Over on the ‘How To Be Dead’ Kickstarter page, we’ve reached over £3,000! Thank you so much! You continue to be awesome.

This means that ‘How To Be Dead’ will come with a new short story.

What can I tell you about it? Well, it’ll be set before the events of ‘How To Be Dead’ and will be funny and sad. And have a joke about Elvis. You can’t go wrong with jokes about Elvis.

This story will only be available with the Kickstarter versions of ‘How To Be Dead’, so this is your chance to get hold of it now, though it will be in the “collected works” book once the other two novellas are finished.

Haha! “Collected works”. How much of an arse do I sound?

Remember you can support ‘How To Be Dead’ with just 3 clicks!

Well, 4 if you include clicking on this link to take you to the screen where you can support it in 3 clicks

Thanks again!

Love ya

Dave

x

It’s Monday lunch time and I’m still trying to process the weekend’s events.  We’ve smashed the Kickstarter funding goal. I’ve gone from joy to befuddlement all the way through to abject terror and back to joy again. Thank you everybody. I could not have imagined that we would be in this position after three days. I don’t think it’s hyperbole to say you’ve made a little geek’s dreams come true by helping me publish this first part of what will hopefully be a big adventure.

People have asked me whether a physical copy of the book would be available to buy. I have been reticent to do this for various reasons, but having spent the weekend researching the possibility and talking to others (Thanks to Steve Baxter in particular), I have decided to print some.

Before we do this though, I want to make a few things clear so nobody is disappointed.

This novella is 20,000 words long. It was always intended to be a fun little read. To put the length into perspective, a novel is usually 60,000-100,000 words long. Have you read ‘The Time Machine’ by HG Wells? That’s just over 30,000 words. So this is two thirds the length. ‘Game of Thrones’ this ain’t.

To make it a bit special then, this will be a Kickstarter exclusive, never to be repeated, limited run of a maximum 100 paperback copies. I’m buying one, so will my wife and I shall give one to the very generous person who has bought into the £100 reward level. So that leaves a maximum of 97. I will even – and I can’t believe I’m typing this – sign them if you want.  

And, as a stretch goal, if we reach the frankly ludicrous total of £3,000, I will include a new short story in both the electronic and paperback versions.

 So. We cool? Good. Let’s go!

x

Kickstarter is a funding platform for creative projects. My project is to turn the story I wrote on the ‘How To Be Dead’ website into a novella.  Every project creator sets their project’s funding goal and deadline. If people like the project, they can pledge money to make it happen. If the project succeeds in reaching its funding goal, all backers’ credit cards are charged when time expires. If the project falls short, no one is charged. Funding on Kickstarter is all-or-nothing. Gulp.

You can help ‘How To Be Dead’ reach its target with just 3 clicks.

1. Click on the button below to visit the Kickstarter page and pledge your support. Or just laugh at my stupid face in the video.

2. Click on the button below to share with your awesome Facebook friends.

3. Click on the button below to let your bazillion Twitter followers know about ‘How To Be Dead’.

There. That was nice and easy, wasn’t it? You’ve done a good thing. Three good things. Go on. Have a biscuit. Have three biscuits. You deserve them.

I just want to say thank you to you all for your support and kind words over the past few months as this project took shape. With your help, we can unleash ‘How To Be Dead’ on a wider, unsuspecting world….

-———————————————————————

*****UPDATE – FUNDING ACHIEVED!!! STRETCH GOALS ADDED!!!*****

Incredibly, we raised the target amount in about 58 minutes. I can’t begin to thank everybody enough. You’ve made an old geek very, very happy. I shall raise a very large glass of wine to you all tonight.

We’re almost at 200% of the target and I never thought that I would be considering stretch goals on the first afternoon. But here are a couple of additions to the original campaign:

If we raise £800 – The business cards will be upgraded. Raised lettering. Heaviest weight card. The works.

If we raise £1000 – If you have bought a reward package containing a badge, you will receive TWO badges instead. The original ‘I’M DEAD. ASK ME HOW’ and one featuring the ‘Cute Death’ logo.

I’ve nearly finished the new version of How To Be Dead and I have to figure out how I get it to those who would like to read it.

I’ve talked to various people in the industry about the best way to publish How To Be Dead, and the other two parts, and I’ve made the decision to do it myself.

There are various reasons for this. It started out as a DIY project and it’d be good to carry that ethos through to the end (Yeah. Stick it to The Man). I want to keep you guys up to speed with the creative process. I’m a massive control freak. The list goes on.

I want to publish this first eBook properly. Edited, formatted, a pretty front cover. Quick ‘back of the fag packet’ calculations show that this will be a few hundred quid to do all this.

