It's Not Easy Being Dead

By Derick Walburger

The full moon reflected oddly off the ebony surface of the river. Shadows danced across the water, enjoying the night. Owls hooted, a lone coyote howled a mournful cry, and strange creatures stalked the darkness. It was too calm, too still. It was the kind of night to hover over a fire while keeping a wary eye on the bushes. Something strange was destined to happen on a night such as this . . .

Water jetted in all directions as a body broke the river's surface. Awkward curses and pitiful cries for help broke through the eerie stillness.

Bobby splashed his way frantically to the shore. He had never learned to swim like the other kids. He hated water. When his awkward dog paddle got him close enough to the

bank, he dove for the shore like he was sliding into second. He came up short, digging a short trench in the mud with his face. He crawled the rest of the way to safety before collapsing gratefully. He lay there panting for some time, glad to be alive. He really hated water.

Bobby stood up after he had finished his long re-acquaintance

with dry ground. He scanned his surroundings. Nothing looked familiar. He didn't have any idea how long he had been in the water. Bobby vaguely remembered falling of the dam, but that had been around noon. From the height of the moon, it had to be around midnight now.

Bobby scratched his head in confusion. Well, at least he was still alive.

The night was eerily calm. Bobby was fourteen years old, but he was still young enough to believe in spooks. This was not the kind of night to be lost. The moon glowered angrily down at him. Bobby started to get scared. He wanted to go home.

A rustle in the bushes off to his right nearly made him jump out of his skin.

"Who's there?" he asked in a shaky voice. He really didn't want anyone to answer.

"It's just me," a voice whispered back. "I heard the commotion, and I got here just in time to see you drag yourself out of the river." The voice got a little stronger. "This is not the kind of evening to be out swimming, you know?"

"I fell in," Bobby answered. He didn't see the need to mention that it had happened over twelve hours ago. "I'm kinda lost," he then admitted. "If you could just point me out the way to Frankton--"

The other guy cut him off. "Frankton is ten miles up river, you don't want to go there."

Ten miles. Bobby couldn't understand it. He must have been floating unconscious the entire day. No one back home would ever believe this.

"You should come with me tonight," the voice continued. "We will have lots of fun. My name is Bill."

"I really need to get home," Bobby answered. "My Mom will be worried sick, and I have school tomorrow. Is there a road around here back to town?"

Bill seemed hesitant to respond. He started several sentences, but stopped each time halfway through the first word. Bobby hoped he wasn't one of those psychos from TV. He prepared himself to run just in case.

The guy in the bushes finally decided on what he wanted to say. "There is something I

need to tell you kid. I didn't want to be the one to do it. There really isn't an easy way to say it. You see, um... Well, you're sort of dead."

"What?"

"Dead."

"Are you crazy?" The way Bobby phrased the question there was little doubt as to his personal opinion.

"Most of us find out before it gets embarrassing. I just didn't want you to go home and freak your family out. Some people don't handle it too well when their dead son walks through the door."

"I'm not dead," Bobby reassured Bill. "I feel fine."

"Sure you do," Bill answered. That's because you are dead. If you were alive, you would be freezing to death right now."

Bobby looked down at his dripping clothes. It was true. He should be shivering or have goose bumps. He could see his breath on the cool night air steaming from his mouth. He

probably had hypothermia. That was the only explanation. This was

all a delusion.

An idea came to him suddenly. "Why am I still breathing if I'm dead?" He puffed another cloud of vapors to prove his point.

"Some old habits die hard," came the response.

"So you are saying that I don't have to breath?"

"Precisely."

Bobby was not going to be suckered into something this big. Everyone said he was too gullible. He intended to prove them all wrong. He inhaled deeply and held it with his cheeks puffed out. He waited for the familiar burning that would prove he was still alive. He waited. And waited. And waited. Nothing happened.

Finally he let it all out with a sigh. "I must be dreaming," he whimpered.

The voice answered on a harsh note of compassion. "If this is a dream, then you better get used to it. This is the longest nightmare that you are ever going to have."

Bobby contemplated his death. This is definitely not what he had imagined it to be. Dead? He was too young to be dead.

Bill tried to console the poor boy. He wasn't very good at it. "I followed your body down the river the entire day. The way you kids were playing around the dam, I knew one of you were going to get it. I have been lonely lately. I was hoping to have this chance of initiating a

newly-dead. "Are you . . ." Bobby paused while searching for the right word. "Are you deceased, too?" he gulped.

"I was dead before you were even born," Bill sighed. "Seventy-one years now, last November. I had no idea the stupid thing was loaded."

"Are you a ghost? Is that why I can't see you?" Bobby felt a thrill of dread race up his dead spine.

"Not exactly," Bill explained. "I am hiding because I didn't want to scare you. The last time I just popped out on someone, I spent the next week putting myself back together. You can't be too careful with your bones nowadays."

