Spooky Little Girl (11 page)

“Deee, da-deee, da-deee,” Lucy hummed to herself.

I wonder what time this thing is going to start. I must be here awfully early
. She heard a sniffle. It was Alice. The funeral director plucked a tissue out of the box on the table next to him and went toward her, offering it to her. Alice gently took it, and then quietly blew her nose.

Quickly, Lucy walked toward the front of the room. She wanted to put her arms around her sister and tell her it was all right. She was fine. She was in a—well, not a
better
place, but sort of an okay place. There were free movies, free bowling, and she didn’t have to pay rent. And she would never have another bad hair day! That was something to celebrate, right?

“Alice,” Lucy called as she picked up her speed, walking past the rows of chairs. “Alice! I’m here. It’s Lucy. I’m right here.”

Alice sniffled again just as Lucy turned the corner of the first row, just as the funeral director suddenly leaned forward to provide Alice with another Kleenex. Lucy walked right into him, and at the moment of their collision, he hiccuped.

“Excuse me,” he said quietly as Alice lifted the Kleenex from his hand.

Lucy knelt in front of her sister, the sensation of running into the funeral director still hanging on her. It was quite unlike the door handle, which had been cold and solid; this had been more like running into a wall of warm Silly Putty.

“Alice, it’s me,” she whispered. “I’m here. It’s okay. I’m all right. I’m fine. Everything is going to be okay.”

No response. She put her hand on Alice’s knee, all warm and Silly Putty-ish, and patted it gently. Alice looked up, almost right at Lucy. She took a deep breath, still staring in Lucy’s direction.

“Whew,” Alice exhaled. “It’s okay. I’m all right. I’m fine. Everything is going to be okay.”

Lucy sat up.
She heard me. She heard me. Well, she didn’t hear me, but
she must have heard me.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Jared said. He was dressed in a nice navy-blue jacket a little too small for him, and he put his arm around Alice’s shoulders. “I loved Aunt Lucy, too.”

Alice nodded, and blew her nose again.

“I love Jared right back,” Lucy said.

“She loved you right back, sweetie,” Alice said. She cradled her son’s face in her hand and then gave him a quick kiss on the forehead. “We can start now, Mr. Harris. We’re ready.”

“Are you sure?” the funeral director asked, looking a little taken aback.

Lucy also couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Starting already? But no one was there. Not one of her friends, no co-workers, no sobbing friends from high school, not even one single patient whose plaque she had scraped off their nasty old teeth. What the hell did Alice mean she was ready to start? No one had come yet! Where were Jilly and Warren, and Marianne?
Where was Martin?
And then suddenly, Lucy realized something else was missing—something vital.

Like Lucy.

“I’m not even here yet, Alice!” Lucy said, shooting up to her feet. “You can’t start the funeral without the corpse! A funeral without a body is—is—just
a meeting
! You have to wait for me to show up!
You have to wait for the body!”

“Did—” Mr. Harris began delicately. “Did you want to wait a little bit longer for guests, Ms. Fisher?”

Alice shook her head, a tissue pressed hard against her nose.

“No,” she said. Then she looked up. “It’s just us here—me, Jared, and my neighbor Susan, who was so kind to drive us. And Reverend—I’m sorry, Reverend, I’ve forgotten your name …”

“Reverend Gary, of the Jesus, Mary, and Joseph Assembly,” he said, and nodded primly.

“And Reverend Gary of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Alice replied. “So thank you for asking, Mr. Harris, but we can begin.”

Lucy’s head spun. She grasped for a chair, and collapsed into the one next to Susan. “This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening,” she muttered over and over.

Da, deee-da, deee-da
… The melody above her floated from the speaker.

Lucy shook her head unbelievingly, shook it, shook it, shook it.

I can’t believe it
.

Suddenly she jumped up out of the chair—shot out like a rocket, really—and began jumping up and down in a furious, frantic, angry motion.

“I got hit by a bus!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “I got hit by a friggin’ bus and no one has come to my funeral? What is the point of getting hit by a bus if no one shows up to the service? You have got to be shitting me. You
have got
to be shitting me! And
I just realized the song you’re playing at my stupid no-show funeral is ‘I Will Always Love You.’ Why don’t you just kill me again, huh? Kill me again. Send another bus over, and I’ll run right out and jump in front of it, okay? Would that be okay? Think we can muster up a couple of people that way?”

