Talk Vomit

By Benjamin Davis

What Happened When Frank Died Episode 4

Some whales explode after they die. Gas accumulates in their body. The carcass bloats. Sometime later, boom. Frank did not explode when he died. Instead, sometime later, he stood out of the bath, threw on a robe, and stepped out the door into what he expected to be his bedroom but was not. It was an amphitheater. Huge, endless. Rows of empty seats circle an empty stage. Above it, a screen shows a string of numbers. People sit scattered in the seats; some watch the screen, others scan little slips of paper. 

The place feels empty and silent except for the echoing hum of the screen that read, 179,028,250,007. 

The door Frank had taken was gone. Cheap foldable seats cascaded below him, hundreds over hundreds. Others climbed out of sight behind where he stood. Most were empty. Others were occupied by different folks of different shapes and sizes. Close by, to his left, an old woman lay stretched across three seats. She was asleep in a pale nightgown with thick socks up to her knees. A row back, with feet resting on the middle chair, was a hairy, thick-shouldered man, head down, snoozing into his sizeable red beard. He wore nothing; layers of half-faded tattoos covered his body. Above them, the sky was monotonous gray with its own dim luminescence; the only light other than the enormous screen now projecting 179,028,250,017. Gently, Frank reached out, nudging the old woman’s ankle to rouse her.

“Ma’am,” he whispered, “excuse me, ma’am.”

The woman didn’t stir. He shook a bit harder. “Ma’am!”

“She’s dead.” 

Frank jerked his hand off the woman’s ankle.

The man above them was awake. He leaned forward and laced his fingers with elbows on his knees. His massive face contorted with sadness. “She’s dead!” he cried, “MOTHER WHY!?”

“Oh, would you shut up,” the woman groaned, not opening her eyes. The bearded man grabbed the tops of the seats in front of him and shook them hard, “I SAID SHE’S DEAD! MOTHER. ARE YOU DEAD?” He shook the seats violently, teeth clenched, his face getting redder and redder. The woman rolled over. The man calmed, reached one hand over, and jabbed at the woman’s face with a finger.

“Hey!” Frank intervened, “Hey, don’t do that. She’s…”

“Dead,” the man said, voice calm and even, “she’s dead, you’re dead, I’m dead, they’re dead, them too, and…” he closed one eye, pointing up, up up, “all of them, too. Probably. Anyway, I’m Charlie.”

The man’s hand came down like a lever toward Frank. Frank hesitantly extended his own, and Charlie grasped it, pulled him close, and whispered, “Check your pocket.”

Frank pulled away. “Excuse me?”

Charlie reached behind his back and pulled out a slip of paper, sniffed it, and held it to face Frank. “Your number, friend.” He pointed at the slip, then up at the screen. Frank felt in his pocket and pulled out the photo he kept there. “Too big,” Charlie said. “Check again.” But Frank forgot what he was doing as he looked at the photo of Alice and David. He remembered why he was here. The bath. This must be what’s next. He turned the photo to show Charlie.

“Have you seen either of them?”

Charlie squinted at the photo.

“No, sir.”

Frank extended his hand towards the woman, his voice soft but firm. “Ma’am,” he said, touching her calf lightly, “excuse me, ma—”

Abruptly, a forceful blow struck his arm, sending him tumbling into the next row. Scrambling up, gripping a chair for support, Frank turned to see Charlie standing above him, bellowing, “I TOLD YOU SHE’S DEAD OLD MAN! SHE’S DEAD. DEAD!” Charlie’s eyes were wide, his face flushed a deep red, his beard seeming to engulf his face in fiery rage as he shouted at Frank. He pounded on the seat backs, his voice a sharp hiss, “GO! GIT!”

In that tense moment, Frank noticed the woman’s eye flicker open, offering a faint, almost imperceptible nod. Her message was unmistakable. It was time for Frank to move on.

