Better Off Dead

Better Off Dead

It's been three thousand, two hundred and sixty seven days since I last saw daylight. Not that anyone really asks me if I miss it or anything. Honestly, if I could roll my eyes I would. A centipede crawls across my mouth. I hate those things. Their teeny tiny little furry feeling legs, touching me, just really grosses me out. Gerald, my pet tarantula, snaps him up really quickly though. 

He's like my best friend. He protects me from all these bugs crawling on my face, because whoever sealed my casket did a real bang up job, that's sarcasm if you couldn’t it hear it in my voice…groan…whsiper? I wish I could just release some air for a puff of dirt or something to come out of my mouth. My life, uh, afterlife? Kind of sucks. I was hoping to see the white pearly gates and the big guy upstairs, but here we are. Not alive, but just like here, chilling in the ground. In a casket with a freaking hole in it. At least Gerald is here. He pounces onto my chest like I just called him over, and I'm still wondering how I can see things when I can't even move my eyes.

My grandma would say I'm cursed. Honestly, she thought our entire family was cursed. One time, when she was young and hot–her words, not mine–she went on a trip to Louisiana with her friend. After two nights of black out drinking, she woke up more naked than a newborn baby–again, her words not mine. Like…it’s not even possible to be more naked than a newborn baby, grandma, but whatever. Anyway, she woke up in a forest covered in symbols drawn with dried blood. A group of people were chanting over her and she ran. Screamed and kept running as far away as she could. She never saw her friend again, and she said she stepped on a gator on the way out and it took her pinky toe. You may think this sounds super far-fetched, but I've seen the gnarled foot in question, and there is indeed a missing pinky toe. It's very unsettling. I never really believed the voodoo witchy ritual crap but like…here I am. So it makes a guy think. You know? Oh, gross. A maggot is on my cheek. Gerald hops to attention catching the maggot in one fell swoop. What a guy. 

When I first realized I was a dead person who isn't really dead, I thought I was still alive. I screamed, or at least I thought I could scream. Until things crawled all over my mouth and I concluded my mouth wasn't moving. Then I went through the five stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining with whoever wanted to listen, depression…we've finally reached the acceptance stage. Gerald actually helped a lot being here for me. Keeping count helps too. I can't actually make tally marks and I don't think Gerald can actually hear my thoughts for me to ask if he could come up with something. But I'm really good with numbers. I was an accountant when I was alive. I know what you're thinking oh wow he was super lame he’s better off dead. To that I would agree with the lame part, but I loved being an accountant. I took pride in my job and I really just love math and numbers. Gerlad perches on my forehead. He really likes sitting there and I like it too. It's the only amount of contact I get and I like to think we are cuddling. 

Okay, well after my death, which I honestly don't remember which is super weird, accepting I am dead but not fully conscious–a truly, truly terrible thing–this brings me to two nights ago. As if being in this casket and totally aware of it isn’t bad enough, I think the neighbors are waking up. I don't know where I am buried but knowing my mother, it’s on the family plot right next to all of my other dead relatives. Who probably saw the pearly gates and white lights. Well, great-grandpa Doug definitely went the opposite direction. Definitely the opposite way...anyway, I heard voices, loudly, which is not something one hears loudly when you're six feet under. 

I can say this with certainty because I'm pretty sure there was an illegal graveyard rave one night three years ago. The ground vibrated with music and trembled with dancing feet. I honestly hoped they would have another rave. The vibrations of music and dancing made me feel less alone. Gerald didn't really like all the noise though, so it's okay all the same. The voices were very loud that night. But not as loud as two nights ago. Which is why my theory is that the neighbors are waking up. And I'm hoping that whatever is happening to them is going to happen to me too. 

I've thought about it for two days straight. What will I do when I get out of here? Well first I need to dig out of here somehow. The busted casket will be a saving grace in that regard. Then I'll take broken pieces of the casket and dig like I’ve never dug before to get out and feel the fresh air on my skin and breathe so I don't die again. I've thought about how cool the terrarium for Gerald will be. I would make a little casket in the corner, slightly buried for a touch of home. Then I’ll make sure to get all of his favorite bugs to feed him and maybe a girlfriend. Do tarantulas have girlfriends?

 Anyway, I have a plan and now I'm just waiting for my turn. I think it's tonight. I heard a lot of movement around my casket earlier so I'm just staring and waiting. I think Gerald senses something too because he hasn't eaten today. He has chased bugs off of my face, but never once has he munched on anything.

Any moment now. I hear a distinct, tap, tap, tap on my casket and I honestly can't even believe this is happening. Which is truly saying a lot, because, I mean...I’m definitely no longer living, but also definitely aware of that fact. If I could smile I would. Gerald shifts at the sounds as they turn so loud it shakes the casket. He skitters over my cheek and onto my neck. His furry little brown and orange legs feel comforting and I wish I could tell him how excited I am to take him to live with me outside of this casket. He will love it so much. 

