The Being Dead Thing

The hearse was a stark black line against the snowy white of the horizon and surroundings. A man with a curling mustache and brown, stained loafers sat in the driver's seat, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. He particularly hated the cold, and the heater was on full blast, purring like a kitten in the dim atmosphere of the hearse. The snow was falling in thick sheets and the man had to fight to keep his line of sight intact; the windshield wipers moved lackadaisically on their path across the glass. There were three bodies in the back - a fact that the man was constantly reminded of as their coffins clinked against one another. 

It was probably in his best interest to never become a taxi driver. He would probably end up mistaking his clients for a rise-of-the-living-dead movie. 

He navigated the traffic: the path to the cemetery was unfortunately very heavily used - it was just his luck that 106th Street was also the main artery that leads to the downtown area. The man was about to full-throttle it across the set of rusty train tracks crossing 70th avenue when he almost rear-ended a red SUV, which had ground to an abrupt halt. He looked ahead and saw a train chugging along, steam puffing out of the front car in large clouds. The man glanced towards the end of the train, and groaned at the sight of dozens, possibly hundreds of cars stretching out to where he could no longer see. He slapped the dashboard.  

He was going to be late. 

The man rifled through his CD’s in the glove compartment and plugged in some Vivaldi - he needed soothing tunes. The sound drowned out the puffing of the hot air moving through the hearse, while snow began to blanket the outside of the car with large, fluffy snowflakes. 

He hated traffic. 

***

‘Is anyone up for 21 questions?’ A voice floated from a dark mahogany coffin.

‘Shut up, Baz. You shouldn’t be so cheery. You’re dead.’

‘I’m well aware, my dear. I was merely wondering, seeing how we’re going to be stuck here for a while.’

‘Why are we stuck?’ A third voice wafted, like a gail of wind, from third coffin. 

‘Did you not hear the train, Martha?’ The first voice - Baz - said. ‘We’re stuck in traffic until it passes. The hearse isn’t moving anymore.’

‘ I’m deaf in one ear. This coffin has pillowed walls as well.’ 

‘Lucky.’ The second voice said, sounding despondent. ‘My coffin is just a wooden box. Really grates on the stab wound, you know?’ 

‘Oh right. I forgot you got stabbed.’ Baz spoke. 

‘How did you forget? You were there!’ 

A sound of shifting came from Baz’s coffin. ‘I was a bit focused on not dying myself, Gwen.’ 

‘Looks like you did a great job.’ Gwen said, her voice sarcastic. 

‘You two got murdered?’ Martha’s voice trembled. 

‘Yeah. Rather unfortunate turn of events, if you ask me.’ Gwen paused. ‘Maybe not in Baz’s case.’

A sound of shuffling came from Baz’s coffin, and then he sighed. ‘I can’t even punch you anymore.’ 

‘Har har.’ 

‘Off topic, ladies, but don’t you think Mr. Surly up there will hear us?’ 

‘Well, he’s not dead. And he’s listening to music. Probably not.’ Gwen sounded fairly confident. 

After a pause, Martha spoke again, ‘What’s 21 questions?’ 

‘You basically just ask everyone questions and get to know each other. You can ask whatever you want.’ Baz said. 

‘And you have to be truthful.’ Gwen added. 

‘Can I play?’ 

‘Of course, Martha. What do you want to ask?’ 

A pregnant silence grew in the back of the hearse. When Martha’s voice piped up again, both Baz and Gwen hit their heads on their coffins in surprise. ‘How old are you two? How do you know each other? Sorry, that’s two questions.’

‘We’re both 17--’ Baz started. 

‘And I have the unfortunate fate of being his twin.’ Gwen cut him off. 

Martha laughed. ‘Baz sounds lovely. So do you, dear.’ 

‘Why thank you. What about you, Martha? How old are you?’

‘How’d you die?’ Gwen sounded morbidly curious. 

‘Gwen!’ Baz said. ‘You can’t just ask people--’

‘Oh, it’s fine, darling. I’m 82. Had a heart attack. Guess it was the extra donut.’ Martha chuckled. 

Baz clapped his hands, but the sound was muffled through the wood of his box. ‘Let’s keep this ball rolling. What are you two buried in? Or wearing, I guess.’

‘Our parents had the outright idiocy to clothe me in this ridiculous itchy dress. It’s hideously pink and probably has a terminal infestation of fleas.’

‘The one from the ninth grade? Your prom dress?’ 