I have three kids. A few hundred quid may be an issue. So over the next few weeks I’ll be putting together a Kickstarter campaign to raise the funds. A shiny pound will get you a copy of the e-novella and a thank you in it. But I’ve also been planning lots of cool rewards including limited edition badges, Death’s business card and tee shirts. Even the opportunity to have a character named after you, or a loved one, brutally slaughtered in novella 2 ‘Paper Cuts’.

But my intention was to always have this as a collaborative process between you and I. Is this something that you’d be interested in? Is there anything else you’d like as a reward?( I’m drawing the line at sexual favours, which will only end in crushing disappointment).

I’d be very grateful if you’d make the scary journey to the bottom half of the internet and let me know what you think in the comments section.

Lots of love

Dave x

Dave the writer, as opposed to Dave the fictional character.

Oh, bloody hell. That’s going to get confusing, isn’t it? The character is only called Dave because I couldn’t think of a name and I thought to myself ‘Oh, I’ll change it in a re-draft’. But I never did. Because I’m lazy.

First, I’d like to say thank you to everybody that read, re-tweeted or shared ‘The Death Guide To Life’. I know from bitter experience how busy the modern world is and I appreciate that you stopped for five minutes to scan through some poorly constructed jokes about physics. You are all awesome.

I’ve had a couple of weeks off from writing. A large chunk of TDGTL was written while recovering from a heart operation so I was pretty much exhausted after the three months of the serialisation. I chilled for a bit (or as much as I could with a full time job to still deal with) and did some reading (‘Horns’ by Joe Hill, by the way, is brilliant). But I ended up picking up the pen again. Because I can’t help it.

Some people have asked what is next for Dave (Fictional) and Death, which is a lovely question for a writer to be asked. Thank you. Well, I, Dave (Non-Fictional), am in a position to tell you the rough plan.

I’m currently in the process of expanding and tweaking the web-story. This will become a novella called ‘How To Be Dead’. It will be followed by two more novellas tentively titled ‘Paper Cuts’ and ‘Aim For The Head’. These will be e-books and, if all goes well, they will be packaged up into something physical and analogue along with some extra bits and pieces.

Whether I do this myself or with a traditional publisher is a conversation I’m having at the moment, but I shall keep you up to date on this site. Possibly along with some extra bits of writing. Exciting, no? No? Oh. Fair enough.

I am going to be doing some work on this website over the weekend. As the first book is ‘How To Be Dead’, I shall be changing the name of this site to HowToBeDead.com and importing the short film stuff over from the current ‘How To Be Dead’ site. Because what I really want to be doing on a sunny weekend is shouting angrily at a website that doesn’t do what I ask.

Oh, you didn’t know we made a short film? It’s over here. Everyone involved was brilliant and did amazing work despite the massive drag factor of the script.

Anyway, enjoy the sun this weekend. As Death would say, “I feel like me warmed up.”

Love

Dave (Non-Fictional)

xxx

The UberSystems International board room had been designed with an understated good taste and an overstated budget. If Dave knew how much the leather chair he sat in cost, he would probably have stopped picking at the stitching.

He was surrounded by middle-management, cheap suits and expensive ties. The room hummed with anticipation and buzz words. Dave had realised that you could recreate the fun of a meeting by slamming your head in a door while someone poured cold coffee over you and repeatedly shouted “Synergies!”.

Conrad West burst through the door like a small, yet well-dressed explosion. He slipped off his jacket and slid into the chair at the head of the table in one silky movement.
“Monday morning. Let’s grab the week by the throat,” he said as he clapped and rubbed his hands together.
“Or smother it with a pillow,” Dave muttered with a yawn. Although he had slept through Sunday, he had never been so tired. He briefly wondered what touching a ghost’s soul did to the living.
“What was that, Marwood?” West asked.
“Nothing, sir. Just very excited.”

Dave returned to his thoughts, tuning out the white noise of corporate-speak. He had not spoken to Melanie since Saturday morning. He hoped that he would have been able to speak to her when he had got into work, but he had been dragged into this meeting. Was this playing it cool? Too cool? Not cool enough? Should he wait longer? Being a grown up was rubbish, Dave decided.

“I’ve looked at the figures. Right now, the market’s colder than a witch’s tit,” West told the room, “We’ve been looking at new investment models. People already regard us as monsters that feed on faded dreams and broken promises made to small children. Let’s not piss about. The Heart of Darkness Fund. Tobacco companies, arms manufacturers, petro-chemical giants.”

