Dead Again
an excerpt (introduction)
Oh, hello there; glad you could finally make it. It’s sort of eerie, isn’t it—the realization that you’re dead? But hey, relax. It’s not as horrible as it sounds. You’ll get used to it.
But I know . . . I know . . . you’re wondering why you’re here; you’re wondering how you died; you’re wondering what’s next? You want to know why you’re a ghost? Well, I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you, but who the hell knows? I’ve been dead for almost one-hundred and fifty years and I gave up pondering the answer to that riddle a long, long, long time ago. Nowadays I just float about, hanging around, going here, going there; I do whatever I can to kill the time. Most ghosts do. You will too, you’ll see.
Wanderlust will begin to set in. I think most of us all start our ghostly tale the same: lingering in each of our own ethereal homes, searching for some purpose as to our existence, moping as we do so. Those first few years can be rough, but eventually all that lingering and searching will become stagnant, and boredom will start to creep in. You’ll start thinking to yourself: what’s down the street; what’s that thing over there; what are those people doing? You’ll be amazed at how quickly society, culture and technology fairs while you’re dead. It’s all so alien. Why, in my day it was quite the feat to board a train . . . but today . . . my lord, there’s naked folk on the Internet!
Yes, I know what the Internet is. I may have been dead for over one-hundred and fifty years but like I mentioned, I meander about. We all do. And you will too. There’s a whole world out there, and what you missed-out-on while living you’ll surely wish to experience as a ghost. It’s its own reward, honestly. You’re no longer restricted; now you can go anywhere and everywhere, though every once and awhile you’re bound to feel a strong, intoxicating need to return to your ethereal home—I hope you died well. But for the most part you’ll just wander and wonder.
And wander you did! Why, I’m ever so glad you made it here. It’s eerie, isn’t it: all these ghosts just sitting around in this shell of a dead building? Well this shell is quite the hideout for us. It has its charms. It was once a hot-spot of a bar known as Mackie’s, though legend has it that at the turn of the century this was a warehouse of satanic worship and witchcraft. Ooh, spooky. But there are no witches or demonic forces here now; there’s nothing here now but creaking floors, swiveling bar stools, cold drafts, the aroma of lilacs, and of course ghosts.
Over there, that’s Sally. She’s been dead for almost forty years now and she spent most of those years pining over her loved ones, watching them grow year after year after year. Don’t torture yourself like that . . .
And let’s see . . . oh, that there is William, the bartender; you know, he once served a drink to Jesse James? True story. Ask him.
And then there’s Kyle; he’s one of those—
Oh, you’ve already met Kyle? Good. And yeah, there’s . . . oh, let’s see . . . there’s . . .
“Robert!”
Aw, yes; Robert.
“Not just a ghost!”
Just ignore his outbursts. He screams out like that every once and awhile, but he’ll calm down once William gives him some whiskey.
Oh, I forgot my manners . . . would you like something to drink? William makes a killer martini. And yes, before you ask, ghosts can drink. People aren’t the only things which die, you know? William has a whole stockpile of liquor lost over the years. So just kick back, relax, and have a drink. In fact, I think—
—“Robert! Not just a ghost!”
Well, I think I may need another drink myself, especially if I am to tell you about Robert. Because being a ghost means there are a number of stories to be shared; everyone has their own ghostly tale. Some are better than others to be sure—but whatever you do, for the love of god, do not ask Sally for her story . . . she’ll bore you with her daughter’s marriage, her grandchildren’s school recitals, her great grandchildren’s teenage angst, the death of her sister and the life of her nephew. Like I said, don’t be that ghost . . . it’s far too depressing and makes for a lousy conversation.
But Robert on the other hand, he has quite the story to tell. Unfortunately, he’s still suffering from the shock and awe, but not before he told it to me. And believe me, it’s quite a story. Maybe you heard about it while you were alive . . . or experienced it first hand? If so, then I know you didn’t die well. But such is life: death. It all comes down to how you died, for that’s how you lived. And Robert is without a doubt the most unfortunate ghost of us all. He was given a second life . . . and a third . . . and a fourth. And now he’s dead . . . again.
So what do you say? Would you like a drink?
Copyright © 2010 C. D. Brinker
