(technically) DEAD
by Naomi Kramer
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 Naomi Kramer. All rights reserved.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.
If you've obtained this ebook from a pirate torrent or from a friend or acquaintance, please consider buying a legal copy from Smashwords.
If you'd like to use some material from this book, please get in contact with me. I'm generally fair and reasonable. My email address is nomesque@gmail.com.
The cover art is by Katerina Vamvasaki.
This ebook is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people - living or dead or in-between - is pure coincidence.
Disclaimer
This book contains profanity, lots of it. It also contains depictions of heaven which may not be true. Worst of all, it contains Australian spelling and computer-nerd slang. An example? 'Pwned' is a real word, in its way - see http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=pwned for more information on that little gem. Do feel free to complain about any bad spelling you find in this book - just please look it up first, it might simply be a usage you're not familiar with. Us Aussies can be odd, after all, and so can us nerds... and that can lead to a whole nasty mess of weirdness.
(Cooper)
I'm dead.
This is sorta pissing me off.
I don't know what happened, though. One moment I was on my way to visit my girlfriend with a big bunch of flowers, and the next I saw a big bright light and a cloud and a crowd of dudes in dresses carrying harps. Holy shit, I thought, I'm dead! Then I thought - frack, that looks like a church choir, all low-tech and acoustic and stuff. That's not where I wanna be. Bet they don't have a single computer, or if they do it's like a 386 or something, all filled with dustbunnies. There's no way I'm getting stuck in a low-tech shiny place like that with acoustic music everywhere. That's a freaky version of hell. Shit no. So I ran, or flew or something the hell away, and now I'm back home and I'm still dead.
I don't like being dead, I've decided. I'm a ghost, that much I've worked out. Like Patrick Swayze in that Ghost movie. Damned if I'd possess Whoopie Goldberg though. That was some scary shit.
Anyhow, I'm see-through, I can't eat, I can't drink. My body's nowhere to be seen, thank God or Ceiling Cat or whatever, because I think I'd puke. Or throw ectoplasm everywhere, or whatever the hell dead dudes do. I never had a strong stomach for that sorta thing.
I float around the flat, looking for something to do. I sit in front of my computer and I'd cry my eyes out if I had eyes and tear ducts and stuff. $8000 worth of sexy high-end gaming hardware, and I can't even touch it. I must be an electrical field or a magnetic field or some shit, right? I'm afraid to go too near it in case I short something out. I'd never forgive myself if I killed Betsy.
Computer's out, then. TV? Might have the same problem, but the remote's a fair distance away. Should be safe, and besides, the TV is just a crappy thing. And I know ghosts are supposed to be able to manipulate stuff. Holy crap, I am a ghost, aren't I? Like the movie, cos I ran away from the light. Kewl.
I concentrate really hard, think solid thoughts, and poke my finger at the TV remote. It goes straight through. Damn. But I've got nothing else to do and I'm bored shitless, so I keep trying till I get the sucker pressed and the TV's on. Holy frackin' hallelujah. It's 2am now and an old crappy movie's on, but there's no way I'm gonna give myself a hernia trying to change the channel too. I settle down in my beanbag in front of the TV and try to imagine I'm eating caramel popcorn.
I wake up I don't know how many hours later and it's pitch black and there's no air and I'm panicking like nothing else. A little voice in the back of my head is telling me I'm dead and I'm not going to suffocate, but I'm too busy panicking to pay the bastard any attention. I thrash around, screaming, and suddenly the light comes back and there's air and space around me. I lie on the floor panting. Was that hell or something? That sucked worse than the shiny acoustic place. I look around, and the beanbag's lying next to me, all crumpled like someone's picked it up and shaken it then stomped on it. Just wait a bloody moment - was I stuck in a frackin' beanbag? How embarrassing. I'm just getting to the 'thank God there was no one around to see that' relief stage when I hear a quiet snigger. It quickly turns into a high-pitched cackle of glee.
