Still Dead

Still Dead

Case # 1

An After Life Consulting Novel

By Brennan Barrett

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 Brennan Barrett

ISBN (Electronic Print) 978-0-9918332-5-2 

This book is a work of fiction. All characters in this book are completely fictional, except Edgar the ghost. He’s real, trust me. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is completely coincidental and unintentional. If you are the type of person that needs to be told these things, I would find you very interesting and entertaining. Mandy is also not real, I wish she was but I still haven’t found a woman that looks like her and will use a pirate voice instead of baby-talk when she finds something pretty at the store.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be sold or given to other people without purchase or permission by the author or publisher. If you would like to share this book with someone, please visit the publisher and purchase additional copies. If you are reading this book and have not received it as a gift or purchased it from a licensed reseller, please visit a reseller that offers my book and purchase a legal copy. Thank you for respecting my hard work as a writer.

Cover by Brennan Barrett ©2014

Tree designed by John Farmer

This book is dedicated to my friends and fans.

Your encouragement literally means everything in the world to me.

Author’s note:

Before I say anything else, I would like to state that I have decided to try an experiment. I see so many texts and Facebook posts these days that use more than one punctuation mark at the end, specifically those sentences that end with a question mark and an exclamation mark. Now, The Gregg Reference Manual of Style, The Blue Book of Grammar and The Chicago Manual of Style all state that the strongest courtesy mark should be used to clarify the meaning or intent of a sentence. Therein lies the problem. There are times when a character exclaims a question and I don’t want to write, ‘Jason exclaimed,’ after a question mark. So, I have taken it upon myself to attempt an experiment and borrow from our social media culture for the use of ‘?!’ and sometimes ‘!?’ just for fun. It’s not like the powers that be are going to burn me at the stake, are they?!

It is my hope that one day, I’ll find my way to a print deal. Of course, I’ll likely be assigned an editor that will steadfastly insist that I forgo my trendy new punctuation rule. I’m almost certain I could live with that.

I’m inclined to believe that my Mother had high hopes for me, flagrant disrespect for traditional punctuation aside. She did encourage me. My resulting life as a writer is not her fault, believe me. Somewhere along the way, I just went weird. As strange as my characters or some of the things I write may seem, I assure you, I’m much worse in person. I honestly don’t know where my ideas come from at most times but thankfully I have people like the wonderful Carolyn Garber to proofread and correct for me before a book is released. If only I had the same service in real time. I swear, the things that come out of my mouth sometimes are priceless. The problem is that I’m often laughing too hard afterwards to write those things down. Sometimes I’m just too busy running.

Table of contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Author’s Note

Credits

Other Books

Thank you

Chapter 1

There was a strange sound - like someone walking on snow, but squeakier - coming from behind me, and that was not awesome. There wasn't supposed to be anyone here but me. I had a brief flash of sight, right out the back of my head again, and saw a hypodermic syringe lancing toward my neck. I spun fast, bringing my elbow up and around like the arm of the ball lobber at a batting cage. My elbow connected with something that sounded exactly like a ripe coconut, and I turned to see what I had hit.

There, on the ground with his eyes rolling in two different directions, was our serial killer. Huh? Fuck me, I said as I dug out my phone. Normally, I couldn't fight my way out of a wet paper bag, but one thing I had going for me was shoulder muscles. I won't lie; you spend as much time as I have propping yourself up at bars, and you, my friend, will also have the shoulder muscles of a hero. Everything else goes to shit though, just FYI.

Detective Anderson? I asked when Brad picked up the phone.

You only call me that when you've gotten yourself into trouble, Brad said gruffly, What the hell did you do this time?

Yeah, I said as if I had been a bad boy, I seem to have caught your serial killer.

You're fucking with me! Brad insisted.

I wish I was, I said. You may want to get here before he can see straight. He's lying on my kitchen floor, seriously concussed. Hey - did you know that people's eyes actually do roll in different directions if you hit them hard enough?

Cars have been dispatched, Brad said in a highly excited tone of voice. I'm on my way! I could hear that Brad was running as he spoke. For god's sake, don't take any chances!

I won't, I said as I opened the small drawer under the oven and pulled a cast iron skillet out by its handle. Tell your guys not to kick in the door, I'll be enjoying a beer.

