired piece portraying his fifth-grade teacher, who had given him a D on his math final. The teacher was splayed across the desk with hands and feet dangling from their limbs by thin tendons and jagged lacerations across his neck, with dark blood pooling on the desk and floor.

The sketchbook was gingerly folded and returned to his backpack before exiting the bus. Peter rushed to the cafeteria to meet his sole friend, Matt. The two boys had become fast friends in first grade after Matt left a stink bomb in the girl’s bathroom. Peter dodged through the hallways, avoiding disfigured floating figures allied with happy children. Upon arrival at the allocated hangout location for Matt and himself, Peter peered through the crowd for his friend. With a double take, Peter observed an impossibly clean and grinning Matthew standing next to a frail female figure. 

“Matt?” Peter walked over to his friend and tentatively touched his shoulder. 

Matt smiled broadly at Peter, “Hey, can you believe it? Peter, this is my mother!”

Peter’s mouth gaped as he watched Matt proudly introduce his deceased mother to a small crowd of children. Realizing his presence was superfluous, Peter slunk off to his classroom to begin the day.

Upon arrival to the classroom, Peter recalled his vitriolic social media posts to his classmates. As he entered the room, the eyes of his peers, as well as their lifeless, swiveled and transfixed upon him. 

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Twenty years had passed since the unveiling between the ‘real world’ and the realm of the dead. Peter was now posed on the altar of marriage. He had a beautiful brown-haired woman with a dainty fair neck before him. Science could only offer a feeble explanation for October 31st, 2023. Morrigan’s comet was an entirely white comet composed of ice and various minerals, and what scientists later learned was a highly energized combination of protons and electrons that led to a nuclear-level charge. Upon entering the Earth’s atmosphere, Morrigan’s comet led to a reaction that broke dimensions and created a gateway. 

At the end of Samhain in 2023, the ghosts retreated from the present world. Devastated by the repeated loss of loved ones, a dedicated coven of wise women in Ireland, the original location where the comet was spotted, created the recipe for calling back the ancestors. Any individual held enough electrical charge while channeling in water to call back a ‘desired ancestor.’ As expected, with access to new resources, humans quickly found ways to exploit their returned relatives. People used the all-seeing power of the dead to spy in corporate boardrooms, lurk in experimental labs, and track down long-lost treasures.   

An unforeseen benefit of calling the dead included an unprecedented solve rate for violent crimes. Family members with missing or murdered loved ones called the victim to name the perpetrator or provide missing details that led to convictions. Courtroom proceedings became outlandishly altered as gruesome apparitions testified on their own behalf. As a result, criminals were quickly apprehended, and crime across the globe was at an all-time low. Peter was the perfect example of the Ghost Gateway’s success.   

After the resurrection of Grandma, Peter’s parents discovered the extent of his depraved ways. His macabre sketchbook was confiscated. His computer and cell phone searches were closely monitored. Any minor slip-up, such as when he searched for how to make a large pot of foxglove tea for a family of three, was harshly punished.  

Evidently, Grandpa had skeletons of his own that had increased Grandma’s awareness of wickedness in the family tree. Peter tried calling his grandfather through the Ghost Gateway after he overheard his mother and grandmother talk about the two young women he had brutally murdered on his business travels. Alas, it was determined that a ghost could decline a call if so inclined, and obviously, Peter’s grandfather had no interest in an angry teenage boy as he never materialized.

So, Peter stood with curbed appetites at an altar, attempting to be normal. His inability to act on his most primitive nature had led to a respectable career in forensic pathology. He often comforted himself with the small joy of seeing that first rivulet of blood against pale, cold flesh on his table for autopsy. His willingness to singlehandedly perform autopsies throughout the state, traveling further than any other pathologist, had earned him a generous income and a hard-working reputation. Marriage and, eventually, children were the last step to his assimilation into conventional society. 

The grand church had a pool of charged water at its entrance so ancestors of old could be present for the ceremony. Peter’s mother, although pleased about the upcoming nuptials of her eldest son, would take no chances and called her mother first thing that morning. Peter smiled admiringly at the pale wisp of the woman to be his wife and imagined dark red blood escaping from thin surgical slices to her neck, staining her fair skin and white gown. 

Peter leaned forward to his beautiful wife, “You look radiant today. Your neck looks so fine in that white lace.” 

The young woman smiled demurely at Peter and nodded to Grandma’s translucent figure behind him.

Grandma whispered, clutching Peter's ear, "Make no mistake, Peter, I will happily pull you through the gateway myself if you harm a single hair on her head.  You understand?"

Peter smiled slyly and pulled his wife to him for a kiss, “I do.”