And then without any warning at all, she quickly geared up and kicked the chair she had just been sitting in with all of her might, and though she felt her leg shoot right through it, to her surprise, it moved just a little.

Just a
little
.

Mr. Harris walked back over to the wall and pressed a button on something that looked like a thermostat. The volume of the music slowly lowered, moment by moment until there was not a trace of it left in the room. It had disappeared, just like Lucy.

The light also softened, and Reverend Gary ambled up to the front of the room and stood behind a lectern next to a table that sported a massive spray of silk flowers, a plain and shiny vase, and a picture of Lucy taken at Alice’s wedding, wearing an enormous floppy pink hat. She’d been Alice’s maid of honor, and unfortunately for Lucy, her sister had just gotten cable while planning her wedding, had seen
The Godfather
one too many times, and had been tragically influenced by the joyous scene of Connie Corleone’s nuptials. Convinced she could re-create the magic, Alice had planned each detail of the marvelous event accordingly, including the bridesmaid’s hats, although Lucy had protested that she looked much more like Squeaky Fromme trying to shoot President Ford than she did a nubile Italian maiden in a classic film. Despite Naunie’s impossible promises of getting Frank Sinatra to drop by and perform, the wedding went on, Godfather-style, with gallons of wine and trays of Stouffer’s lasagna. Sadly for Alice, it was not Sonny
Corleone who ended up in the bathroom with another pink floppy hat wearer, but her brand-new husband.

Lucy despised that photo, but told herself she shouldn’t worry about it, since there was no one there to see it. She sat back down in the chair, folded her arms in a pout, and waited for her undoubtedly shitty eulogy.

“I did not know Lucy Fisher,” Reverend Gary began, extending his left arm toward the flowers. “But we are here today to celebrate her life and honor her passing.”

Great. Let’s celebrate
, Lucy thought irritably.
Pop some champagne. I bet the cork will knock out an eye
.

“In the awesome finality that is death, we remember Lucy Fisher,” he continued, again stretching out his left arm toward the table, flowers, and photograph. “With kindness and love, not only as a beloved sister, but also as a cherished aunt.”

Well, that was nice
, Lucy thought, softening a little, but still not uncrossing her arms.

“Although she met her end in a way that was unique, unsettling, and that left the courthouse intersection closed for two days, Lucy Fisher,” Reverend Gary went on, “will be with us always.”

Reverend Gary’s left arm again traveled to his left, and this time it hung there for several seconds.

That’s a nice thought, Gary
, Lucy wanted to shout,
especially since I’m not even
here
now
.

Gary’s arm remained outstretched.

Oh, no
, Lucy thought.

Or am I?

Lucy suddenly sat up straighter. She looked at the table. Saw flowers, a vase, a photograph. Saw flowers, a jardinière, a photograph. Saw flowers, an urn, a photograph.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph
, she said to herself.
She shake and baked me
.

Alice shake and baked me
.

I’m
in
that thing. Holy shit, I’m in
that thing.

She canned me like preserves
.

All I am is dust in the wind
.

How is Martin—once she finds him—supposed to cry over my gorgeously made-up dead body if I look indistinguishable from the stuff that shot out of Mount Saint Helens?

I look like the killer of Pompeii
.

Oh, my God
, Lucy thought,
I would throw up if I still had a working stomach
.

Instead, Lucy jumped up, ran toward the back of the room—picking up speed as she raced—and without much thought, ran right through the heavy, ornate set of double doors, not feeling much of anything.

Outside in the massive hallway, Lucy paced up and down, up and down, trying to take it all in. Just like that, Lucy’s life was gone. She was just gone. Poof. Vanished. Not to be eulogized, not to be mourned. Not to be missed.

“Hey,” she heard someone call, and she turned around to see a portly man in bright yellow golfing attire staring at her from the opposite side of the hallway, next to a set of doors identical to those on her side of the hallway.

“Me?” she mouthed as she pointed to herself.

“Yes!” he said, and chuckled. “Yes, you!”

“You can see me?” she said aloud.