I doubted that Brad heard the resounding clang as I nailed my would-be killer upside his favourite head with the skillet. I think he had already hung up. Brad did say, Don't take any chances! So I was being careful, and I could have sworn I saw the guy move. I kicked the empty syringe a few feet away and grabbed one of the little fucker's feet. People slide pretty easily on hardwood, provided they're dressed. That's another story though. I dragged my killer into the dining area by one of his feet. There were sturdy chairs in the dining room; the oak kind with framework under them. Turns out that those chairs are just the right height to rest on the neck of men under six feet in height.

This guy was as limp as a dishrag. He probably had brain damage after the two knocks to the bean that he had taken, but seriously, fuck him man. You come into my place, big ass empty syringe filled with air that you're going to plunge into my neck while you smirk behind your lame ass little child-molester glasses... Clang! I whacked the fucker again just for good measure.

Don't tell me you didn't have that coming, you little fuck!

Oh - told you that part already, huh? Well, I should probably follow tradition and back up a bit so that you know where we are in the story.

***

I got my cards delivered to the office. Yeah, I was still working in collections at that point; and, to be honest, I knew that even if I was fired, Doreen would still collect my cards for me. After the exorcism in the apartment, it was kind of a day-to-day thing for Craig and me. As you know, Gary the building manager came by with a verbal notice that we had to vacate the premises by the end of the month. Well, the shitty little fuck was there banging on the door first thing Monday morning with the written version in his masturbatory little hand. You like what I did there? Hey, don't smirk; I know at least six more big words, and I'm not afraid to use them.

You should have seen the smile on the little bastard's face though. What a prick. Believe it or not, I was the one who made it to the door first. Turns out Craig was still in bed with Yvonne. Yeah - same girl that was threatening to swallow our souls last night. As a side note - that I wasn't about to let anyone forget - the same chick that got us evicted for saving her. Anyway, I digress. Yup, that's one of the other fancy words; five more to go.

Gary, the self-righteous little pussy, pounded on our door until I finally answered. He was holding up the eviction notice in his left hand and pounding with his right. Probably disturbing more people than I did last night in the process. Though, I have to admit, chances were that no one would be carted off in an ambulance because of Gary's pounding. He was so hypnotized by his own rhythm that he thumped me between the eyes as I opened the door. Did he say sorry for knuckling my forehead? Nope. He did look pretty surprised though.

So, I said, as I rubbed the sore spot on my forehead, your big plan was to assault me and then kick me out a second time?

That wasn't assault! Gary said in a slight panic. Don't try and weasel out of this, Godfrey. I know it was you that threw up in the lobby all those times, and by the elevator in the garage. I've been waiting for this moment for a long time. Gary huffed and puffed a couple of times, working himself up to really let me have an earful. All I needed was one good reason, and last night was it.

Ok, so are you going to give me the eviction notice, or did you plan on hitting me again first? I didn't hit you, Gary insisted.

Yes you did, Mandy said as she stepped into view, dressed only in a bra and panties. Gary got an eyeful of Mandy's amazing frame and started to stutter. I saw your fist come through the doorway and hit him right between the eyes, Mandy confirmed.

We'll be out by the end of the month, I said, as I snatched the paper out of Gary's hand. Gary was staring at Mandy's cleavage and starting to drool slightly. I couldn't blame him; she really did have an amazing rack. Don't ask me why, but I actually got a little territorial. Until then, stay the fuck out of my way or I'll press charges for assault. And stop making rude advances toward my girlfriend! I barked as I slammed the door in his face.

So, Mandy said with a dirty girl purr, I'm your girlfriend now? Mandy had stayed the night. I had invited her over because she was lonely and wanted to talk. After she snuggled up beside me in bed, I let her talk until I fell asleep a few minutes later. Doesn't being a girlfriend come with certain little perks like, oh, say, sex? How the fuck was I supposed to know that wanting to talk meant wanting to fuck? Jesus, women are complicated creatures.

Always leave them wanting more, I say.

What’s your plan for falling asleep on a girl when she wants some? Mandy asked. You should have a separate saying for that. Like ‘always leave them frustrated.’

Well maybe next time you'll tell me that you want some, I said as I gave her shapely butt a light smack. You know, instead of confusing me with terms like talk and company. Mandy rolled her eyes and giggled.

You're one of a kind, Jason.

I like to think of myself as a diamond in the rough, I said with a smile.