"Damn, boy, that looked like the beanbag was giving birth to a nerd."
I get myself upright in double-quick time. A blonde see-through chick is standing in my lounge room laughing at me. She's not half-bad looking, actually - short skirt covering a nice arse, nice tits in a low-cut top. But I prefer women who laugh at my jokes, not my humiliations.
"Who the hell are you?" I demand.
"I'm Linda. I'll be your guide to the afterlife, or some shit. And can we hurry up about it? They yanked me away from a hot tub full of hot angel boys and a bottomless bottle of Baileys for this."
"Geez, you could just frack off right now if you'd like."
"Nothing I'd like better, kiddo - but I've got a duty. OK? Now, first - put some clothes on. Please?"
I look down, and yup, I'm naked as the day I was born. Crap. I do my damnedest to imagine clothes, but all I manage is a pair of undies. Linda sniggers at me, sits down on the lounge, and tells me to try harder. Slowly I get a tshirt and a pair of boardies clothing me, but every time I look at Linda I remember being butt-naked in front of her and it all disappears again. Shit shit shit! So I stop looking at her, and I manage to keep myself clothed. Well yay me, I learnt to keep my clothes on with a hot woman in the room. Looks like death's not gonna be that much different from life.
(Linda)
Heaven is all the awesome I'd ever wanted, and some I'd never imagined existed. We work hard on all types of odd things, but we play hard, too. Most of the time, I make flowers. I like flowers, but I never realised how complicated they are. Stuff up one little thing and you've got a shitload of pissed-off bees.
There's no crying, no pain, in heaven. In practical terms, that means lots of alcohol and no hangovers. And you haven't heard party music till you've heard Jim Morrison and Les Claypool jamming on steel-string harps. I know Les Claypool's not dead, but he's there. I think it's one of those 'God only knows' things. I asked one of the archangels once, and she started telling me all about Einstein and how he almost got the idea but completely stuffed up the theory because blah blah blah and once I got away I never dared ask anyone again.
I'm lying back in a hot tub after a hard day's work making daffodils, drinking a glass of champagne while a muscly dark-skinned angel rubbing my feet. An archangel - that's one of the chicks with the halos, in case you're wondering - tells me I've got work to do, right now.
"I only just finished!" I whine, but I'm already putting my flute down and sitting up. Archangels have that sort of effect on you, like a sexy young woman on a man. You just kinda do what they say before you realise you're doing it. Charisma or something.
"Special orders, honey, sorry. This one needs your - unique touch." she says, grinning.
"Unique touch? What, the flowers in the Pope's garden are dying?"
She frowns, and I wilt.
"Fine. I'll go. But I'm not happy."
I sigh, kiss my attendant farewell, and follow the archangel off to a quiet room where she explains my assignment. Huh. Right, now I get why I got picked for this. But I'm still not impressed.
"Dammit," I say, "why can't he just cope?"
She shrugs, says nothing.
I make myself vaguely presentable for the living, who are always bit more prudey than the dead.
When I get my arse down to the assignment, I find a moron ghost with his head stuck in a beanbag, completely naked, gear slapping all over the place as he struggles and screams. Oh Lord, a few stubbies short of a sixpack as well as too dumb to go to heaven. This one's gonna be a barrel of fun.
Once he's out of the beanbag and clothed - because damn, this is not a specimen of mankind that should be on display - we can get down to business.
(Cooper)
"What do you want?" the hot chick demands.
"Huh?" I say.
I'm lost. I'm dead, and a hot woman is... coming onto me?
"Why are you still here? Why didn't you go to heaven when you had the chance?" she says, crossing her arms.
I shrug.
"Looked boring as shit, I guess."
"Riiiight..." she says slowly, as if I've said the exact wrong thing.
"What?"
She throws her arms in the air, looking pissed off.
"How the hell are we supposed to help you if you don't know why you're still HERE? What sort of reason is 'it looked boring'?"
"Oh."