“Of course I can!” He laughed, then moved his hand straight through the Chippendale table that flanked the set of doors. “I saw you stampede right through that door like a buffalo!”

“Oh.” She nodded, understanding his ghostly identification gesture. “I just had to get out of there.”

“A bit overwhelming, huh?” He chortled. “I know how you feel. This thing has been going on for almost an eternity, people taking turns talking, telling stories. There was a string quartet, a slide show presentation. There were even some people that couldn’t make it who sent in videos. After this, they’re going over to the club to unveil a statue of me taking a swing. Can you believe it? Got a girl in there now singing ‘Wind Beneath My Wings.’ I had to take a break. I was getting a little choked up myself, you know? How much can one guy take at his funeral? Standing room only. What a way to send a guy off.”

Lucy tried to nod, and smiled faintly.

“How’s yours going?” he asked, nodding in the direction of Lucy’s doors.

“Good, good. I got ‘I Will Always Love You,’” was all she could manage to say.

“All right, then,” the yellow golf man said, tipping his little yellow golf hat. “I’m heading back in. Don’t wanna miss too much. I’m taking a running start this time; you’ve inspired me!”

And just like that, the man began running, his belly flopping, and in a flash like a chunky bumblebee, he vanished through the doors.

If Lucy had had any doubts about truly being dead, they were gone, and if she’d still had any visions of slipping back into her life, she knew now they were ridiculous.

Never, in her entire life or death, had Lucy felt more alone.

There was only one thing left to do.

“ROOOO-BEEEEE!” she bellowed.

“Lucy, what happened to you?” Bethanny said after she pushed the door to SD1118 open and saw her friend slouching in her seat inside. “I knocked on your door a couple of times last night, but you didn’t answer. If you went bowling without me …”

Lucy shook her head. “No, I didn’t go bowling,” she assured the perky blonde, who was now dressed in a tank top with a number pinned to it, stretchy shorts, and athletic shoes. “Nice outfit. Better than pajamas. I’m sorry. I just needed to decompress a little, have some alone time.”

“Ruby brought it over. There was a marathon in record heat yesterday, and more people survived than they thought,” Bethanny explained. “These are extra ghost clothes, I guess. Did you see someone you didn’t want to see at your funeral?”

Lucy couldn’t help but laugh. “No. I was very happy to see who I saw,” she said simply, not wanting to talk about it. “How was your trip?”

Suddenly, Mr. Russell, still in his Tommy Bahama wear, opened the door and stepped inside, followed by Mr. Marks, the bicyclist, and Mr. Granger, the hunter.

“Well, I couldn’t believe it.” Mr. Granger chuckled. “I have never worn a suit in my life! I guess I should just be happy they didn’t have me stuffed and mounted!”

“Chuck, that’s hilarious!” Mr. Marks commented. “I can just see you standing in someone’s living room, upright and ready to pounce, just like a grizzly!”

“I’m telling you, Elliot,” Chuck replied, “it’s no less funny than having your head stapled back on and the seam hidden with a turtleneck!”

All three men laughed heartily.

Mrs. Wootig entered the room, still surrounded by her puffy jacket, tailed slightly behind by Mr. Morse, the guy who had electrocuted himself by wetting his bed during a drunken blackout. To Lucy’s surprise, he was grinning ear to ear, and the hair was almost swept entirely off his face.

Lucy wasn’t the only one who noticed. When Ruby swept into the class a moment later, she stopped in front of him, cocked her head, and grinned.

“Why, Mr. Morse, not so glum today, I see?” she mentioned.

He held up his hand, his fingers stretched far apart.
“Five
girls that I wasn’t related to cried at my funeral,” he bragged.
“Five of them
. And two of them—well, one really—is super hot. The other one would be hot, too, if she got that one tooth fixed. The other three were okay, but I was just amazed they came. I didn’t even think they knew I was alive! Being dead is so cool. I love being dead. And you can call me Danny. That’s a great name! Danny of the Dead!”

“Well, I think that’s wonderful, Danny,” Ruby said, moving on to her lectern and plopping her stack of binders and folders right on
top of it, just as she had on the first day of class. “Who else would like to share their experience from yesterday?”

Mrs. Wootig’s arm shot up.