Generally speaking, Mandy said with an evil little smile, diamonds that rough are called coal.

Oh, you little shit, I said as Mandy took off at a run for the bedroom.

Race you to the bed, diamond boy, Mandy shrilled over her shoulder as she outpaced me in our race to the bedroom. Needless to say, she beat me to the bed, which she almost flew completely over when she dove for the last six feet. Mandy was definitely a playful girl; she was cackling with glee as I vaulted onto the bed and wrapped myself around her. I wasn't about to question why Mandy, who was, without a doubt, far too gorgeous to be with a guy like me, would bother. Hey, fuck you; I'm an asshole, I'm not stupid. I'm also not blind. I see myself in the mirror every day. I know that I'm a physical wreck. So, Mandy was obviously slumming it because of all the paranormal and supernatural shit. Do those words mean the same thing? Whatever. I wasn't about to let the hottest girl I'd ever managed to snag get away before at least one monumental bang. What? You don't like the term bang? That's my romantic version of the term fuck. I think it shows a little sensitivity.

It was monumental for me, maybe just passable for Mandy. Even so, she propped herself up on one elbow, cupping the side of her head in her hand, and looked at me with happy eyes as I panted and twitched. God, I was so out of shape. She seemed to get a kick out of my sorry state, almost as if she was taking pride in a job well done. Job. Oh shit, I was going to be late. Why hadn't Craig yelled at me? He usually did if I was hung over and running late.

You wash my back, I'll wash yours? I asked Mandy. It seemed to be exactly what she wanted to hear. Women really are such a mystery. I can talk to dead people - the ones that are still walking or moping around. I can't contact your Great Aunt Gertrude or anything, but let's just say that the mysteries of that one part of existence aren't such a mystery for me. Women though - they really, really are mysterious.

I thought you'd never ask, Mandy said, rolling her eyes as if she had been waiting for three years to hear those words. Why is it that women figure they can toy with you the moment after you've gotten to know them carnally? The answer: because they can. Fuckers.

Jesus, Mandy, I said as I stepped into the shower. We're the same species; how can you stand the water so friggin’ hot?

Oh, don't be such a baby, Mandy chided. It's good for your skin; it opens up the pores.

Oh goody, then even more of my skin can enjoy being boiled alive.

Hand me that sponge and stop complaining, Mandy said with an exaggerated sigh. Do me first, Mandy said with a naughty tone and one of her lewd little smiles. She waggled her eyebrows as she passed me the lathered sponge and turned. There honestly wasn't one angle of Mandy that was anything other than a true pleasure to look at. I tried valiantly to stick to her back when it came right down to it; and really, it was more or less clean by the time my sponge started roaming.

Oh, you dirty boy, Mandy squeaked as the sponge probed around, searching diligently for areas to clean. Mandy turned and grabbed the hand that was holding the adventurous sponge. Now, my front, she said as she squeezed a fresh supply of liquid soap onto the sponge. Well, I can't lie: she had my attention. Mr. Happy was also very attentive.

It was torture. That's another thing women start up the moment they have you cornered with the sex. They like to torture you. Not the kind of torture that comes after marriage, but the kind where your genitalia start openly pleading with you for assistance. The blood really does leave your brain. I knew it was a modified Jedi mind trick, where Mandy used her nipples instead of her eyes. What could I do, though? I was helpless. I think I was starting to make a droning sound as I slowly made soapy circles around her breasts. I was defenseless; she had me in some kind of boob tractor beam, and I couldn't tear my eyes away.

At the moment that I was about to lose the ability for conscious thought, Mandy took Mr. Sponge away and said, Your turn. Pulling the extendable showerhead down, Mandy quickly rinsed herself off and ran water over me. She had to turn me by the shoulders like I was in a trance at first. She pressed herself up against me and reached around with the soapy sponge to wash my back. At some point she managed to maneuver me around so that I was facing the stream of water. Don't ask me how - I completely missed it. I sure didn't miss anything when she started washing the front.

Steaming hot water cascaded directly over my head as the sponge wrought its naughty spell right under my nose. The little head was screaming at the big head by this point. Please Boss, don't leave me like this! I can't be sure, but I think Mandy may have heard the plea. When she turned me again, her hands were on my hips, not my shoulders.

Where did you go? I asked dreamily. Oh hello, I said as I looked down and saw the top of Mandy's head. There you are.

