Spirit in The Sky - with Shilohverse

Shep awakes from his dream with a migraine headache. "Oh! Late again for school. Mom, why didn't you wake me up!" He only hears his echo, a calendar on the back of his bedroom door an Autumn Landscape, 1954. The echo sounds hollow as if a hole, void of all feelings. He realizes that he is dead with a breath but no pulse and his vacation is to be, going home to Louisville.    
 
"The old hometown looks the same,'' as he stepped down from the Greyhound Bus. Looking around nothing had changed, in Louisville. His one piece of baggage sat beside the bus. Heat waves of phantoms were rising off the scorching pavement's 104 degrees. He pulled a piece of paper from his shirt pocket. On it, scribbled in pencil, 1404 Shelby Ave.  
 
He stepped down from the Greyhound Bus, the last one off. Looking around nothing had changed, in Louisville. His one piece of baggage sat beside the bus. Heat waves of phantoms were rising off the scorching pavement's 104 degrees. He pulled a piece of paper from his shirt pocket. On it, scribbled in pencil, 1404 Shelby Ave. He asked a passing porter for directions but the porter was busy and acted as if he couldn't hear. "The South, known for its cordiality!"    
 
On the terminal wall, he glanced at what appeared to be a street directory map behind the glass. It showed Shelby Ave. was only a few blocks towards the East. It being Sunday, traffic was sparse so he decided to walk it. Against the curb near 4th and Main was a Yellow Cab and a guy leaning against the fender. He was cleaning his nails with a small pocket knife and looked up. "Do you need a ride? You look familiar, I try to keep track of all my fares. Have we met? My friends call me Michael."  
 
Shep paused and studied the cab driver's face. There was something strangely familiar about him—his eyes glimmered like distant stars, and his smile seemed to hold an unspoken wisdom. "No, I don't think so," Shep replied, his voice sounding small and uncertain against the hum of the city. "But maybe a ride would be good. I need to get to 1404 Shelby Ave."  
 
Michael's smile widened as he opened the passenger door for Shep. "Hop in. I'll take you there," he said, as if it were a journey he had been expecting for a long time.  
 
The cab's interior was surprisingly cool, a stark contrast to the blistering heat outside. As they drove, Shep gazed out the window, watching the old town pass by like a fading photograph. The streets seemed oddly quiet, as though the city was holding its breath, waiting for something. Michael whistled softly, an old tune Shep couldn't quite place but that seemed to resonate in his bones.  
,  
"You look like a man who’s been away a long time," Michael said, glancing at Shep in the rearview mirror. "Louisville can change on you, but some things never do."  
 
Shep nodded, unsure what to say. He felt a strange heaviness in his chest, as if he were dragging a thousand memories behind him. "Yeah," he finally muttered. "Been a long time."  
 
They turned onto Shelby Ave, and Shep's heart quickened. The houses on either side looked so familiar, yet somehow different—like they were suspended between the past and the present. And then, there it was. 1404 Shelby Ave. His childhood home.  
 
"Here we are," Michael announced, pulling over to the curb. "Looks like you've made it back."  
 
Shep stared at the house. It looked almost exactly as he remembered, with its chipped white paint, the worn front steps, and the old oak tree standing sentinel in the front yard. Yet, there was a light in the window—a soft, welcoming glow. "Thank you," Shep whispered, turning to Michael, but the cab driver was already gone. The yellow cab stood empty, and Michael was nowhere in sight.  
 
He swallowed hard and turned back to the house. As he walked up the steps, the door creaked open by itself. A rush of cool air hit him, and with it, a scent he knew too well—freshly baked apple pie, just like his mom used to make.  
 
Stepping inside, he felt a wave of emotions wash over him. The living room was just as he remembered it—the old, floral couch, his father's favorite armchair, and the wooden bookshelf filled with stories he had read as a child. Then he saw them. Two figures standing by the fireplace, bathed in a warm, golden light.  
 
His parents.  
 
They looked exactly as they had the day they died—middle-aged, vibrant, alive. His mother, with her kind, gentle smile, and his father, with his strong, comforting presence. Tears welled up in Shep's eyes as he took a hesitant step forward. "Mom? Dad?"  
 
His mother smiled wider, and his father's eyes twinkled with joy. "Welcome home, Shep," his father said, his voice warm and full of love. "We've been waiting for you."  
 
His mother reached out a hand. "We never left, sweetheart. We've always been here, waiting for the day you would come back to us."  
 
Shep felt a lump in his throat as he reached out to touch her hand. It felt warm, real. "I thought... I thought I lost you both."  
 
His father shook his head. "We’ve always been with you, son. And now, we’re together again."  
 
For the first time in years, Shep felt truly at peace. The weight that had been pulling him down lifted, and he realized he had come home—not just to the house he grew up in, but to the love that had always been there, waiting to welcome him back.  
 
As he stood there, embraced by the spirits of his parents, he heard the soft whisper of Michael's voice on the wind. "Everyone gets a second chance, Shep. Enjoy yours."  

That evening.  
 
Old dilapidated falling-down church. In the back of an overgrown weeded lot. The music was rebel-rousing and loud. " Goin' up to the spirit in the sky That's where I'm gonna go when I die." I felt the heavens shake and started singing. The congregation all spirits including the Pastor turned their heads toward me. They were as dead as Will Rogers. There had been complaints of noise on Sunday mornings but when investigated, it's just an empty shell of a building. "Prepare yourself you know it's a must Gotta have a friend in Jesus."