Brochures were passed around the board room. Though the figures and formulas contained within them were incomprehensible to Dave, others gave low whistles and murmurs of approval.
“As society crumbles, markets crash and governments fall the returns could be phenomenal,” West continued. The excitement in the room made Dave feel uncomfortable. He raised his hand to speak.
“Yes, Dave?”
“I’m sorry, Mr West,” Dave spoke up, “but is this ethical?” There was a moment’s pause before the room erupted in laughter. The suit next to him tapped him on the shoulder.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?”
“I love this guy!” bellowed West, “UberSystems International takes its employees’ concerns very seriously and I’m sure we can allay them. Now if there are no more questions, then we’ll move on. Bowen will talk to us about the company’s new vision statement.”
Bowen had entered the room unnoticed, like a ninja accountant. He took his place in the seat at West’s right hand. Meticulous in his movements, he removed a single piece of paper from a folder and placed it on the table.
“The board have been working with one of the country’s top consultants for several months in order to rewrite our corporate narrative. Here’s what they have agreed upon.” Bowen cleared his throat and read from the paper. “’UberSystem International’s vision is to always be true to our vision’.”
“Punchy, don’t ya think?” West grinned.
Dave looked around at the people applauding, a fervour in their eyes, wanting to be led, no matter where. He raised his hand again to disapproving glares.
“And how much did that cost?” Dave asked.
“I don’t have the exact figure to hand,” replied Bowen, “but around two hundred thousand pounds.”
This time Dave saw his whole future flash before his eyes. A near life experience.
“Life’s too short for this,” he said shaking his head. He stood up and walked out of the board room that was bursting with the kind of silence that follows a detonation.

Dave returned to his office and began filling his suit pockets with his Star Wars action figures. West did not knock on the door, but strode in as if he owned the place. Which he did. That was fair enough, Dave thought.
“Dave,” West smiled benignly, “UberSystems international is like a big family. We laugh with each other, we fight with each other. Sometimes we hit one member over the head with a shovel and bury them under the patio for the insurance. But we don’t stay mad at each other.”
Dave let out a long sigh, one that had been growing since he had first walked through the doors of this building.
“I’m sorry.”
“Hey, it’s alright. Nobody died.”
“We’re all dead, Conrad. Everybody in this office is dead and we’re all just killing time until somebody comes along and puts us in the ground.”
Dave could tell by the look on West’s face that nobody had dared talk to him like that for a long time, if ever.
A crowd had gathered outside what Dave now assumed was no longer his office. Melanie fought her way to the front with a concerned look on her face.
“Is everything alright, Dave?” she asked.
“You walk out of that door, Marwood, and it will be the biggest mistake of your life. I guarantee it,” West snarled.
Accepting the challenge, Dave walked up to Melanie. He looked into her eyes and it felt, once again, as if she was the one thing keeping his heart going.
“Did you know the only reason I came into work every day was to see you? Not telling you sooner. That is the biggest mistake of my life.”

The kiss that followed was the most real and true thing Dave had known.

“Is that a stormtrooper in you pocket or are you just pleased to see me?” Melanie asked with a sly smile when their lips finally parted.
“Han Solo, actually,” Dave croaked.

*

On this occasion, it only took Dave two attempts to find Crow Road. The weathered and faded brick buildings were a welcome contrast to the sharp edges and brutal lines of the office he had left for the last time. He was about to ring the bell of of Number One Crow Road when the electronic buzz of the lock revealed that he was expected.

Anne was waiting at the top of the stairs. She did not say anything, but simply led him in. Death was leaning against the door to his office.
“Glad to have you on board, Dave. The pay’s terrible and the hours are awful. I’ll offer you this bit of career advice. There’s no ‘I’ in team. But there is ‘tea’. So put the kettle on,” Death said before disappearing into his office.
“Just so you know, that was your orientation,” Anne explained.
“Thanks. Is Emily…?”
“Yes,” Anne nodded, “You did well. Little girl ghosts are the scariest.”
Dave smiled. The weight of worlds lifted.
“I can’t hear anything boiling!” Death called from the other side of his door. Anne dropped a heavy stack of folders into Dave’s arms.
“These need to be done by the end of the week.”

The End/The Beginning

Dave made his way to Marylebone station, where he found buying a train ticket was an altogether less philosophical experience. He bought a cappuccino with so much chocolate topping it was technically a coffee Revel and boarded his train.

He finally succumbed to the tiredness that had buried deep into his bones and he fell asleep before the train had left London. He dreamt that he had died but nobody had noticed. Everybody he knew continued with their lives, oblivious to his absence. Terrified, he called and screamed at them as if behind a glass wall, but nobody heard. When he woke with a cry, he had arrived at his destination.

Dave left the station and, as Meadow Close was only a few minutes’ walk away, he thought that the crisp winter air would clear his head of the cotton wool cocoon that sleep had brought on. He was struck by the odd juxtaposition of the familiar and the new. There was the newsagent he had bought sweets from. A block of flats that had once been a pub.