Chapter 2

I was late. Actually, I was really late. I had completely forgotten that I had a rental to return. Mandy offered to let me take her car and return the rental for me, but I stupidly insisted on doing it myself. It's kind of amazing just how many stupid things I can do in one day if I set my mind to it. I ran right past a bank on my way to work and forgot to deposit the money I've been dragging around all weekend.

The thing is, I didn't really need this job for the money. I just needed it for the credit rating. I had decided to buy a car, and I would need this job until I had the paperwork all filled out. I had no doubt that I could pay the car off quickly with the money I had coming in from my little consulting agency. Oh yeah, I forgot to say. The cards I ordered. They read: 'The J. Godfrey After Life Consulting Agency' on the first line and right below that, in slightly smaller print, 'Jason Godfrey.' In slightly smaller font below that, 'President.' My phone number was in the bottom right hand corner of the card. The back of the card read: 'Specializing in direct contact with the newly departed, loved ones, and other unrestful spirits.'

I thought it was pretty cool. I would have forgotten all about the cards if Doreen hadn't flagged me down the minute I walked into the reception area. I gave the very first card to Doreen and treated her to a wink that made her blush. Doreen was married and had been even before our little drunken tryst on my desk one Christmas party a few years back. I knew that she secretly lusted after me. Trust me, I knew; I'd met her husband. I think that not continuing the fling with our chubby but still attractive receptionist probably worked in my favour. She'd just hate me by now, and then I would have no one to cover for me at work.

Oh, well look at the fucking rockstar waltzing in at a quarter to fucking chow, Mark bellowed loudly as I rounded the reception desk. We are so fucking honoured to be blessed with your presence, Mr. Psychic.

Good morning, Mark, I've missed you, I said as I looked at Mark and held a hand over my heart.

Yeah, fuck you, you skeezy puke. What's your excuse for being late this time?

Well, a couple of things really, I said with mock gravity.

Do tell, Mark insisted.

Well, I was up late with an exorcism, I had to return a rental, and lately I've been having a crisis of faith.

Faith? Like you're the fucking religious type, Mark scoffed.

Not that kind of faith, I said sadly. Well, as sadly as I could fake. Lately, I've felt unsatisfied in collections. I just don't know if this is where I belong anymore. Of course it was a gamble, but that doesn't mean I wasn't telling the truth. What do you know? Trust me. The truth always works better if you're trying to con someone. Listen and learn.

What are you talking about? Mark blurted with a red face. You set records last week! He was worried; I could see it in his eyes.

Well, I said as I started walking towards my desk. Collections doesn't seem to fit as well as it used to. I glanced back at Mark and saw a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face, tracing a glistening track from his temple. Besides, you just don't love me like you used to.

What are you talking about? Mark asked in his normal overly loud voice that bordered on yelling. I totally fucking love you!

You could have heard a pin drop in the office. Mark stopped walking suddenly and looked around. Every eye in the room was glued to him, and people were frozen in positions of work and surprise.

Godfrey, you devious little cocksucker, Mark raged through clenched teeth. You are one nasty little prick. Don't think I don't see that every time I look at you.

That's just it, Mark. How can I not be unsure about us when you love me one minute and curse me the next?

Fuck you, Godfrey! Mark roared before turning on his heel and stomping back to his office.

Gee Boss, I'm not judging or anything, but why waste time with a guy like that when you have a nice girl like Mandy around? I didn't jump this time. I had been expecting Edgar to show up. I had charged up a stone for Mandy so that she could chat with Marla when she got home. I planned on stopping by Pandora's after leaving work early. I really needed a big bag of those seer's stones. I could foresee going through them at a steady rate. It would have been nice if I had managed to get to the bank today before work.

I was just messing with him, I admitted to Edgar. I'm a boob man, Eddy. I only swing the one direction.

Like I said, I wasn't judging, Edgar said as he smiled at me in an alarming fashion.

No one likes a dead smart-ass, I reminded Edgar. Edgar only laughed. I always felt that there should be certain level of respect between the boss and his underlings. Failing that, there should at least be a healthy dose of fear. Edgar - while as eager as any boss could hope for - wasn't being paid, and he wasn't always easy to control. It was kind of like having an easily excitable Honey Badger on a leash. The fucker might just turn on me if I wasn't careful.

