Channel Missing

My life isn't over, though I didn't know I was dead when I woke up.



You'd probably say I'm watching too much telly. I should be outside enjoying what I can before the sun goes down completely. You'd say my eyes will go square and my bum will flatten out like a pancake. You'd say I'm too young to be so obsessed with something as unimportant as a screen. But you're not here to tell me those things so you don't know what I'm doing. I'm looking for you.



It takes a while to figure out what's going on and to truly understand where you are and why. See Purgatory isn't just for those who are trying to make up for their sins to get into Heaven, it's also for those whose lives are still intertwined with the living. Something in your life is still going on like an investigation to try and find who took your life, perhaps your research partner is using your notes to try and figure out what you did before you passed, or maybe a doctor is using your body for science to learn more about a disease and isn't finished with it yet. Maybe you find out you're waiting for your sister to confess and reveal your secret to your dad that eventually lead to your life spinning so fast you didn't even get the chance to even blink before you died. Or maybe you're like me. I wound up in Purgatory because my death made my grandmother reopen the case of my missing parents.

Needless to say Purgatory is a pretty unusual place. When you wake up, you wake up in your home alone. There is an eerie feeling as though no one has ever been in the house before and you are very much on your own. All your furniture is here, the couches, the chairs, the TV but there are no photos hanging on the walls, no books on the shelves, no pens and no bits of strewn paper on the coffee table. It's as though someone has made a set, a place that should feel familiar to you but it isn't. Outside its your neighbourhood. Exactly as you remember it, but with no signs of life. The Ferguson's house across the street is still a pale green that's faded and flaking though they had been saying for years that they are going to paint over it. Next door on the left is the Pateek's house with the broken rope swing hanging off the branch of the tree in the front garden. From where I stand I can see the front steps and the various hand prints I made with paint once a year to measure my growth, the length of my life. I count 17 hand prints. There will never be 18. The whole place seems as though people have been here but you know there has been no one here at all.

The weather is that of a late afternoon sun in winter, blinking through the grey clouds after the rain has stopped. Looking towards the sun, you can tell that night is not far away, the sun will begin to set at any moment, but I didn't when I first arrived that that will only happen when my life is finished with the living and it is my time to move on. I live in a constant dim light.

A click springs me back into the present and I find myself staring at the television as it flashes my name. I sit in front of it and lean towards the screen as the flashing stops and my name melts away and I read everything I need to know.

"You are here to watch Channel Missing," the TV screen tells me, "You are to watch for the faces of your parents. Every person's face who is missing from around the world will appear on the screen for no more than 5 seconds and will not repeat itself. You may never see the face of one or both of your parents. This may be due to the volume of photos as more are added when someone goes missing or it may be because they have died or have been found. The channel updates without notice. Only when their case has been closed will you be allowed to move on."

With another click the words are gone and are replaced with a photo of a middle aged gang member with neck tattoos. I try to take in every detail of him, the different tones of blue in his eyes, where his hair starts, whether his ears are large or small. I try to note anything I can but I'm too slow and the photo switches to that of a young Asian boy. No, that man wasn't familiar, I didn't know him. Then again, I don't know what my own father looks like. Surely I'll know him when I see him, won't I? I won't need more than half a second to recognise you.


My world revolved around you. You, who would sooth me when I couldn't breathe through my tears. You, who would hug me so softly I thought I must be dreaming. You, who smelled of flowers and Summer so much that even in winter., our home was warm. You, who would get me to yell NEVER COME BACK! at all the monsters at night. Because of you I was ten feet tall. But you had one monster who did come back.

I remember almost nothing of him. I was too small when he was living with us to have any clear memories of him, but I get flashes every so often of that time.

I remember how the house would tremble underneath his feet as he'd pace the floor, as if the creaking noises was the house desperately trying to be quiet so he wouldn't get angry. Every once and a while a new hole or broken window would decorate the house, so I guess it didn't work.

I'd know his smell anywhere. Clean. Sharp. A musk that would hang in the air after he'd gone. It would linger like the smell of smoke before you realise there's a fire.

I remember his voice. A low rumble. Only a few words at a time and a pregnant silence that would drown the rooms when he wanted the conversations to stop. It wasn't a monotone because I can recall once or twice a moment when he got loud and took all the air away from you. Its like you were suffocating without him being anywhere near you. His voice would say things to me, things that adults are meant to say to children, asking questions about favourite colours and animals. Questions about what I did at kindergarten and what I wanted for dinner. Questions about what happened when I went to visit your mother. The voice lacked any kind of sincere interest and it never said "I love you".