I think hard about how I died, or what I can remember anyhow. There's a glimmer of memory about Krystal that I follow to an odd conclusion.
"I think maybe my girlfriend killed me?" I say, tentative.
"You think? You don't remember?"
I shake my head.
"Geez, you probably choked on a hamburger."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you look like you ate them by the bucketful, kid - you probably ate yourself to death."
What a bitch.
(Trent)
I walk into my home office and sigh. Life as a paranormal investigator is boring as hell. Come out and get rid of my ghost, an old woman says, and I finish up calling a plumber because the knocking of her dead grandmother is actually air-filled water pipes. Come and help us work out what happened to our little girl, a distraught family asks, and I find out that the uncle did it and he was doing it for years. I charge upfront, before I do any work, and it all pays quite well... but it's so, so depressing. The bad and the gullible in people's natures, that's what I'm seeing every day. I've been doing this stuff for two years, ever since the infamous Linda courtcase made me famous, and I haven't seen a single ghost, boogie man or vampire. Nothing paranormal, supernatural or, frankly, particularly unusual. I'm thinking of chucking it all in and re-skilling in IT.
I turn on the light, turn on the kettle, dock and turn on my laptop. I sit at my desk in front of the laptop and sigh. I have a report to write on a cold spot in someone's basement that's probably a nasty water leak, and I'm bored. And lonely. And irritated.
"Hey, stranger."
I turn to the door - no one.
"You know better than that, luv!"
It sounds like Linda. I could, however, be losing my marbles.
I turn, and there's Linda, large as life, laughing at me.
Now I'm lying on the floor looking up at her face, and it's looking concerned now instead of amused.
"God, am I really that scary?" she asks.
I have to think about that.
"You probably are, darling - but I think it was shock that did me in."
She pouts.
"I thought it'd be a laugh."
"Yeah, what a hoot, eh?" I say, struggling to sit up. My head's tender - I pat the back of it gingerly and find a tender spot, but no swelling or blood.
"I'm sorry," she says, actually managing to look contrite.
"Maybe you just have that effect on men," I say, and she grins.
I frown. There's something important I'm forgetting.
"Coffee! I haven't had a coffee yet. Geez, no wonder I was easy game!"
She laughs and pulls me up. Huh.
"You're very solid," I tell her, and put my arms around her shoulders for a careful hug.
"Mmm... it's amazing what you learn in the afterlife," she says into my shoulder, hugging back.
I realise then that she was on her way to heaven last time I saw her. Did she get there? Has she been there the whole time? Or has she been wandering the earth looking for it? The metaphysical questions can wait, I decide. I want my damn coffee.
****
"Let me see if I understand... you need me to find out what happened to a dead man so he can maybe stop being a ghost and go to heaven, even though he's not at all interested in going?"
"Uh huh."
"And he didn't like heaven because..?"
"Too low-tech."
"Is hell any better?"
"Nup."
"Then what exactly can I do to help?"
She shrugs.
"First we find out what happened - then I'm sure you'll work it out."
"No guidance from on high?"
"Talk to Trent."
"Great."
(Linda)
Now I've dumped the big stuff on Trent, I'm feeling much better. I decide to spend some time coaching Lard-Arse in physical materialisation. If he can't make up his mind where the hell he's going, he's going to need some ghosty skills here on earth.
"NO! Dammit, focus on your index finger, not your FOOT!"
"Shut up, you're not helping!"
"Gawd, you're not used to physical effort, are you?"
"Fuck off!" he yells at me, and stabs the remote so hard that it flips several channels.
I grin.
"Oh. Being mad helps?" he asks sheepishly.
I nod.
"Helps the mind focus, somehow - probably to help you land as good a punch as possible or something."
"Huh," he says, frowning.
"Never did that either, huh?" I say.
He pouts, and I snicker.
****
It's time to make some tactful suggestions about how Lardarse is manifesting himself.
"You know how you don't have a physical body any more?" I ask him.
