Short Story Fragment

Here’s a fragment of a short story I’m working on:

* * *

Dirt Naps Can Be Lonely

by

R.P. Nettelhorst

“Keep that down,” Hadrian said, pointing a crooked finger at the fire in the fire place. “You’re letting it get too bright.”

Dutifully I pushed some of the logs apart, attempting to weaken the flame. Whether there was significant change or not, I’m not sure, but it seemed to ease Hadrian’s mind.

Does a ghost even have a mind? With no brain, no discernible neurons to be firing or electrical signals to be traced, how could he think? I found it hard to believe he even existed, let alone had consciousness. Like old Scrooge, I thought it more likely he was a bit of undigested potato than a leftover from one of the formerly living.

But Hadrian didn’t take to my doubts, and I was curious, nevertheless. Very curious about how he came to be in his current state. That was the reason he had agreed to huddle near a fire with me, late that cold winter night near the end of January, the wind whistling eerily around the eaves of the house, the drifts piling up along the north wall.

The fire popped like a rifle shot; it seemed to energize the spirit of Hadrian.

“I really don’t know how I came to be dead,” said Hadrian sadly. I’d offered him a cup of coffee, but he pointed out that he couldn’t hold one any too well any longer. “I’ve scoured my memory of that night, trying to think what was different, but nothing reveals itself. As far as I can recollect, it was a perfectly ordinary, perfectly normal night at the college. I recall the lecture I gave — a brilliant exposition, really, on the nature of stellar collapse. I traced the life cycles of the various stars, from dwarfs to blue giants. It was just an introductory lecture you know, and I was only painting pictures in words, giving enough to whet appetites so that the next week we could get into the details. The math is really quite extraordinary…” Hadrian paused again, realizing suddenly that he was rambling.

“What was I talking about?”

“You were going to tell me how you came to be here.”

“Oh yes.” He looked gloomy, then sighed. “I could sure use a stiff drink right about now. That’s the worst thing about not being alive any more — you still have needs, but you can’t satisfy any of them.”

He drummed his fingers on the end table; they made no sound, of course. Which raised the question: how was it that I could hear him talk? After all, if the fingers of a ghost drumming on a table were silent, shouldn’t the flapping of his vocal cords against air molecules be just as silent? There was a lot about the nature of ghosts that didn’t make sense.

“As I was saying, I was teaching my class, and then I finished, and most of the students left; a couple hung around and chatted for awhile. Then I went out to the parking lot, turned on my car, and drove home. I live about five miles from the college. It’s not a bad drive, especially not at night.

“When I got home, there were cars in my driveway and in front of my house. I had to park two houses down, it was that bad.

“I grabbed my briefcase…” he lifted it from the floor beside him. I hadn’t asked him about that, and wondered, now, both what might be inside and how he could be carrying it. Hadrian went on with his story:

“‘I’m home,’ I announced and strode into my living room. It was packed with friends and family. The lights were down, and they all were very somber. They looked up at me with startled expressions, and I saw not a few jaws drop. My wife gasped and nearly fell out of her seat.

“‘What’s going on?’ I asked. ‘Is this a surprise party or something?’

“‘You might say that,’ said Joe. He was a colleague of mine at the college. We’d known each other since we were freshmen. He looked worried — no, not worried — annoyed, or maybe angry.” Hadrian shook his head. “I’m so bad at guessing emotion or describing it.” He sighed, then continued with his story:

“Joe stood up from his chair and approached me, studying my face like it was one of those insects he was always going on about. I took a step back, and then demanded, ‘What’s going on?’

“‘What are you doing here?’ snapped Joe right back at me.

“‘I live here.’

“‘Not any more you don’t.’

“‘What the hell are you talking about?’ I was missing the joke, I was sure.

“‘You’re dead,’ he said, point blank, finally.

“I stared at him, then shook my head. ‘What did I do? Did I offend…’

“‘My husband died on Tuesday!’ wailed my wife. ‘Who or what are you?’

“I stared blankly around the room. These were all my friends, my family, my wife. Yet they acted like they didn’t want me to be there; as if I offended all their sensibilities of right and wrong.

