The beginning of the afterlife is like dinner in Applebee's. While you can't enjoy the place, you goof around nearby until the gizmo they give you start to vibrate and shine. In the afterlife case, the buzz is to feel the calling. Calling you to say they had processed your life and decided the next step. What adds layers of the dentist's waiting room and public agency. I am in that nightmare stage.
I read in a book that the key to understanding the present, you can only find in the past. I read it over the shoulder of a fellow in the library, so I don't know the author. I said this to justify why I need to tell my Causa Mortis before I explain where I am and why I was so anxious.
I died at the hands of the second most silent killer ever, carbon monoxide. The first one is oxygen, a slow and painful death that you can't escape except if the other one takes you first. How did I die from a gas? All can be summarised with a nightstand in a motel, a freezing night that asked for a lit fireplace, and me trusting the moron to let the chimney free. As I am dead, you can deduce he didn't, and we both die sleeping after almost good sex. When I wake, they were cremating my body. A terrible experience to see your own body being devoured by flames. The fault is mine to cared about the environment.
I notice the similarity with the Applebee when I discover my limitations. I was trapped in a three miles radius of my death place and could visit my loved ones. By visit understand, following them invisible, and with little ways of communication. People moved on quickly after my death, which made me think about the quality of my life's relationships. When they forget about me, I lose my skill to visit them, and only two remain.
Goof around soon turn to be my way to pass the time. The endless time of someone that doesn't need to sleep, eat, drink, or go to the bathroom. Near my death place, there is: a library, where I read that quote, three coffee's houses, some houses, two pet stores, where I learn animals, mostly cats can see me, an ice cream parlor, a private school, a community college, two crack houses, an interstate highway, and a large space of bushes, grass, and boredness.
I up to date with many books on my wishlist. Not in the order I want, nor a book at a time. Relly on people reading the book I want and be in the page I stopped is a lottery, and it's not made to win. I learn many juicy gossips and witness many strange things. People do odd things protected by four walls. Tip: if you want to get rid of ghosts, masturbate. Pervert ghosts are mythological creatures.
My no life got a big improvement when a mutt stray dog made friends with me. Ghosts can pass by anything and can't touch anything in the material world, and it doesn't matter what a movie or a book had told you. The disembodied can't interact with the material world. We just pass through it. Communicate with the dead is hard. You need to have a strong psych connection and don't be a pain in the ass, so someone wants to talk to you. It seems to me that psych power came with bad manners and personality.
About the dog Spot, I always want a dog called Spot, but allergies never let me adopt one. I was leaving a house late after watching a new movie release when I saw the little guy playing with a twig. Spot fetch it and bring it to me, wanting me to throw it. The clever boy quickly notices my limitations and starts to chase me, jumping through me, happily shaking his tail. Since that, he is my buddy. I help him to find food and shelter, and he accompanies me on my journey.
In the first trimester of my afterlife, I tried to prevent all accidents and crimes I saw, but I was powerless as a breeze for them. When Spot enters my ghost days, I found a way to interact again with the world. Imprecise and sometimes hard to control way to interact. I don't become a saint or a superhero, only prevent the increase of the ghost population. The ghost from accidents wake wrathful and confused and attack anyone who came closer. Jerks, I call them. I only prevent the growth of the jerks population.
Strangely, it took me three months to met with the moron again. I wasn't mad but frustrated that I died a stupid death. He told me about the dentist's similarity because he was going to talk with the management. It seems that all the three big religions were wrong. There isn't heaven or hell. After roaming for a time while they evaluate your way of life and choices, they tell your options of reincarnation. The afterlife is the waiting room for another life. The afterlife is green, as everything is recyclable. He was sorry, asked for forgiveness. I told him to relax. I couldn't be mad at someone that had the same miserable death I had. I was disappointed with myself to had chosen good looking over brains. I always had a crush on bad boys. Sadly he was a moron bad boy.
Sometimes I bumped with other ghosts. Not literally, but you can understand the expression. No one dead for more than three years. Three years seems to be the deadline to feel the calling. We exchange stories, pieces of the residents' daily life and mysteries, what happens in zones beyond our limits, and most importantly, how the afterlife works. An old lady that had a heart attack, Causa Mortis is an important subject in dead's talk, told me that once a year, the ghosts have a holiday when they can be alive again for twenty-four hours. The day depends on the culture they grow up in: Dia de Los Muertos, Bon Odori, Chuseok, Halloween, and others I had never heard before. One day to go wherever I want, eat, drink, talk, touch, be stupid and other things I missed it all. That was the motive of my excitement.
My ancestor was from the emerald island, so my holiday probably would be Samhain. I studied it with extra difficult as I couldn't hand a book or the internet by myself. Eventually, I discovered that from the sundown of the last day of October until the sundown of the first day of November, I would have flesh again. I wish to have some part with the Latin American culture to exploit a loophole and gain one extra day. Two months until this day. For the first time, I didn't hope the calling come early.
I made a plan to enjoy most of my life-again time. In a capitalist country, you can do only so much without money. I am not proud to say that the first time I passed by the crack house, two deeply high men had a heart attack when they saw me. I apologized when I met them again. People who die high, become stoner ghosts, hard to keep a talk for more than some minutes. Anyway, dead people don't have any use to his material belongs, and the drugs addicted fellows had a quick call. Thus I feel free to use Spot to search for their things and take the money left behind... over two hundred bucks. A victimless crime, I would say.