Soon, he was walking past the smooth lawns and scrubbed windows of Meadow Close. The suburban perfection made the shock of seeing his childhood home more intense. A bleakness infected the abandoned Number 14. The overgrown front garden and boarded windows made it look like a decayed tooth in an otherwise healthy mouth.

Dave wondered what could have happened in the two decades since his family left the street and he knew where he could possibly find answers. He walked to the house next door and rang the bell. The door was opened by an old lady. Stooped over a walking stick, she looked Dave up and down warily.

“Mrs Van Dresch?” Dave asked.
“I’m not buying anything,” Mrs Van Dresch replied in an indeterminate accent and began to close the door.
“I’m Dave Marwood. Bob and Lorraine Marwood’s boy? Do you remember?”
Mrs Van Dresch peered over her glasses and smiled. “No! Little Dabbie Marwood? Come in! The kettle has just boiled. How long has it been?”
Dave stepped into the hallway and was shepherded into the kitchen.
“About eighteen years, I think.”
“Look at you. So big now! Why do you come here?” 
“I’m just visiting an old friend”
“And parents? How are they?”
“They’re good. They moved to the coast a few years ago. What happened next door?”
Mrs Van Dresch put a cup of tea in front of Dave and let out a sigh.
“Very bad things. Strange things. Everybody frightened. Nobody want to live there. Very sad. It has good parking and south facing garden.”

Dave stayed while he finished his stewed tea and ate a slice of inappropriately named sponge cake. He and Mrs Van Dresch made small talk, but he could not make her elaborate on what happened next door. He said goodbye, promised to stay in touch, and when she had shut the door behind him, walked into the front garden of Number 14.

Dave tried to look into the house but the boards over the windows were too tightly rammed together to offer any view. Hoping he would have more luck at the rear, he climbed over shopping trolleys and broken pieces of furniture thrown in the side alley.

The back garden was in a worse state than the front, but the kitchen door had been exposed by somebody in the past. One of the small panes of glass had been punched in and the door opened easily when Dave tugged at the handle.

Daylight splashed over the grey stale sideboards and cupboards. The house seemed to shift, as if it knew it had been invaded. Dave could have sworn the cup on the table in front of him moved an inch or two. Nerves made the tea and cake bubble in his belly, but he forced himself to take a step forward.

The cup flew from the table. Dave ducked and it sailed over his shoulder and smashed on the wall behind him. He choked on the dust and waited for both the grime and his heart rate to settle.
“Haunted house. No meddling kids. A janitor could make a healthy profit with a place like this,” Dave muttered to himself. He trod carefully into the hallway and to the foot of the stairs.

Dave had mounted the first step when he first heard the low rumble. It grew in intensity until his whole body shook as if caught in an earthquake. He gripped the bannister to steady himself and could hear items in other rooms crash and smash to the floor. Soon, the groans of the house died down until the only movement was the dust motes dancing in the thin shafts of light.

Dave relaxed again and that was when an invisible energy sucker punched him off his feet. He crashed to the floor, gasping as the wind was knocked out of him. Something in his head screamed for him to run out of the door and never look back, but he could not tell if the voice belonged to him. He stood up, dusted himself down and headed back to the stairs. Dave climbed. He turned the tight corner when he reached the top.

“GO AWAY” had been scratched thick and deep into the wall opposite. He ran his fingers across the rough relief of the letters. Layers of paint and wallpaper peeked at the edges like rock strata. He walked across the landing to his old bedroom door. The paint was peeling and it hung off its hinges. Dave pushed it open with effort, the bottom scraping and catching on the bare floorboards.

There stood a little girl, no older than eight years old. She wore the same summer dress and sad expression Dave had last seen almost twenty years ago.
“Hello Emily,” he said.
“Go away,” replied the girl.
“It’s me. Dave. We used to play hide and seek together. You always won. Remember?”
“You can’t be. You’re a grown up.”
Dave smiled sadly. “That’s what happens.”
“Not to me. You left. That made me cross.” Emily’s lower lip jutted out like a bruise.
“Is this what this has all been about? You’ve been sulking?”
Emily shrugged her shoulders, her eyes staring at the floor. Dave could feel a smile beginning to curl at the edges of his mouth. All the terror and fear these walls had witnessed had been caused by a hissy fit.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to leave.” He had said what he had wanted to say and did not know what to do next. He remembered what Anne had done in the forest and took a step forward. Emily turned away from him.
“Do you want to play a game?” Dave asked. Emily turned back.
“Like what?”
“Whatever you want.”