But Boss, you know I love you, Edgar chided. He had obviously heard a lot more of the exchange, than he let on.

Yeah, yeah. You ready to get down to business?

Always, Edgar said with renewed excitement.

Excellent, I said as I sat down and looked at the few phone messages on my desk. They were all from people I had called on Friday, except for one. I didn't recognize the number or the name, so I put it at the bottom of the pile. Best not to start new business until I had earned a little money, especially after pissing Mark off as badly as I had this morning. The first message was from a lady that I had tried to get in touch with all day Friday. She had finally decided to return my calls, and the message said that she would be at home all day today. I sent Edgar to the address to check things out before I called her back.

She's there, Boss, Edgar said when he returned about fifteen seconds later. She's packed, and the place is cleaned right out. I think she's getting ready to skip.

That's just great, I said angrily. I don't suppose you know where to?

You bet I do, Edgar said happily. He relayed the information to me and I quickly wrote it down. It was a shame he couldn't take notes. Edgar had talent, there was no doubting that. He had practiced to the point where he could slap a person around, but the simple act of holding a pen steady enough to write properly was beyond him. He could probably punch keys on a keyboard though. In the end, it was just faster to get the information verbally and write it down.

If she has money to skip, she has money to pay, I said as I picked up the phone and dialled her number. Most of the people who worked collections in my office wore those nerdy headsets. I didn't. I liked an old fashioned telephone; something I could slam down when I was pissed off. People that dodged me and lied to me pissed me off fairly often. Why stick with a job where I was pissed off so often then? Well, I was good at it, and honestly, it never occurred to me to try anything else. It also gave me an excuse to drink on the weekends.

Mrs. Callewaert, I said when she answered.

Oh, this must be Mr. Godfrey. I'm sorry I wasn't home to take your calls last week. I've been very busy.

That's understandable, I said as we began the dance. They always danced, each and every person I had to call. If they were straight up people, I wouldn't be calling them in the first place.

The good news, Ms. Callewaert said, is that I'll have your money for you in another week. Edgar shook his head.

She has plane tickets booked that she's picking up today at 5:30, Edgar said. She's also sold most of her stuff and is flush with cash in hand and in the bank.

That is good news, I told Ms. Callewaert. I tried getting in touch with you for most of the day on Friday, and when I couldn't reach you on your cell, home number, or at work, I was forced to go ahead and file immigration restrictions and other papers with the government.

You what!? Ms. Callewaert screamed over the phone.

I'm sorry, I said sweetly, but I had no way of knowing that you were about to pay your bill and weren't trying to leave the country. According to my information, there is a new address listed for you that will be active in less than a week. I read the information that Edgar had given me to her over the phone. I could actually hear the lying bitch turn white as I spoke. Thankfully, we don't have to worry about that now, and I can have the restrictions lifted within hours of closing your account.

How many hours? She asked, seething anger evident in her voice.

Oh, I don't know - three or four at the most, I guess, I replied sweetly.

I'll transfer the full amount right away, but I want any travel restrictions taken off before 5pm today or there will be hell to pay!

Of course, I said, even more sweetly. I heard her begin cursing as she ended the call. Yeah, I was full of shit but she didn't know that. I picked up the next message and sent Edgar to the address of the next roach I was going to call.

Nobody home, Edgar said as he returned to my desk.

Any spooks around that might have news? I asked.

I'll go take another look, Edgar said and was gone the next second.

Good news, Boss, Edgar said with a smile. There was a ghost haunting the suite next door. He went to check on the place when he heard movers. They've relocated to a place called West Falls. It's about half an hour outside Buffalo NY. They're living under the girlfriend’s name. I dug through the paperwork in the folder and found the name of the girlfriend. It only took one phone call to get her number from a relative. Let’s just say that she was surprised to hear from me.

Christine, I said when she answered brightly, this is Jason Godfrey.

Oh fuck, Christine said with the resigned tone that is generally reserved for people that try to rob gas stations with knives, only to find that the pimply-faced kid behind the counter has a shotgun.

Christine, you and your boyfriend have crossed state lines in an effort to avoid paying your debts; that's fraud and evasion. I'm not sure I'll be able to keep the law off your backs this time. Christine started crying on the other end. I was only prepared to feel just slightly sorry for a couple of people that had lied to me repeatedly for months. Sorry, kiddo. I tried to play it cool with you two because you're young. You didn't take me seriously though. A little prison time most likely won't kill either of you. You may not swing the same way when you come out, but you'll have all kinds of great stories to tell at parties.