The last thing I remember are his hands. Big, wide hands with long, slender fingers and pronounced knuckles. Perfectly kept nails and deep lines across his palms as if ravines had been carved into his skin. I would watch the way his hands moved slowly with grace and with ease in everything that he did. Clutching the handle of the refrigerator and forcing it open. Gripping letters and crushing them into balls with such intensity it was like he wanted to hear the paper twisting and crackling so whatever it said was too distorted and broken to upset him. I watched his hands take hold of another, a man's hand that was the opposite to his. A hand that was stubby, burnt, scarred and covered in tattoos that were poorly done. Pictures couldn't be deciphered the ink was so smudged. I found it odd even at that age that his handshake would be so welcoming and friendly when it was never like that towards us. Now I know it was because he needed that man and he didn't need us. We just got in the way. The last time I saw his hands, a chain of deep bruises spread across his knuckles. He said nothing when he saw me looking at them.

But his face. That is the one thing I can't remember.


A shrill BBBRRRRIIINNNNGGG pulls me back from my daydream and forces me to really look at the photos flashing in front of me. The noise forces me to focus as a few of the photos are seeming familiar though I can't name them. I never thought I would be happy to hear a phone ring. Wait, the phone is ringing?

I can't believe it when I watch the phone light up as it rings. I still can't believe it when I glance outside to see that everything is just the same as when I woke up. I still don't believe it when I answer and hear the loud and happy sigh of relief from an old man.

"Well blow me down! A new neighbour! Hello darling."
This has to be a joke. Running over to the window I try to peer into the windows of all the neighbouring houses but I see no one.
"Come on now, you must know where you are. You're going to have to say something eventually, you've got no one else to talk to."
He's getting impatient already and I can hear the drumming of a finger on a table. I mutter some nonsense sounds trying to think of something to say.
"You're going to have to work on your words girly, I'm afraid I don't know what ugh, durf and buh mean."
"Who is this?" I say quietly.
"My name is Martin."
"How are you ringing me?"
"My phone started blinking a 9 at me so I pressed it, it rang and here we are. That's how this works."
"How what works?"
"Purgatory dear. We all need someone to talk to so someone rings you and you have a friend until one of us is finally allowed to leave."
"Then the one who stays is left alone?"
"Oh no. Haven't you been listening? Your phone will flash a number for you to ring and talk to someone whose just arrived."
My head is spinning with questions and my heart is beating in my ears. It's all too much.
Martin waits a moment before he talks again. His voice is soft, "It's a lot isn't it."
"I don't know what to think."
"Believe it or not, you'll get used to it."
"How long have you been here?"
"The last year I remember was 2004."
"You've been here for 13 years!"
"Has it really been that long? Oh, that wife of mine. I'm not all that surprised though."
"You're okay with your wife being missing for 13 years? That's not cool!"
"Hmm? Oh, you must have Channel Missing. Not everyone is here for the same reason dear. I've got Channel Loss"
"What does that mean?"
"My wife you see, she still hasn't come to terms with my death and can't get past her grief."
"And what does the channel show you?"
"Similar to yours, it shows me all the people who are grieving and the happy times before someone's death."
"That's heart warming."
"Love runs deep my darling. It is both a blessing and a curse."
"Have you seen your pictures?"
"I have actually, a couple of times. It makes me happy in a way. Seeing her again."
"What was her name?"
"Dorothy. I called her Dotty."
"She sounds like she has a lot of cats,"
He laughs "You're not wrong there girly. Enough about me, how did you get here?"

I tell him everything I possibly can about myself and my life. I start with the very basics; name, birthday, hometown etc and I do my best to match up my memories with the information and go on from there. Martin is extremely patient and is the perfect listener (obviously we've both got a lot of time). He doesn't seem to mind when I get things wrong or stumble over my words because I have to say so much and have to start again. Even as I'm speaking I can tell that my memories are not in order or even whole. Bits are missing from most of them and they're starting to sound like they're splintered and smashed. Jigsaw pieces that have no conjoining parts. Have I made them up? Has someone told me things that happened and I believed them though I have no recollection of anything that's been said? It's overwhelming but I eventually make it to my final night with the Living.

Martin is quiet, I can only hear his breathing.
"Martin?"
"My dear," he whispers, "I'm so sorry."
"Shit happens."
He chuckles. "I'm glad I got to call you."
For the first time since I woke, I smile.
"It's your turn now Martin. Everything in 3, 2, 1."

And he does, he tells me everything. He tells me when he was born and how he met his wife when they were only 3. He tells me what it felt like to hear her say 'I do' and how she glowed with each of her pregnancies. He tells me about all the vegetables he hated as a child and how all of his kids hated the same ones! He tells me that listening to me reminds him of his only granddaughter ("Six grandsons! Even I think that's too many boys in one family"). He tells me how he wasn't sad to die, not really because he had a life that was lived and he got just as much love as he gave. "There is no other purpose in life my darling." I can't help but feel a weight on my chest grow heavier as I realise how much I've missed out on.