“I’m sorry,” Frank said, hand held palm-up toward Charlie as he backed away.

He put the photo back in his pocket and walked. For a long time, he met nobody. The theatre was even bigger than he’d first considered. As he walked, it felt as though others only got further away. He walked. The numbers counted. Here and there, he came across aisles of stairs that led to rows below and above. In the distance, he saw people come down them, making their way to the stage. He stopped to watch a young woman several rows below stand up from he seat and make her way down one of them. Only then did he notice the door on the stage. A frame, really. A rectangular emptiness lined with wood. The number on the screen read 179,028,250,092. Frank stopped, sat down, and collected his thoughts. He’d taken the pills and gotten in the bath. Had he fallen asleep? He’d gotten out. The door. He looked back to where he’d come. The man, Charlie, was a speck in the distance. Frank remembered what he’d said. He felt in his other pocket and found a slip of paper. It was small, the size of a fortune from one of those Chinese cookies. The number read 179,028,250,123. On the other side, it read: Go through the door when your number appears on the screen.

Frank looked up at the screen. 179,028,250,094. He took a seat and tried to think. Would Alice have gone through the door? Would David? Would he have understood? Might someone have helped him? Or could they be together in these stands, waiting for him? He tried to gauge how long it would take to search the rows upon rows and rows. Weeks? Months? What happens if you don’t enter the door when your number is called? Too many questions. He considered going back to ask Charlie but thought better of it. While weighing his options, a snap of light cracked the corner of his vision. It was far off, and when he looked, he saw a speck where the light had been. The speck began to move. The numbers changed on the screen. Frank decided the best course of action would be to get close enough to the stage to keep his options open should his number appear. Avoid the decision by moving closer to it.

The boy sat beside the aisle with his head in his hands. He didn’t know where he was, how long he’d been there, or why. Frank saw the boy from a few rows back. The short cut brown hair, thin pale arms. “David?” he called. He stepped faster, down, down down, to the boy. He grabbed the boy’s shoulder, heart pounding. But the boy who looked up was not David. He was slightly older, with eyes a bit too big and nose a little too small. How could he have thought? It didn’t matter. Frank could see that the boy was confused and scared.

“Hey, kid. What’s your name?”

The boy didn’t respond.

“It’s okay,” Frank said, “it will all be okay. Look,” he pulled the slip of paper from his pocket, “it’s a game. See this number?”

Frank pointed to the number on his slip of paper.

“Check your pocket.”

The boy did, pulling out his own slip of paper. “See,” Frank told him, “the rules are, when your number is up there on that screen, you need to get through that door down there as fast as you can, understand? Let me see.”

The boy held the slip out to Frank. The number read 179,028,250,119. Frank looked up at the screen: 179,028,250,109.

“Looks like you’re almost there. Come on, I’ll walk down with you.”

Frank held out his hand, and the boy took it. They went down the aisle toward the stage, step by step, a hundred rows, two hundred. Up close, the stage was more extensive than he’d initially thought. The door was three times higher and more comprehensive than average. The boy said nothing the whole way, and Frank was glad to feel useful while avoiding the decision he knew he’d soon have to make. The last row of seats ringed the steps leading up all sides of the stage. They were empty except for a girl who couldn’t have been older than ten, sitting beside one of the aisles, elbow anchored to the arm of the chair, chin resting on a tiny hand with fingernails painted black. She looked bored. Frank led the boy onto the stage. Crouched down. “Almost here,” he told the boy, pointing up. The screen now reads 179,028,250,117. They watched a middle-aged plump man in khakis climb up, double-check his number, and walk through the door. Frank saw others slowly making their way down the aisles on all sides. One, a man in a full-on space suit many rows up, was taking the steps two at a time. Frank briefly wondered how he must’ve died in an outfit like that before returning to the boy.

“Ready?”