"Yeah, being dead and all?"
Hint of sarcasm there? Touchy, much?
"Right. You don't have to look exactly like you did in life, I mean."
"What - your tits weren't that big?" he asks.
God, what is it with men and boobs? I chuck my patience out the window.
"Never mind my tits, I'm talking about yours."
"Huh?"
"You have moobs!"
"Oh."
"And you could lose some of those fat rolls. Really, they're unnecessary."
"Oh."
(Trent)
I can't believe I was complaining about being bored. Damn, if I'd remembered what dealing with Linda was really like, I'd have been revelling in boredom like a pig in a new puddle of mud. But I love the chick, and I'm happy to see her, too. It's just that sharing a mission with her - and somehow her missions are always mine too - is like holding a lit firework. Exciting but scary as hell. Actually, scrap the mission bit. That's just Linda all over. Firework girl.
First step in this new case of mine is to find out the official line on how this Cooper bloke died, and see if it lines up with the unofficial one. So I schlep off to the Sydney Morning Herald's online tributes site. One tribute, from a Krystal, saying, "I know we parted badly, Cooper, I'm sorry it all turned to shit. Wish I could say sorry in person." Hmm... doesn't sound like a guilt-ridden murderer, but it's not exactly brimming with grief, either. Cooper did think Krystal killed him, didn't he?
Maybe it's time to visit Krystal.
(Cooper)
Far out. Being dead is like getting wiped out of a D&D game right at the start, and sitting round watching everyone else do interesting stuff that's suddenly boring as hell. Crap, I hope that's not literal. I drift into my study and look longingly at Betsy. I'd love to be playing World of Warcraft right now. I'd even settle for Doom. Anything to kill the mind-stifling boringness.
Linda pops up beside me and smiles sweetly. I haven't known her long, but I'm starting to get suspicious of that smile already. But she just grabs me by the hand and pulls me out of the comfy dark study and out into the lounge.
"You," she says, "need to get out more."
"Tried that," I say miserably, "Last time I left the house, I carked it."
"Geez, will you get over that already?"
I blink. Is this chick really telling me to get over dying?
"I am dead, aren't I allowed to mope a bit?" I ask.
She rolls her eyes and puts her hands on her hips.
"For Pete's sake, kid, you've been doing nothing else! Moping time over, got it? Get-over-it time now. Capische?"
I sigh. Fine. Like I've got a choice. I grin.
"Let's get this over with," I say through gritted teeth behind my fake grin.
She snorts, but lets it go, just grabs my hand and pulls me straight through my lounge window onto the balcony without opening it. It feels like a sheet of cold just passed through my body. I grab the balcony rail and shudder.
"That was not fun," I tell Linda.
"Toughen up, princess," she says with a grin, and pulls me into midair.
She's just pulled me off a third-storey balcony. I scream, flail around, and then realise I'm not falling and stop screaming - although I can't help flailing still, like I'm a kid who can't swim who's been chucked in the deep end of a pool by a father who believes in tough love. Then I notice that Linda is pissing herself laughing, and stop.
"You're a real bitch, you know?" I tell her.
"Thanks."
She rabbits on a bit about the differences between life and death. The main one, I think to myself, is that I'm not fucking alive. Geez. She finally realises I'm not listening and smacks me in the head.
"OW!" I yell.
"Pay attention," she says.
"We're three storeys above ground, I can't concentrate!" I yell. This woman is thick.
She rolls her eyes, grabs my arm and guides me down to the grass.
"There, better?" she asks, smirking.
I really don't like this bitch.
(Trent)
I knock on an flat door not far from Cooper's place. A few moments later, it swings open and a big, purple-haired, pierced woman is scowling at me as though I'm a door-to-door salesman.
"Um, hi..." I say.
"Trent?" she says, still scowling.
"Yes, that's me," I say slowly, trying to work out why she's so grouchy when she asked me to come over.
"Right, come in," she says, turning away and walking down the hall.