We're on the phone for hours while we watch our channels. He answers all my questions and explains that you know you're about to leave as night comes in and that you don't ever feel tired or need to eat so you don't miss anything on the TV. You can pause it for a break but only for an hour at a time then it starts up again on your own and you won't know if you missed your picture.

"Can I ask you one more thing Martin?"
"Of course."
"How come we get to talk to each other?"
"Purgatory is neither Heaven nor Hell. We still have our wits about us and need some help to keep our sanity. That's my theory anyway."
"I like that theory."
"I'm glad."
In that moment we find, for now at least, we have nothing more to say except goodbye.


Your smile, that was what changed when we moved house. A brand new house with no holes, no broken windows and no him. You gathered me up in the middle of the night and we went to Grandma's. I never saw him again and you wanted to keep it that way.

It was like you had a new face. I remember thinking your eyes were made of glitter cause they looked like they sparkled and your smile was bigger, wider and sincerely happy. You walked tall and gave me a home that we both needed. It was full of colour and light and music and laughter. You had friends that would come round with their children who became my friends almost immediately. You would come to my school productions early so you could get a seat with a good view of the stage for your camera. You built forts with me and danced around in your pyjamas on Sunday mornings. You got promoted a few times and to treat yourself you went to try out new classes you thought would be fun; pottery, flower pressing, baking. You brought of these into our home and I knew that the neighbourhood was envious of us.

One morning in particular sticks out to me. It had been a couple years since we moved out and you were signing and dating some very important looking forms. I have never seen a smile so big. It looked like you were trying to stop your feet from dancing as you were writing with great loops and swishes across the papers.

Putting the papers into a big envelope you turned to find me watching you.
"The people we chose to have in our lives is such an important decision. Be wiser than me my angel."
And you glided out the door to drop the envelope into the post box on the corner.

That morning sticks out to me because two days later I went to bed and woke up at Grandma's house, and you were gone.


Thank God for Martin. With every photo that passes I find myself truly believing in Martin's theory that we help keep each other sane. I spend long periods of time watch the TV that gets interrupted every so often with a call from Martin. We talk about everything. I tell him all the important events that occurred over the past 13 years (including when Daniel Albright told me he didn't really love me after all and I painted his bike pink) and he speaks to me about what life was like before I was born. All the music, all the wars. He even gives a entire rendition of 'Rebel Without A Cause' which he memorised line by line after he saw it as a teenager. He goes into incredible detail about all the different decades he lived through and how drastically he saw the world change. I listen as closely as I can trying to ignore the voice in the back of my that I don't know if either of them are dead, missing or have been found. I haven't seen either of their photos yet and there's only so long I can last before I lose it.


Grandma's house was nothing like ours. It never felt like home. She took care of me like you would've expected her to. She made me meals and helped with my homework and attended all school productions and sports games. She smiled and baked and gardened and took a genuine interest in what I did during the day while we ate dinner. She only let me have junk food on special occasions and cooked every single night. I can't remember a single time she ever ordered takeout. While living with her I was disgustingly healthy and breezed through my years at school. It was a picture perfect life with a gap where you had been erased. I always dreamed that tomorrow would be the day you would walk back into my life and I could draw you back into the picture. In some ways you did.

Every birthday and Christmas, a parcel would arrive for me. Only me. They were the ones I would hide away from Grandma, it was none of her business. This was between us. I'd take the box from the postman and run to curl up in my fort in the corner of my room. Tearing through the paper I would find a small, handmade pot with long loops and swishes around the side. Or sometimes it would be a pressed flower in a frame that had been sprayed in your perfume. I'd hide these in a chest with a lock under my bed so only I knew where to find you when everyone else had given up.

On one birthday afternoon, I wandered home from school to find a detective in the living room speaking with Grandma. They didn't know I was there so I waited and listened by the door.
"I'm sorry ma'am," she said "there are no more leads. We have to close it."
I heard Grandma's soft sobs and thought of the hidden treasures in my room that would prove otherwise, but I was stupidly biding my time until I could find you on my own. I shouldn't have waited.