‘Yes.’ Gwen grumbled. ‘Don’t remind me.’

‘Oh my god. That’s the best news I’ve ever heard. That’s--’ Baz didn’t finish his sentence, but trailed off into loud laughter. 

‘What about you, Martha?’ Gwen said, almost yelling in an attempt to cover up her brother’s snickering. 

‘I think it’s a blue dress from when me and Arthur started dating. These heels are awfully uncomfortable, though. My bunions don’t fit into these. And what is the man of the hearse wearing?’

Baz had stopped laughing, but his voice was still light. ‘Some old suit of dad’s. There’s actually a deck of cards in one of the pockets. And a lighter. Doesn’t work, though.’ He broke off before starting again, ‘Who’s Arthur?’ 

‘Arthur.’ Martha’s voice had a whimsical undertone, and Baz guessed if he could see her face, it would be distant and soft. ‘My husband. We got married in ‘61, when I was 21 and he was 23. My father had served on the frontlines during the second World War, and he walked me down the aisle wearing his medals. There was a massive chandelier in the church, and when the church got torn down, I had a necklace custom-made out of it’s crystals. I think I’m wearing it right now, actually.’

‘He sounds great.’ Gwen’s voice was quiet. 

‘He is.’ 

‘Now, dears,’ Martha said, ‘My turn. I have two, actually. Why were you two--’ Martha swallowed, ‘Killed? And do you believe in the afterlife?’ 

‘Getting deep on us, Martha?’ Baz laughed, but there was a dark undertone to his voice that he didn’t attempt to hide. 

‘Baz, ever the hero, was defending some kid at school.’ Gwen’s voice was sharp and curt. ‘The other guy pulled a knife. We didn’t know he would go as far as he did. Somehow, he cut both of us in a major artery.’ 

Martha was characteristically soft and quiet, but her voice raised to a high point, ‘You two didn’t deserve that.’ 

‘Yeah.’ Baz said. ‘Well, c’est la vie, as they say.’

‘Baz, no one says that anymore.’

‘As for the second question,’ Baz said, ignoring his sister,  ‘Well, I’d like to believe there is an afterlife, but I don’t really know. I don’t even know how we’re talking right now. All I know is that I woke up in the dark, and could, like, sense you two? I would say it’s a twin thing if it was just Gwen, but Martha is here too. So I don’t know. What about you guys?’

‘No way. Even if I believed there was an afterlife, I wouldn’t want to spend eternity anywhere. I’d rather be done, you know? Martha?’

‘I think there is an afterlife. I want to believe in it, so I can see Arthur again.’ She shook her head, but Baz and Gwen didn’t see. ‘Kind of required, when you’re an old fart like me.’ 

A silence fell over the three once again. Vivaldi filled the hearse. Traffic seemed to be moving nowhere, and if they could see out of the windows, they would see the wind picking up and snow starting to hit the sides of the car, along with small chunks of ice. 

‘Sorry to ruin the depressing mood,’ said Gwen, ‘But do you guys think cereal is soup?’ 

‘Oh my god. Gwen. We’ve been over this 6 times. It is not soup. It doesn’t qualify!’

‘How? It’s little chunks of food floating around in a liquid! That is, coincidentally,’ Gwen said, almost mocking, ‘What soup is made of. They’re just different ingredients.’

‘Yeah, but cereal is a breakfast food! It’s just not the same.’

‘Time is a manmade construct and you can eat cereal whenever you want. Therefore, it’s a soup.’

‘Martha, back me up here.’ 

‘Sorry, Baz, I’m going to have to agree with Gwen. And this is coming from a seasoned cook.’ 

A muffled thump came from Baz’s coffin. ‘Come on!’ 

Martha and Gwen both laughed. ‘Martha, I love you. If I could high-five you right now, I would.’

The hearse gave a sudden lurch, before it was moving steadily again. The three coffins hit against one another and groans came from Gwen and Baz. ‘Finally. Guess we’re on our way again.’ Baz said.

‘Yay. I love cemeteries.’ Gwen said. 

‘It’s the goth in you.’ 

‘Shut up, Baz.’ 

‘You know, the whole being dead thing isn’t so bad.’ Martha said, giggling a little. 

‘I still wish I had a pillowed coffin.’ 

***

Was the man hallucinating, or could he hear laughing coming from the back of the hearse?

No. He couldn’t. 

It was probably just the snow.