The Shack

by William Paul Young

but he didn’t move, simply staring back at her. “Mackenzie.” She remained standing behind her chair. “Earlier, I began to tell you why you are here today. Not only are you here because of your children, but you are here for judgment.” As the word echoed in the chamber, panic rose inside Mack like a swelling tide and slowly he sank into his chair. Instantly he felt guilty, as memories spilled through his mind like rats fleeing the rising flood. He gripped the arms of his chair, trying to find some balance in the onslaught of images and emotions. His failures as a human being suddenly loomed large, and in the back of his mind he could almost hear a voice intoning his catalogue of sins, his dread deepening as the list grew longer and longer. He had no defense. He was lost and he knew it. “Mackenzie?” she began, only to be interrupted. “Now I understand. I’m dead, aren’t I? That’s why I can see Jesus and Papa, cuz I’m dead.” He sat back and looked up into the darkness, feeling sick to his stomach. “I can’t believe it! I didn’t even feel anything.” He looked at the woman who patiently watched him.