The money issue was solved. The next step was to decide what I would do. Important fact: it isn't my town, it's the nearest city to the place I called home. I am not used to the lifestyle of this city. I am a tourist, and as one, I needed some guides. I followed some college students to discover the hottest and most exclusive party on that date. If you have only one shot, you need to aim properly. The night party was easy to pick, with few options, fewer that I could enter with just a password and a costume. My daylight activity was hard to choose, but I decided to have the best brunch my money could pay for, and the rest of my day improvise. If you didn't notice, I am not a person attached to big plans. I flow with the wind.
My next days, I passed playing with Spot and visiting the remain people of my previous life that still care about me. My niece, whose I have tea parties every Wednesday, while her parents have affairs. My old landlord, that seemed to treasured our late-night talks when I returned from my job and shared a cold beer with him. If they don't live far, I could visit them physically during the holiday. That gave me an idea.
Fall comes, and I was ready. None of the ghosts I found could tell me how I would gain flesh again. They only advise me to find a quiet and isolated place if I don't want to shock the city, possibly make more ghosts or attracted fanatics and psych jerks, the kind of people you see in a History Channel late-night show. Lucky me, I had the right place in an abandoned house by the highway, one of the two shelters I found for Spot. A place with a dripping faucet for water, a good roof to protect from rain, and big enough to store anything cool he could found.
The city was already decorated with jack-o'-lantern, bats, hags, ghost, and pumpkins of cardboard, what put me on the fastest hype train. Older ghosts laugh about my mood, saying that only the first holiday is thrilling. They are a bunch of buzz killers who stop to care about. Even my landlord was happy to have some costumed kids asking for candies at his door. I was at the same team as my niece. We even choose his costume together: fairy meets a vampire haute couture. Faes can be kind and also creep.
The day came, and after go with Spot on a treasure hunt and scary some pigeons, we return to the house and wait for the sunset. Godammit, quickly I understood why the others couldn't explain much to more. To grow flesh from thin air, you need more than willpower and fairy dust. You, literally, need to grow flesh and bones. And it hurts, and there isn't anything you can experience in life that is similar, maybe dying from a steamroller, but I am not sure and don't recommend. Spot got really frightening, and start to howl with my screams. It was intensive but quick, setting the spooky mood for the night.
I stopped trying to find logic in the afterlife after finding there is an afterlife. I appear dressed. If I could grow flesh and bones, it seems that jeans, a pair of sneakers, and a misfits t-shirt were the easy part. I was alive again. I hugged Spot for a quarter of an hour not only to calm the little buddy but also because I desperately need a warm touch. You can't say how much you miss something until you no longer have the ability to enjoy it.
After this, we went to get dressing. We went to a manor using a step key hidden in a fake rock. Nobody would be home for a week or so. I checked a month ago. After we both had a well-deserved bath, I choose the most ironic costume ever: a sheet with two holes and for Spot a life jacket, courtesy of the rich owner's. I took advantage that I was there and stolen a bag of dog food and a device to deliver it automatically. They had four and just two dogs, so it would be charity. We left without leaving a trace. Like we are ghosts.
After I left the gifts in the house and explain, again, to Spot why he couldn't follow me, I went to the party. On the way, I notice that maybe I had lost my mind because I had a serious talk with Spot, and he had good arguments. I was facing the biggest manor I had ever seen in my life. It has three floors, a poll, and a yard with a view of the valley. With the password "spook duke wokie " I could enter the party. I missed being herd. There were an open bar, good loud music, and plenty of people that never had seen my face. There was nothing to inhibit me. I party like was my last day. In a sense, it was.
Only when I was feasting, I notice how I was ravenous. The energy to being material again needs to come from somewhere to be restored. I finish three beers, a wine, half a vodka, kissed some people, danced to all songs that I remembered the routine, and sang four songs in the karaoke. I missed having a body to move and to touch. I was the heart of the party, and this heart pounded until the end. I left when everybody had returned to someone's home or had crushed on the floor. At some point at the party, I won an aviator sunglass, and with it, I left for the bright sun leaving my costume behind.
My head was spinning, but I had a strict schedule. Spot was waiting for me in a corner in the downtown, the jacket no longer with him. Good boy. We have some time to kill before brunch, that I use it visiting the post office. I wrote some letters to my lasts two loved ones. I write some things to deliver a bit of confusion and much love. To my niece, a beautiful drawing of us having a tea party and a bill of twenty, and to my landlord, some stories I heard and tips about the building. It took me two hours and four sheets of paper. It would fill their days for a while.
Spot waited by my side all the time. Mostly sleeping and snorting, but by my side. There is only one restaurant pet friendly in the area, and there I planned to go for brunch. It would be a one-hundred-and fifty-bucks feast. I didn't have noticed how I still feel ravenous, in fact, I was empty. Anything I throw in there wouldn't fill me up. Anyway, I wasn't there to be fulfilled, but to fell again. Taste different flavors, smell perfumes, feel textures. The waiters look at me astonished as I was eating my weight in pies, beef, cakes, biscuits, and bread. Spot always received something by the side. When we left, the employees were making bets on what I would eat next and when I would stop. I planned to taste a bit of everything, and I accomplished it. The leftovers and the change I gave to a homeless, who always played with Spot. Money was just paper to me, worthless. It would be my treat.
I only have one last thing to do. I took a tennis ball found at the party and went to the biggest park in the area. There I played with Spot until my arms ache, and I was breathless. After that, I play more until he got breathless. He deserved. We lied in the grass and watched the sundown as my body dissolves in the dust. That scares the shit out of a bunch of people in the park. Who fled screaming and leaving everything behind. I didn't care, I was enjoying the moment, and besides, Spot could found something cool in the leftovers. It was my trick. Now I am here, with Spot snorting by my side, counting the days to the next Samhain.