They spent the day playing hide-and-seek (Emily’s suggestion), Princes and Princesses (Emily’s suggestion) and Killer Zombie Kung Fu Cyborgs (Dave’s suggestion).They laughed and teased each other. As the evening drew in, they sat on the bedroom floor..
“I spy with my little eye something beginning with ‘D’,” said Dave.
“Door?” asked Emily. Dave looked behind over his shoulder.
“Yeah, that’ll do,” Dave said.
“This has been the best day,” Emily said.
“It has been, hasn’t it?”
“Dave?”
“Yes, Emily?”
“I’m cold.”
“I know.” Dave held his hand out. Emily smiled though her eyes were heavy and wet with tears. She placed her hand in his and it was as if he was holding the breeze. They were surrounded by light and then, for a fraction of a moment they were the light until the darkness wrapped around and Emily was gone.

Dave stepped out into the chill evening air and quietly closed the door behind him. On the pavement, he looked back at Number 14, Meadow Close. It was now just another neglected house, a spooky story, an urban myth.

He walked back to the railway station and waited for the next train back to London. Almost as soon as he climbed aboard and sat down, his head fell against the cool window and he was asleep. This time, though, he slept like he had never been afraid.

14. The End Is The Beginning Is The End >

Neither Melanie nor Dave wanted the evening to end, so they decided that it did not have to.

Dave realised what those skinny boys with acoustic guitars had been singing about all these years. The rain made London shine in the flat orange glare of the street lights and the city belonged only to them. As they walked along the bank of the Thames, Melanie slid her arm through Dave’s. her fingers searched for his and entwined themselves around them. They found an all night cafe where Dave revealed secrets he had never told anyone and she returned his trust by telling him hers.

Soon tiredness took hold and, hiding yawns from each other, they headed to the nearest underground station and the first train of the morning. Unsure of what to say, or how to say it, Melanie leaned forward and kissed Dave. She tasted of coffee, mints and hope. Pressing her body next to his, she was real and warm and alive.

“Call me,” she whispered then turned around and headed into the station. Dave watched her until she was past the ticket barriers. He decided to walk the quiet streets for a while. He splashed in the puddles and wondered if he would ever stop smiling. He didnt have to wonder too much longer.
“Nice weather for ducks,” said a voice behind him. Dave turned around to see Death stood on the pavement. “I could never figure out what you meat puppets meant by that. For a time I assumed that ducks were very romantic creatures and enjoy walking in the rain thinking about other ducks they had loved.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m guessing it all went well with Melanie. There’s no need to thank me.”
“Thank you for what?”
Death pulled the contract from his cloak. He looked at the last page, but Dave’s signature was no longer there.
“Oh bloody hell. Stupid linear time. Can’t causality take one for the team just once?” Death moaned, “Change of plan. Can I show you something?”
“If it’s quick.”
Death grabbed Dave by the wrist and it felt as if he were being poured like a cocktail from one point to another.

Suddenly they were stood in a dark bedroom. An old man was perched at the end of the bed while his body lie beneath the covers. Dave had never seen a dead body, other than his own, and he was surprised by how little it disturbed him.
“Hello, Michael,” Death said in a kind voice.
“I wondered when you’d get here,” the old man sighed.
“Sorry I’m a bit late. Traffic’s a nightmare.” The old man smiled then pointed a finger at Dave.
“Who’s he?”
“Work experience,” Death answered.
Michael turned his attention back to the dark figure. “You know you’re a lot shorter in person?” he said.
“So I’ve been told,” said Death, glancing at Dave.
“What’s it like, then? Eternity?”
Death thought for a moment before answering.
“Long,” he finally said, “I’ve been watching a lot of Scooby Doo recently. Have you got any biscuits?”
“In the kitchen. The cupboard by the window.”
Death turned to Dave. “Make yourself useful”

Dave headed down the stairs into the kitchen. As he rummaged through the cupboards, Dave looked at the microwave meals and the soups and realised that Michael had lived and died alone. At that very moment, he could not think of anything sadder.

When Dave returned to the bedroom with the packet of biscuits, Death had settled into a chair with his feet up on the bed.
“I just can’t see where they got the money from,” Death said as he helped himself from the packet, “Ooh. Garibaldi. Lovely.”
“Example?” said Michael.
“In one episode, Scooby and the gang were investigating a haunted hotel. It turned out that the janitor, it’s always the janitor…”
“Or the theme park owner,” interjected Michael.
“Or, indeed, the theme park owner. Anyway, the janitor was pretending that the hotel was haunted to drive down its value so he could buy the place cheap. But the holographic and laser equipment he used must have cost thousands, hundreds of thousands even. He would’ve got the place at a rock bottom price. But he would’ve owed a huge whack on the military hardware. It was a completely false economy.”
“If it wasn’t for those meddling kids,” Dave said.
“And they always find a rational explanation for the supposedly supernatural events but nobody ever mentions the talking dog,” Death continued, “‘Hmmm. Egyptian exhibition possibly haunted by a Mummy? Let’s investigate!’ You’re having a conversation about this with a Great Dane and he is actively disagreeing with you! Deal with the issue at hand!”
“Do you think we could get on with this?” Michael asked. Dave felt that he was intruding on a very private moment and slipped quietly out of the room unnoticed.
“Yes. Of course. Sorry. Take my hand.”