I had convinced Grandma to go away with her friends for the weekend and used every trick in the book to get her to make her realise I was approaching my late teens and was perfectly capable of looking after myself so she had nothing to worry about. To my amazement it worked and I spent the whole Friday night planning what junk food I was going to buy on Saturday that would put me into a food coma and how I would get rid of the evidence on the Sunday before she returned. It was a plan that was fool proof and everything on Saturday went exactly as I had planned right down to when I would fall asleep on the couch watching Legally Blonde after I had ingested copious amounts of chocolate. It was perfect and I woke up in a dark room close to midnight to struggle my way up to bed but something felt wrong. Standing up I caught a whiff of something that made my hair stand up. It was something that clean, sharp and it lingered in my nose for a moment too long. My heart sped up and tried to calmly walk to my room. Making it to the hallway the smell had disappeared and I told myself I had made it up.

I made it to my bed and curled in for a very deep sleep. A peaceful one I wish but soon something was worming its way down my throat, closing up my airways and my body started screaming for air but I noticed it too late. Whatever it was had bled its way into my body and suffocated my insides so once I knew what was happening I couldn't move. In my mind I was clawing and scratching and screaming trying to wake myself up but I felt weak and heavy, like I was trying to swim in a metal suit. Little by little my body was losing oxygen and I felt myself fade. Down, down, down. And then I woke up in our living room.


Martin's on the phone telling me he's going. "My sun is starting to set my darling, I'm on my way out."
"I'm happy for you, really. She's finally let you go."
"Hah! If I know anything about my Dotty, I know she hasn't done that. I'm on my way to see her my dear."
"You sound happy Martin."
"You come and find me when you get there won't you. You'd love Dotty."
I can't think of what to say next, goodbye is too small.
"I'll miss you girly."
To my surprise my eyes well up and I suck in my breath to keep them from falling.
"Good." I say.
"Ha ha! You're one of a kind. Goodbye my dear."
There is nothing left now so I hang up the phone and let the tears fall freely.



My first day in Grandma's house I wandered into the kitchen just as Grandma was putting down the phone. Her eyes were red and her face was swollen.
"Where's Mummy Grandma?" I said.
"I don't know" she replied. I never asked her about you again.





It must be a couple of hours before my phone starts to blink. 7....7....7....7. I could push it, but I don't really feel like it right now. I leave it to blink and carry on watching Channel Missing.





To my angel,

There is so much I need to tell you but it will take more than one letter and I don't have a lot of time right now. I figured with this milestone birthday you're old enough to know a few things.

When I had you my whole world changed. I loved you intensely and still do, but the moment you were born I felt utter guilt bringing you into this world with this man who I knew would never love you. I could never make that up to you and I let that feeling hold me down while I raised you around him and the company he kept.

I know it was only a few years we were living with him but it was a few years too many and I will apologise for the rest of my days for letting you get to know a man like him.

I'll get straight to the important bit when I finally got the courage to leave.

It was a late night when I overheard him talking to one of his friends, one of his many tattooed friends, about what they had just done. I didn't catch all the reasons as to why they did what they did to someone else but I did hear all the details of what they did and how it felt. I won't tell you any more than that. I never want you to know what I heard that night, no one should. But as I was listening my heart dropped and I had no choice but to leave. To get us both away from him and safe somewhere else.

He heard me moving in the house and had me against the wall before I saw him. He demanded to know what I heard him saying so I told him and made the split second decision to offer him a deal. Let you and I go and I won't tell a soul what I knew. He would never see us again. That night he got what he wanted and I finally became the mother you needed. Soon we had the life I could only dream of and I never thought I would have it so good. I got so confident that I did something I shouldn't have. I filed for divorce and he came back.

Two nights later duct tape was slapped onto my mouth and he held me down in bed while he bound my arms and feet before picking me up and throwing me in his car. He didn't say anything as he drove me out of town away from you.

Years have passed I wonder how beautiful you must be now. I know Mum is taking good care of you and I hope you're being good for her. I have a new life now, a new name, a new hair cut and a new job but my husband is the same. He is better towards me now though he has chosen my life for me and knows everything. Two days ago he found out about my gifts to you and he went into a bigger rage than I had seen in years. I was shoved and locked in the bathroom while he left the house for over a day. He's back now and at work but will be home shortly so I'm going to warn you.

One of the things he does very well is make things look like accidents, especially fires. He is an expert at making them look like electrical faults so I need you to be aware! Please get Mum to put in security lights and cameras. Make sure you have ways out of the house on both floors and keep in mind that, if you're asleep, the heat of the fire won't wake you up because smoke inhalation and suffocation gets to people first and is the main cause of deaths in fires. I don't mean to scare you but the world is not filled with good people. You have to be weary.

I promise I will find a way out of this mess and I will find you.

I love you, never forget that.
Mum xx
P.S In fact, just move. That will give me peace of mind. I've also been able to set up a secret email account. It's written on the back so email me as soon as you get this! My angel, I think about you always.