Diary of a Dead Man (Re-Write) 4

4. Worked to Death

     After hours of sulking and writing snide comments in his journal, Brian walked into a crowded staffroom. What appeared as an aging utility closet to mortals, to the undead was actually a place of meeting and organized chaos. Standing at the front of the room was a tall, skinny, Frenchman who had suffered cirrhosis of the liver at 45 after his wife had left him for a German body builder. Organized in haphazard rows sat the inhabitants of the hotel, impatient as ever. Their attire was a mix of the old and the new, with modern styles only beginning to surface. It was an unfortunate side effect of being stuck in the clothes that they had died in.

     “Alright, welcome everyone,” Said the Frenchman at the front of the room. Keeping ghosts in one place and attentive was a difficult task, and one that only Jaque was able to manage. “The holiday season is coming up, so we really need to be on our game.” He was referring to October, the one month out of the year where for no apparent reason the human population seemed to take leave of their senses. Those on earth abandoned the principles of hard logic and scientific discipline in search of the unknown, and ghosts loved to exploit it. More than half the hotel’s hauntings occurred in October, and it was those ghost stories that kept them in business the rest of the year.

“Today is a busy day. I’ve got a group of Atheists on the 3rd floor that look like they might be about to make the jump into skepticism. Molly, Shannon, I need you to do a grieving woman and a creepy twin at midnight and 2AM. I want them screaming at the top of their lungs and clutching at their shorts when they leave the building.” Atheists were one of the toughest groups to deal with, but for the undead, screwing with someone’s world views, while difficult, was very rewarding.

“Edward!” A man in a powdered wig and a civil war uniform stood up straight and saluted. The man had never even been in the army, but when alive had participated in Sunday war reenactments, where he had died from a stray lawn dart. Most thought he had it coming as he always fought for The South. “You’re going to be the ghost of General Pillam. There’s a group from the history channel trying to summon him on the twelfth floor. They should be holding a séance around 3:15AM.”

“Yes sir, I’ll be there sir.” Edward straightened his doublet and sat back down, one of the few dead who remained at attention.

“Fantastic. Brian, Megan, you’re on poltergeist duty. There’s a writer on floor 12 and a couple that think it’s a good idea to hide away in the ballroom for a quickie. Show them the error of their ways, and make a real mess of it. That ballroom used to be one of my favorite parts of this hotel.”

“Christ.” Poltergeist duty was the lowest of the low. No one liked to do it. The ghosts in charge never got to show their faces, and as a result didn’t get much credit for it. Throwing books and lamps around a room was only entertaining for so long.

“What was that?” Asked the Frenchman with an indignant stare.

“Nothing, we’ll be there.” A young woman named Megan piped up from beside Brian. She was cute for a manic depressive. The scars on her arms didn’t even obscure her beauty all that much.

If I had a sex drive, Thought Brian. An unfortunate side effect of rigor mortis and trans-dimensional relocation was a complete loss of sexual appetite. “Yes, we’ll be there,” said Brian with a reluctant shrug. He didn’t have much of a choice in the matter, if he disobeyed the order he would likely be on the street the next day. Ghosts are a crotchety bunch, and don’t tolerate failure.

“Good, everyone else you’re on thermostats, disembodied footsteps and mournful wailing. Make it cold, and make it creepy!” Most ghosts don’t make it to the big show. They end up performing minor acts that cause discomfort and anxiety for the hotel patrons. It’s surprising how little it takes for a room to get a reputation as haunted. They’re right of course, but still, there isn’t much for them to go on.

The meeting concluded and Brian and Megan stepped out into one of the hotel’s many aging hallways. Bellhops were crisscrossing the floor like madmen as guests poured in for the holiday season. The hotel would be full in a day or so, which meant more work for all of its employees, both living and dead. Business kept Brian’s mind busy, which he liked as it kept him away from its darker corners.

“You’ve got to stop mouthing off to him.” Megan was fond of lecturing Brian after every misstep he made. Brian was fond of making missteps just to watch the wheels turn.

“I hardly think that an exasperated sigh counts as mouthing off,” he said with a sigh equally as exasperated as the first. Megan gave him a look that only those who are dead are capable of mustering.

 “Just because we’re dead doesn’t mean you have to be miserable about it. We’ve got things pretty good here.”

“I’m not miserable. I’m just unsatisfied.”

“Well if you’d rather take the express train down below and shack up with a demon no one is stopping you.”

“What makes you so sure I’m going down?”

“Most of us wouldn’t be here if we weren’t. We’ve got an extension; a time to come to peace with our demons before we have to actually face them.”

“You don’t believe in second chances?”

“No. If we were going to go to heaven we’d be there. Nothing we do here is worthy of clemency.”

“We do a good thing.” She gave him the look again.

“Terrifying nuns and small children as if they are the devil himself is a good thing? I think you’ve got the fairy tales backwards.”

“We give people the time to deal with unfinished business. Without it what else would there be?” They stopped in front of a door with the number 1242 on it.

“You’re fooling yourself. What do you want to be this time: Books or faucets and alarm clocks?” Most people wouldn’t have even bothered to ask.

“Books,” He said, still managing to maintain his overdramatic and melancholy air.

“Alright, let’s get to work.”