Dave returned from the kitchen to find Death was turning the pages of a half read murder-mystery novel that had been sat on the bedside table. He flicked to the last page.
“I should’ve told him how it ended. There’s nothing worse than not knowing,” Death muttered. Dave pulled the duvet up to Michael’s chin as if he were simply in the deepest of sleeps.
“I phoned for an ambulance,” Dave said, “I didn’t know how long he’d be here otherwise”
“Thank you. I guess there’s nothing more for us to do” said Death. He grabbed Dave’s wrist and Dave’s being was sucked up and spat across the country.

When Dave opened his eyes, he saw that they were stood outside his flat. The rain had finally stopped and fingers of sunlight crawled over the dark glossy roofs.
“I’m not bad, or evil, Dave. Are you defined by your job? No. I’m here because you all need me,” Death sighed. He seemed tired. “But there are probably things you need to do. I’ll see you around.”
“Maybe.”
“Oh, you will. Eventually,” Death said as he disappeared into the ether.
Eventually. Dave understood. The soul was just too strong, too full of life, to be stopped. It had a momentum of its own and all death could do was deflect its path of travel. Sometimes you needed a companion for a journey. Nobody had to be alone.

His exhaustion forgotten, Dave knew what he had to do. He quickly showered, changed his clothes and quietly closed the flat’s door behind him so as to not wake Gary, who had fallen asleep on the couch again. Dave made his way beneath the waking city until he arrived at Paddington station.

“Where are you going?” the bored woman in the ticket office asked him.
“Stratford. Warwickshire. I’m going home,” Dave said with purpose.
“You can’t go home.”
“Well that’s your point of view.”
“No I mean there’s a signal failure just outside the station. You’ll need to take the Bakerloo to Marylebone and then change at Tring.”
“Oh, right. Thanks. I’ll do that then.”

13. Home >

Dave made his way across the rainy city as fast as he could. He found Melanie sat in a corner of the bar. Illuminated by the candlelight in her white dress, Dave was reminded of souls glowing in a dark forest. As he shivered and dripped water onto the stone floor, Dave truly felt that he was punching above his weight. He was soon warmed, though, by the wine, the fire and the company. So what if she was out of his league? Weirder things had happened to him today.

“How did it go at the hospital?” Melanie asked as she poured the last drops from their third bottle of wine into her glass.
“What?” Dave asked, confused, “Oh. Yes. I don’t think there’s any permanent damage.”
Melanie pointed to her hairline. “You wanna feel something permanent? Just put your hand there.”
Dave leant across the table and, gently brushing away her hair, felt Melanie’s forehead.
“You just feel that little lump? St Paddy’s Day. Dublin.”
Dave slumped back into his seat and thought for a moment.
“I got that beat,” he said as he rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, grabbed Melanie’s hand and placed it on his arm. She rubbed his skin.
“Moron let his dog loose at a beach party,” Dave continued, “Bit right through my jacket. The dog. Not the moron.”
Under the table, Melanie threw her leg over Dave’s. She hitched her dress up slightly to reveal a dark scar against her smooth pale thigh.
“Thresher,” Melanie announced proudly.
“Thresher?” Dave repeated.
“It was an off-licence. New Year’s Eve in Glasgow. A guy fell through the window. Shard of glass caught me.”
Dave put his other leg over Melanie’s and rolled his trouser leg up. He rubbed a patch of rough skin on his calf. “Glastonbury last year.”
“You were there?”
“No, I fell off the roof trying to adjust the satellite dish so I could watch it on the telly.”
“You wanna drink?” asked Melanie, “Drink to your leg?”
“I’ll drink to your leg,” agreed Dave. He looked at the empty wine glass in front of him. “Shall we get another bottle?”

Dave swung his arm to attract the attention of a passing waiter, but knocked Melanie’s full glass of wine over. Time seemed to slow as he watched the dark liquid splash all over the table and onto Melanie’s pale dress. She leapt up as if an electric charge had been put through her chair. Panicked, Dave attempted to dab the growing dark stain with a napkin.