Please, Christine begged, tell me what to do! Now, you probably think I'm some great big prick for making a young girl cry. Well yes, I am. But the last time I gave a girl with a sincere sob story a break, her boyfriend killed her. As a matter of fact, it was my first gig as an After Life Consultant. I wouldn't classify it as my first big case because it was only one part of the story. The thing is, no matter how painful it may be to nip this kind of thing in the bud, you should really do it. Sometimes your life depends on it. I hadn't completely lied to Christine. I seemed to recall something about crossing state lines to commit fraud. I doubt that the letter of the law completely applied to this situation though.

Christine, I began, completely ripping off my friend Detective Brad Anderson's voice and mannerisms, I really have to be straight with you. Last week one of the girls I had to call to collect money from was killed. Her boyfriend smashed her head in with a lamp. Now, you may wonder why I'm telling you this, and I'll tell you why. I don't know who has the problem with the spending and who has the problem with the bills.

It's Robbie! Christine cried. He buys every new thing he sees. If he can plug it in or run it on batteries, he has to have it! That sucked. It really wasn't what I wanted to hear, but honestly, it didn't matter. A bill was a bill, and if you let someone drag your credit rating through the mud because you loved them - well, you were stupid. Stupid or not though, you were still responsible for the debt.

Christine, I want you to listen carefully, ok?

Ok, Christine replied with sniffles.

You get on the phone, you call your mom and dad, aunts and uncles, whatever it takes short of committing a crime, and you pay off your debt. Then you carve a set of rules in stone for Robbie. You will not co-sign for anything ever again. If Robbie wants a new toy, he can save up for it like people used to. If Robbie can't live with your new rules, you pack up your shit and leave. Life is too short to waste it running from creditors and collectors.

If I do what you want, I won't go to jail, right? Christine asked.

If you pay that bill off, I'll do what I can to have your name completely removed from this file. At the very least, I'll make it clear that you were the one who finally paid the bill for Robbie. No more buying on credit though. I'm not kidding. Save that for a house.

Ok, Christine said, her voice gaining a little strength, I'm going to call my folks right now.

You do that sweetie, good luck. Doreen at reception can take down and pass on a message if I'm away from my desk. Christine assured me that she would have everything taken care of before the end of the day. Normally this kind of thing didn't bother me, but honestly, I'm pretty sure I'm growing a vagina. Last weekend, I got drunk under an old tree that people - settlers actually - used to hang witches from. The crazy old Quakers hung a good witch from it, and they also hung a really, really bad witch from it. Here's where life gets seriously fucked up. I decided to give the tree a little sugar because, in my drunken state, I felt that it just needed a little love to make it more hospitable. You know, instead of the spooky-ass freaky looking thing it was. Yeah, don't ask me what I was thinking. Fucking Charlie Brown's Christmas or something.

Turns out, I died. No, no lie. I was stone cold dead and starting to go stiff. I had decided to grope the tree a bit; like I said, I thought it needed some sugar. The tree and I seemed to be hitting it off, so I slipped it the tongue. That's when something inside the tree decided that I was better off dead. Some guy that was drinking with us started doing chest compressions on me and occasionally blowing big, drooly lung-full after lung-full of breath into me between odd numbers of compressions. It didn't work. Trust me, I know; I was standing over myself watching.

Yeah, out of body and everything. I still haven't thanked the guy. I should probably get his name from Julie and give him a call. But yeah, in the end, I got pissed and kicked myself in the head. Sure, the air and slight blood flow provided by the chest compressions probably saved me from drinking out of sippy cups for the rest of my life, but if I hadn't gotten so pissed at myself and tried to kick myself in the head, I'd be chilling in a refrigerated drawer somewhere right now. Why did I get so pissed off? Well, for one thing, my fucked up sense of humour got me killed. What really got me worked up though, was the ghost of this Quaker lady that was hanging from the biggest branch on the tree. She was looking down at me like you might look down at a pile of dog shit that you had stepped on by mistake.

I won't bore you with any more of the disgusting details, but I did wake up four days later in a private hospital room surrounded by ghosts. Since then I've been able to see spooks. I've been able to hear them too; and, I have to say,