“‘I was afraid of something like this,’ commented Joe. ‘You were always very stubborn, and you never could see the obvious.’

“‘I don’t know what you’re talking about…’

“‘Only you wouldn’t notice your own death. I used to joke that you’d be late for your own funeral. Now it looks like you’ve missed it entirely!’

“I just stared, dumbfounded. What can you say when you get news like that? I had never imagined learning about my own death this way.

“‘There’s only one thing we can do,’ suggested Joe. ‘We’ve got to conduct an exorcism.’

“‘What?’ I babbled.

“‘It’s the only way to get rid of you.’

“‘I thought you were my friends…’ I looked around the room, and then focused on my wife. ‘And you…’

“‘You’re dead,’ she screamed, shaking a finger in my face. ‘I don’t want you around anymore. Remember our vows?’

“‘I’m a guy…’ I began.

“‘Til death do us part.’ She glared at me. ‘So go away.’

“Joe got everyone to assemble around a card table in the living room. My wife brought a couple of candles in from the kitchen and set them down. Someone else had a lighter and got them lit.

“Then Joe made everyone hold hands. Joe was not a priest; in fact, I had always gotten the impression that he didn’t really believe in God at all. But he closed his eyes and began chanting like it was the most natural thing in the world, and everyone joined in. They wouldn’t look at me anymore, and they were chanting, ‘Hadrian go away, Hadrian go away.’ And someone had gotten garlic from the refrigerator and was twirling it over his head like a fool. It broke my heart and it was as annoying as hell, and so after fifteen minutes of weird antics I just wandered out of the room. I didn’t even look back.

“I suppose Joe thinks he’s some sort of hero, now. Last I heard, he was making a good second income off of driving out spooks. Like you can really do that.”

Hadrian looked at me, and I felt somewhat queasy at the notion that there would be no way of ridding myself of this unexpected guest.

“So where’d you go?” I finally asked.

“I went to Joe’s house and tried trashing it. Didn’t work. I don’t know how the poltergeists do it. They say I’m just not concentrating.” Hadrian shrugged.

“So what then?”

“Huh? I just wandered around. Being dead’s a lot less interesting than you might think. For awhile, I comforted myself by planning how I’d get even with them when they all died, but after a year or so I realized, hey — if they’re dead, what more can I do to make them feel bad? And besides, there’s that truism about time healing all wounds.” Hadrian sighed with the weight of the world. “You get over the shock of dying and losing everything, and you’ve got to get on with your life…or death, in this case.” Hadrian chewed his lower lip. “I’ve never been back, there, you know. Some of them may have died by now. God, it’s been over fifty years! But I’m not one to hold a grudge, though I don’t really care to see any of them, either. It’s not like anyone ever tried to look me up. Being dead turns out to be kind of lonely, too. Ghosts are solitary creatures…”

“Your friends, your wife…”

“They got on with their lives. Even ten years after you’re dead, who really gives a rip about you? Dead people are forgotten.” He stared gloomily at his hands. “There’s a lot of bitterness in the afterlife, let me tell you. I think that’s what motivates the poltergeists.”

“They’re just pissed off dead people?”

“Yeah — but they get over it.” He paused. “You know, the teenage years can be rough on anyone.”

I stared, puzzled. But he didn’t clarify. I noticed that the sky was beginning to brighten outside.

“You’re going to have to go soon, aren’t you?”

Hadrian looked out at where I was staring.

“No, not really.”

“But the sun will be up…”

“Do I look like a vampire?”

“But I thought…”

“Everyone thinks that light will kill ghosts or something. Read my lips: I’m dead. D-E-A-D. Understand? You can’t do anything to hurt me.” Then he stretched and yawned. “But it’s quieter at night, and you can scare people easier then.” He grinned at me. “So most of us sleep during the day.”

“You have to sleep?”

“You thought ‘rest in peace’ was just a euphemism?” He chuckled, then stood up. “Thanks for the conversation,” he said. “I’ll see you later; I think I’ll go take a nap.”

And with that, he was gone; and I was alone. At least for a while.

* * *

Who is Hadrian talking to? Where are they? Why is Hadrian talking to this person? I wonder what will happen next?