“What are you doing?” she yelled, “Oh God. I’m going to have to get this in soak. It’ll be ruined,” Melanie grabbed her coat and wrapped it around herself.
“I’m so sorry,” Dave mumbled.
“It’s okay. Accidents happen. Thanks for the drink. I’ll see you at work on Monday,” Melanie said, already heading for the door. She walked out of the bar without looking back.

Dave stared at his reflection in the pub’s bathroom mirror. The wine in his stomach seemed to have been replaced with a mixture of lead and crushing embarrassment.
“You idiot,” he groaned.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
Dave jumped when he saw Death step out from one of the cubicles.
“Could you not do that?”
“You like that girl, don’t you? Personally, I believe that love is merely a chemical imbalance that makes you forget your credit card limit.”
“Can I help you?” asked Dave impatiently.
“No, but I can help you. Would you like another go at tonight? Best out of two? I can arrange that. I once had a chat with Einstein. Apparently the theory of relativity is nothing to do with time running slower the closer you get to your relatives.”
“And you’d do that for me?” Dave asked with suspicion.
“Of course. You’d just have to come to work for me in return.”
“My mother warned me never to make deals with anthropomorphic personifications in pub toilets”
“She sounds like a smart woman.”
Maybe it was the wine or the desperation, but Dave told himself that everybody deserved a second chance. He just never thought that it could be so literal.
“Okay,” Dave said, “This isn’t going to screw up the space-time continuum or anything?”
“Nobody will realise I’ve done anything. I just need you to sign this.”
Death produced a thick contract and a silver pen from the folds of his dark cloak. Dave skimmed through the pages.
“Death accepts no responsibility or liability for any loss, injury, embarrassing family encounters or changes to documented historical fact…” he muttered to himself, “This liability includes, but is not limited to, becoming your own father and/or mother, the rise of Hitler or the inexplicable success of Coldplay.”
“It’s pretty standard temporal law,” Death explained as he inspected his finger nails. Dave shrugged his shoulders and signed his name at the bottom of the last page.
“So, what happens now?” asked Dave as he passed the pen and contract back to Death.
“I think the question should be ‘what happens then?’” said Death.

*

You wanna drink?” asked Melanie, “Drink to your leg?”
“I’ll drink to your leg,” agreed Dave. He looked at the empty wine glass in front of him. “Shall we get another bottle?”

Dave swung his arm to attract the attention of a passing waiter, but knocked Melanie’s full glass of wine over. Before it could complete its trajectory, time juddered to a halt. Panic was frozen on Dave’s face as the room was caught in a moment of existence.

Death strolled over to the table and picked up the wine glass that was balanced at an impossible angle. He drunk the contents down and placed it back into its halted free fall. He then moved Dave’s arm like he was playing with an oversized action figure so that his hand was beneath the glass. Death stepped back like a sculptor admiring a newly completed work of art before vanishing.

Time lurched back into motion. In an instant, Dave caught the now empty wine glass before it bounced off of the table.
“Wasn’t that full? Where did it go?” Dave asked as he placed the glass down and scanned the floor with his eyes.
“That’s two times you’ve saved the day now.”
“I suppose.”
“Why did you do that?” Melanie asked.
“Well, wine stains are a nightmare to remove,” Dave replied.
“I’m not talking about tonight.”
Dave realised that this was his chance. His heart seemed to fill his whole chest and his tongue became as dry and heavy as desert stone. “Because this is a better world with you in it.”

They looked at each other and it was as if time had halted once again.

12. Tomorrow Is Another Day >

Anne opened the garage door. It rattled up into the roof to reveal a black Morris Minor. Anne gave the car’s bonnet a quick polish.
“That’s it, is it? The deathmobile?” Dave asked, unable to disguise the disappointment in his voice.
“Get in. There’s something I want to show you,” Anne said.

Anne and Dave travelled in silence as they drove further from the choking streets of the heart of the city. Soon, the buildings began to shrink and spread out as if the world had relaxed and opened its belt a few notches.

After half an hour, they pulled into a car park and Anne killed the engine. Dave could see a forest steadily darkening in the faint late afternoon light.
“Come on,” ordered Anne and she climbed out of the car. Every nerve in his body sang out a warning, yet still he followed. They headed deeper into the woods, the branches above their heads growing ever thicker. Anne moved with a practiced grace, while Dave tripped over exposed roots and snapped twigs underfoot.

“In 1828, a young man and woman fell in love,” Anne whispered, “He told to her to wait for him for a year while he went off to find his fortune so that they could marry. She retreated to these woods. A year came and went. When he didn’t return, she threw herself into the lake just over there.”
“Wow.”
“Ssh!” Anne ordered.

