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Shadow Zone

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Stephenson's way

“Stephenson. Michael Stephenson. Is there a Michael Stephenson here?”

Stephenson, initially surprised, looked at the man and lifted his hand.

“Yes…I’m Michael Stephenson.”                                                  

“Private Michael Stephenson?” the old man asked again.


“Then come to me, my child.”

“Why should I?”

“I said come here!” the mysterious old man shouted as loud as he could.

“Okay, man. Just don’t get so nervous.”

Stephenson stood up and walked towards the desk. There was nothing he could sit on so he just stood there.

“Aren’t you going to sit down, young man?”

“Sit on what? There’s nothing here.”

The old man sighed and closed his eyes.

“Look back,” he said to Stephenson.

Stephenson turned around but didn’t see anything apart from the never-ending corridor.

“What do you need now?” the old man asked him with Stephenson still looking backwards.

“I don’t know? A chair maybe?”

“Good, you’re learning fast. Now look forward.”

Stephenson turned and saw an empty chair next to the desk. It wasn’t there before.

“How did it get here? Can I sit on it?”

“Yes, you can.”

Stephenson sat down and finally got a better look of the surrounding area. He saw a huge metal door right behind the old man which he strangely hadn’t noticed before.

No way!” he thought.

“Yes way. You’re at heaven’s gate. And guess who I am?”

“I don’t know…I’ve never been a religious type of guy…Saint Peter I suppose?”

“That’s right. And you know what that means…”

“I’m dead.”

“Well, you aren’t yet.”

“What do you mean I’m not dead yet?”

“On theory you’ve still got a few milliseconds remaining of life. And that’s when you come to me to decide your future. You see, time is not a constant here in heaven.”

“Right. And what do you want me to do?”

“I have to ask you a few questions, Private Michael Stephenson.”

At this very moment a loud thump was heard echoing from the supposed end of the never-ending corridor. Everything shook for a few seconds and then stopped as if nothing had happened.

“What the hell was that?” Stephenson asked the old man.

“What was what?”

“The sound and then the shaking and… you know… that.”

“No, I don’t know. Now, where were we? I was about to ask you a few questions, wasn’t I?”

“Yes, you were. Well, ask away.”

“What is your favorite TV show?”

“Wait-what? What do you mean ‘what is your favorite TV show’? Don’t you want me to redeem myself for my sins or something like that?”

 “Do you want me to?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Are you religious?”


“Then answer my question.”

“My favorite TV show, eh? I don’t know…there are so many.”

“Pick one.”

“Doc. This one has to be my favorite.”

“Don’t lie to me, Private Michael Stephenson. Your whole life is written here on this list. The Passion of the Christ is not your favorite. You haven't even watched it,” Saint Peter said and tied the key he was holding to a nearby wire hanging from above.”Every time you lie to me the key will get a little higher until neither me nor your could reach it. Good luck with opening the gate then.”  

“Okay, okay, you got me. It’s House MD. Happy now?”

“I’m delighted.”

“What’s the next question?”

“Your favorite food?”

“Bread and…” he hadn’t finished his sentence when the key slowly started getting upwards.”Um…uh…I meant French fries! French fries! Please don’t go up!”

 The key stopped moving. Stephenson looked at it. Footsteps were heard from the other side of the walls, again, accompanied by their echoes. Michael looked to the side as if he could see the person on the other side of the wall.

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Stephenson's dream


Ivailo Zaharievas Petrov
Richard Dean Andersonas Colonel Stanchev
Nathan Fillionas Johnson
Nicolas Cageas Lothar
Jewel Staiteas Ivelina
Adam Baldwinas Stephenson
Konstantin Khabenskyas Dmitry

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