The boy nodded, looking down at the young girl in the bleacher chair. With her eyes on the boy, she smiled and waved, then her eyes met Frank’s, and the smile dropped, the hand frozen mid-wave, and Frank felt nailed to the stage. Her eyes were black, all the way black, black holes absorbing the light around them. Then, her gaze fell back on the boy. Her eyes were a cool green. She gave him a thumbs up as the numbers above flicked to 79,028,250,119. “Go on, kid, it will all be okay,” Frank encouraged, his voice carrying a weight of certainty he didn’t feel.

Frank watched the boy slither apart as he entered the door, ribbons of his sliding off into the void, and made his decision. He turned from the door and made his way down the platform.

“Where do you think you’re going, Frank?”

Frank faced the young girl in the chair. Her black hair draped past her shoulders. Her black shirt hung just above her knees, purple and pink tights striped up her legs. Something about her was wrong. Frank could feel it. A coldness inside. He wanted to turn away from her, to run. But couldn’t.

“Your number is almost up, Frank. Why don’t you stay?”

Frank took a step back. “Who are you?”

“Don’t be coy,” she said, “You thought you could come into my house and fuck around? Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

The numbers above their head flickered. 179,028,250,123. “Go on, kid,” the girl said, “it will be okay.”

Frank didn’t move.

“Do you understand the damage you’re causing? Do you…”

Frank’s eyes were caught up by whatever was playing out behind the girl. The man in the space suit had drawn closer, the chairs around him were crumbling away as he came closer and closer, fragments of his surroundings snaking off into the air. The girl turned to see where Frank was looking. She spun back to face Frank, and an understanding washes down her face. Whatever it was, Frank could see it wasn’t one she was happy about. “What is the last thing you remember?” She demanded.

Frank stepped further from her, but before he could think to run, she walked toward him, eyes fixed on him. “Frank, you need to tell me right now. What is the last thing you remember?”

“The boy,” Frank choked out. “The boy,” he pointed to the door.

“No! Before. Frank, before you died, where were you?”

The spaceman is only a dozen rows up, moving quickly, the fragments around him spreading outward like a cape swallowing the scene behind him. The spaceman comes like the end of a zipper, peeling the world apart.

The girl stretches her hand toward Frank. “Frank, I need you to go through that door right now. Don’t think. Just go.”

Frank staggers back away from her. “Who are you?”

“Don’t listen to her, Frank!” The spaceman stands at the foot of the stage stairs leading up the aisle. Half of his domed helmet reflects the massive door. The girl stops, her eyes close as a resigned calmness drapes over her. She doesn’t turn. Her eyes open to rest on Frank. “Frank, you have to let go. You have to go through that door, please.”

“Frank, if you listen to her, you’ll never see Alice and David again.”

A shiver climbs up Frank’s back, settling at the base of his neck. “Who are you people? I’m not doing anything until somebody tells me what is happening!”

The spaceman edges slowly to the girl’s right, keeping his distance. The girl looks to be thinking, muttering to herself like a mathematician sifting through a formula they knew should work but couldn’t figure out why.

“Frank, look at me,” the spaceman pulled back the visor. The face beneath is worn but sturdy, a little younger than Frank’s. The eyes are dark and soft. “She isn’t what she looks like. Come with me. I promise I will help you find Alice and David. But you have to come with me right now.” He held out a white-mitted hand toward Frank. The girl watched them. Her eyes were black now..

“He’s lying to you, Frank. Please, go through the door.”

Frank looked into the man’s pleading eyes, nestled in the face, framed within the spaceman’s helmet.

“Are Alice and David through the door?” Frank asked the girl.

She sighed. “You have to let go, Frank. Let go.”

Frank stepped forward and took the spaceman’s hand. The stage collapsed inward. The last thing he saw was the young girl standing on a strip before they all exploded into nothingness.

To find out what happens next, tune into Talk Vomit’s spring ’24 edition.

Read Episode 1 here.

Read Episode 2 here.

Read Episode 3 here.