They had stepped into a clearing, the trees circling them like an attentive audience. A beautiful young woman in a white dress seemed to float serenely between the trunks. An otherworldly light illuminated her path. Dave could swear it came from within her. She came into the clearing and Dave could clearly see that she was, in fact, hovering. Where her feet should be, there was only a mist. Even with his limited knowledge of anatomy, Dave realised that wasn’t quite right. Dave started to back away, but Anne gently placed a hand on his arm.

“It’s alright to be freaked out the first time,” Anne reassured him. Anne took a step towards the spirit in front of her.
“Rebecca?” she asked gently. The creature that was once Rebecca turned its head towards them. Dave held his breath for fear that it might shatter the moment into a tiny thousand pieces. Then his mobile phone began to ring. He took it out of his pocket. It was Melanie. Anne and the ghost of Rebecca looked over at him.
“Sorry. I need to get this,” he said sheepishly. He answered the call, “Hello? Fine. You…? Oh. No. I just had a hospital appointment… That’s tonight? Of course it is… No. Tonight’s fine. Look, I’m in the middle of something. Sorry. See you later. Bye.” Dave hung up. “Got a date tonight.”
Anne and the ghost of Rebecca looked less impressed than Dave had hoped and turned their attentions back to each other.
“Are you friends of Jerome?” the ghost asked.
“Yes. We’d like you to come with us,” Anne replied softly.
“I cannot. I must wait here for my love. He will return for me. He promised.”
“I know. He did return. The day after you took your life. You see, 1828 was a leap year. You forgot.”
This information hung in the air for a moment before Dave burst into laughter.
“What? That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!” he forced out between snorts. Anne looked angry. Rebecca reacted to Dave’s outburst by retreating towards the woods.
“Don’t go. We can take you to Jerome. You just need to take my hand,” Anne said quickly. Anne took a careful step towards Rebecca, her hand outstretched. Rebecca floated towards Anne, her fingers reaching for the warm touch of the living. An intense blinding light flashed from their fingertips and Rebecca was gone.

*

Dave stared at the darkness stretching out in front of him from the passenger seat of the car. He munched thoughtfully on a chocolate Hob Nob.
“This is what we do. We find the lost. We rescue those who were left behind. We bring comfort to those who are afraid,” Anne said.
“You’ve been practicing that, haven’t you?” Dave asked between biscuit bites.
“A bit. Yes. Since you crossed over, you too are a link between this world and the next. You could only see them before. Now you can help them cross over. They were read-only, but now it’s all re-writable. Sort of.”
“Why doesn’t he sort it out?”
“I don’t know. Pride?”
“So how did you ‘cross over’?” Dave made speech marks with his fingers and immediately regretted it. Partly because he thought it made him look foolish, but mainly because he dropped crumbs over the car’s pristine interior.
“I don’t know you well enough to talk about it.”
“Oh. Embarrassing, was it?”

It started to rain on the drive home. Dave watched the water on the passenger window. The streaks split, merged and ran down in paths that shimmered in the light of the approaching city. A thought had been playing hide-and-seek with Dave since they had left the forest.
“When I was a kid, there was this girl. Emily. We played together. Then we moved house. The last time I saw her, she was staring down from my old bedroom window as we drove off. Do you think she’s still there?”
Anne just continued to stare at the road ahead.

Anne and Dave arrived back at Crow Road and parked the car back in the garage. They ran to the shelter of the building, splashing in puddles pooling in the pockmarked road. As they climbed the stairs, they could hear music playing loudly. They entered the office and it appeared to be coming from behind Death’s Door. Dave realised that it was Blue Oyster Cult’s ‘(Don’t) Fear The Reaper’.
Anne knocked on the frosted glass and then marched in uninvited. Death was dancing to the music, his scythe a replacement for a guitar. Death turned the music off and it was replaced with an awkward silence.
“I’ve had a very hard day. Before you say anything, have you got a song named after you? No,” Death said indignantly. Anne did not reply, but simply placed the half eaten packet of biscuits on the desk. “Oh, bloody hell. Who’s been eating these?”
“Yeah. That’ll be me,” Dave admitted, “Can I ask you something? Jesus rising from the dead. Was that one of your mistakes? I ask because I’m concerned that wars have been fought and millions of lives lost over what was essentially a cock up.”
“You take one day off for the Easter bank holiday and you never hear the end of it. And how do you guys commemorate the resurrection? By spending Bank Holiday Monday walking around DIY stores wishing you were dead too. Anyway, what are you still doing here? Haven’t you got a date?” Dave looked at his watch. “Oh no. I’m going to be late.”
“Go,” ordered Death, “I will see you soon.”
“You do know that saying stuff like that doesn’t get any less creepy?” Anne asked.
“Thanks for the… erm… biscuits,” Dave shouted back as he sprinted out of the door.

11. You’re Gonna Need A Bigger Boat >