KB: 18, Rooms: 15, Objects: 63, Tasks: 78, Events: 1, Characters: 4

Introduction

You were at home when it happened, doing what every single man does when no one is around: yep, watching your Coronation Street compilation tape. You had reached a particularly interesting bit in which someone had discovered that someone's else best friend's husband's cousin was having an affair with someone's cousin's best friend's school teacher and was planning to tell someone's lost sister what was going on. It promised to make for the most riveting piece of television you'd seen since the last Tory conference was broadcast in its entirety.

But then an unfortunate event occurred. You died.

It wasn't until afterwards (i.e. when you died) that you even realised you were dead. This came as something of a shock and if not for the fact that you were now a genuine corpse you'd probably have collapsed dead of shock.

As it was, you just sat there and stared in disgust at the TV which was smouldering away to itself - and the big, skeletal figure in the dark cloak carrying a scythe who was hovering before you.

"Am I dead then?" you asked.

"THAT'S ONE WAY OF LOOKING AT IT," remarked Death.

"What's the other?"

"ACTUALLY THERE ISN'T ONE. I WAS JUST SAYING THAT TO CHEER YOU UP."

"Well, it didn't work."

"NO, I CAN SEE THAT." Death considered its scythe for a moment then went on, "YOU'VE NOT LED A PARTICULARLY GOOD LIFE HAVE YOU, BARNABY SPIRRICH?"

"You try leading a good life with a name like Barnaby Spirrich," you replied.

Death went on as if you hadn't spoke: "YOU'VE GOT BILLS GALORE OUTSTANDING, THE SHOES YOU'RE WEARING ARE STOLEN, YOU LEFT YOUR GIRLFRIEND TO FOOT THE CINEMA BILL ONE NIGHT EVEN THOUGH YOU COULD PAY FOR IT YOURSELF - OH NO, NOT A GOOD LIFE AT ALL."

"I also served in the armed forces for ten years," you say, "and saved the lives of 16 people. Doesn't that count?"

"NO. I'M ONLY CONCERNED WITH THE MINOR STUFF HERE: THE BILLS, THE SHOES, THE GIRLFRIEND... THESE ARE ALL MATTERS THAT NEED DEALING WITH BEFORE YOU GO TO YOUR FINAL RESTING PLACE."

"Hampton Cemetery?"

"NO, HEAVEN. OR, CONSIDERING THE LIFE YOU'VE LED, HELL."

You flinched at that. "H-hell?" you gasped.

Death nodded. "INDEED. AS THINGS STAND, YOU'RE KIND OF ON THE VERY BORDER BETWEEN BEING GOOD ENOUGH TO GO TO HEAVEN AND BAD ENOUGH TO GO TO HELL. THE MATTERS CONCERNING THE BILLS, THE SHOES AND THE GIRLFRIEND WILL BE ENOUGH TO SWAY THE JUDGES ONE WAY OR THE OTHER - ASSUMING YOU MANAGE TO COMPLETE THEM."

"And if I-" swallow "-don't complete them?"

"THEN HELL. CONSIDER IT LIKE A DAY AT BUTLINS. A DAY THAT GOES ON FOR EVER AND EVER AND EVER AND EVER AND..."

Partway through all that you fainted.When you recovered, Death was gone (assuming he had ever been there in the first place and you didn't just imagine the whole thing), but the TV was still a smouldering ruin and lying on the floor looking very still was YOU.

Yep, so you're definitely dead then.

A casual glance out of your front window shows a doorway hovering in the middle of the street. To Heaven? Or... the other place? At the moment there's no way of knowing.

The bills, the shoes, the girlfriend - you make a note of each of these in your diary (which can be read from time to time by "read diary") and then decide to set your life in order before stepping through the doorway...