Then a sickening loud crack and whisper, shouting voices breach us. 

“I hit one!” a muffled voice says. 

It sounds like it could be male but it's still too hard to tell. Another large pounding sound and more cracking comes.

“Keep going, you almost got it open,” another voice chimes in. I can't believe it. They must be reviving the corpses. That voodoo story was actually true and I couldn't be happier. One last huge sounding crack splits the casket and crowbars quickly fill the space to pry the wood loose. The full moon shines so brightly in on me I wish, with a kind of desperation I've never experienced before, that I could cry. At the same time I have that thought, one of the people opening my casket screams, “Look at that huge spider!”

“Kill it!” another yells.

No! I want to shout, I want to tell Gerald to scurry away and hide. Before I can even think of what to do–which is absolutely nothing as a dead person–a shadowy figure with the sharp end of a shovel blocks the light of the moon and crashes down right on my neck where Gerald was moments ago. “Got it!” the monster says above me with absolute certainty. No! I scream, but no one hears me. I wish with a kind of desperation I've never experienced before that I could cry. I feel numb as the men come into view, rummaging around in my casket.  

“Man, there's nothing in this stupid thing.” I see their faces with perfect clarity and take note of all three men. The three men that killed my best friend. Suddenly I am granted an even better view of their faces, as a rough hand pulls at the threadbare strands I have left of hair. He laughs in my face. 

“Bro put that down, that is disgusting." one of the men says. The killer holding me laughs again and tosses my head on the ground. I am facing them as they continue to dig up graves. I count their every move, their every breath. Their every word. I wish those voodoo witches would bury them alive. 

Four hours go by, it's well into the night and they abandon their grave robbing task. Claiming their backs ached and their hands were cold. They vow to come back tomorrow though. I watch them leave and I look back toward my own grave, to the last place I saw Gerald. If I had a heart anymore it would be breaking. I hear a snapping of branches and a heavy footfall behind me. I'm half expecting my head to be kicked clear across the graveyard. I hope against all hope they will just shove me back into my own grave. 

Surprisingly gentle hands pick me up from the ground and turn me around to face them. A beautiful face greets me with a smile to match. “Hello there.” she says. I want to say hello back. An anomaly of a woman, not dropping me in fear and running. Her eyes lowered, "I wouldn't drop you and run cher. You must not know who I am” she chuckles then, and I notice her thick creole accent. She can't possibly be...flashes of grandma’s bitten off pinky toe and blood dried symbols go through my mind. The woman laughs, a deep hearty laugh. ”A voodoo witch? Yes, that's exactly what I am, cher.” 

She can read my mind. She raises a brow as if confirming it. I quickly tell her about Gerald, and look toward my grave, wondering if she can, if she could…I am still alive, in a way. Could she do the same for him? Both of her brows raise. “I can do one better” she smiles again and walks confidently toward my grave, jumping down and gently retrieving Gerald's broken body.

She puts both of us in a white cloth bag and despite Gerald not being alive, I am comforted by his body on my cheek. After twelve hours, nine minutes and thirty three seconds, I am placed on something very hard, yet not uncomfortable. The cloth is removed from my head and I am actually pretty surprised at what I see. All around me are dried herbs, rattling bones and other random atrocities hanging from the ceiling. The room is lit only by candle light and a red circle is painted on the floor in front of me. 

The woman looks at me and smiles. “You were the only thing I was missing.” I'm not following and think as much. “I needed a cursed skull, and you are perfect.” She can tell I'm still confused. She comes over, and I watch her pick up Gerald and place him in the center of the circle. She closes her eyes and the room darkens, even though the candles are still lit. After a minute or so of her chanting, she smiles at me and points to the circle. Gerald is gone! Where did he go? I don't see him anywhere. Then I feel him, his little furry legs are on top of my head as he catches a centipede traipsing across my mouth. 

I'm so happy I could cry. If I could cry that is. I thank the woman and she tells me to call her Grandma. I squint at her, like...my grandma? She only smiles wider. “I’ve been looking for you for so long and now that you are here, I will give you something else you want.” I immediately think of getting Gerald a big terrarium and a nice one bedroom apartment overlooking a lake. 

Her smile fades. “I can't give you that,” I look around at the new grave I am in. The lighting is way better, Grandma can hear my thoughts, Gerald is alive, and there are so many weird things in here for me to count. It's actually kind of great. Gerald snuggles on top of my head–at least I’d like to think he is snuggling. Then I think of the three men that killed Gerald earlier. I think about them being in the ground like the graves they dig up to steal from. I think about wishing a voodoo witch would bury them alive. Grandma’s smile is back and the room darkens and she begins to chant.