Bobby put two and two together -- and got five. "Are you a skeleton, Bill?"

Bill inched his way out of the bushes. Bobby's hair stood on end. It was exactly as he had feared. Bobby could see right through Bill's yellow ribs. He could not help from backing up a couple of steps.

"That's weird," was all the boy could say.

"This is what you will be like soon," Bill instructed. "You start out looking normal, like you do now, and then you start to decay. First you bloat and get all smelly. Hopefully, you dry up before too long, otherwise your skin just falls off a chunk at a time. Eventually, bones are all you have left."

"How long do you stay like that?" Bobby asked, referring to Bill's bony physique.

"Only a couple hundred years, and that's if you're lucky." Bill sounded touchy on this point. "After your bones fall apart, all you have left is a spirit. Ghosts can't do much. They don't have any way to affect the living world without a body or skeleton. All you can do then really is

find a nice house to haunt."

"Sounds rough," Bobby sympathized.

"It's not easy being dead."

They sat under the bright moon for a while just looking at one another. The light reflected oddly off Bill's skull. His hollow eye sockets stared vacantly at Bobby. The boy shuddered.

"Was I evil?" Bobby finally asked to break the silence.

Bill did not answer immediately. "No. If you were evil, you would have gone to Hell."

"Then this is what happens to good people?" Bobby felt bewildered at death's injustices. "That doesn't sound right."

Bill shrugged his shoulder blades. "No. If you were good, you would have gone to heaven."

Bobby was getting frustrated. "What was I then?"

"You were completely average. You were not good or bad enough to be noticed, so you sort of slipped through the cracks. It does not happen often, but it does happen. A fair number of the people that are classified as "missing" end up like this. Nobody living cares enough to look for them, so they say the lost person is "missing" and leave it at that."

"How did you know when you were watching us on the dam that I was average enough to end up like this?"

"I didn't know. I just hoped. You looked like the kind of kid that no one notices. They like having you around to laugh at their jokes and do their dirty-work, but that's about it. When I left the dam, your friends were still playing. I don't even know if they realized that you

were gone. Most people are just too darn annoying, good or bad, not to notice. You and I were too average."

"This is unbelievable," Bobby said.

The dead boy pondered his situation. This was all so new. It did not take him long to come up with another question. Bill didn't seem to mind. He looked like the patient sort.

"What do dead people, well, do?"

"We try to scare people, of course," Bill said. "We give the people that didn't have the time to notice us when we were alive another chance. It is really a lot of fun."

"Maybe it's just me, but that sounds rather evil."

"It's all just good-natured fun." Bills bones started jittering at the thought. "We don't try to hurt anyone--most of us anyway. We just try to make them pee their pants. It's a noble pursuit in my estimation. Besides, what else is there to do."

"Maybe we could try helping people?" Bobby suggested.

"Sure. I can see it now. Bobby-the-bloated-zombie shows up at a widow's house and

offers to do her dishes. Somehow I don't see anything good coming out of that situation. Really, with thoughts like that, I don't know how you missed your wings. Heaven must have filled its quota to have missed an angel like you." The skeleton shook with laughter.

Bobby didn't say anything. Bill finally calmed down.

"I'm sorry," Bill apologized. "I know that this is all new to you, but you have to take advantage of the situation. You are in the prime of death. There is nothing more scarry than a half-decomposed monster. You have to take advantage while you still have your voice box."

"What do you mean?" Curiosity replaced the boy's embarrassment.

"You can still moan, groan, hurl insults, and all that kind of good stuff. All I can do is rattle chains."

"But you are talking to me?" Billy pointed out.

"That's only because you're dead," Bill explained. "If you were still alive, you wouldn't hear a thing. I can't communicate with the living. I could scratch a message in the dirt, I guess, but what human is going to wait around long enough for that."

The knowledge that Bobby had an advantage over his bony companion made him feel a little better. Being dead would take some getting used to, but he could see how it might be exciting.

"So, who are we going to scare tonight?" Bobby surprised his friend with the question. He was dead anyway. He might as well get into it.

"That's the spirit, son." The skeleton snapped to attention. He looked eager to go. "Do you have anyone in mind for your first spook?"

Bobby did. "I was thinking that we might start with my friend Carl. He was at the dam today. He always acted so tough. It's time we taught him a lesson."

Bill motioned for Bobby to follow him. There was a trail not too far into the trees. They walked along at a brisk pace. Bill seemed almost more eager than his young companion.

Bobby felt the excitement build in his chest. He noticed that his heart wasn't beating, but it really didn't matter now. "This is going to be fun," he said.

"I was thinking," said Bill. "If we stuck a stick or a bar through your head, it would make you a bit scarier.

"Will it hurt?" Bobby rubbed his temple.

"Of course not," Bill said. "You're dead."