Underneath his story, you’ll find links to two finalists. Please leave a comment and let our contestants know what you think of their stories.

There was stiff competition this time. Thank you all for your submissions. Here is our winning story by Don McCann. I hope you enjoy it.

The Talking Dead

“Write about a funeral from the dead person’s viewpoint”

Ghost.

So much speculation, so many theories, books and movies.  Of all the theories, books and movies, “Ghost” got it the most right.    Is there life after death?  Are the spirits of the dead walking among us, trying to finish what they couldn’t finish in life?  Can the dead affect the living?  Can they make things happen in the ‘live’ world?  The answer is, ‘yes to all’.  Especially, with the proper motivation.  Like, for instance, the shock of finding out your death was not an accident.

“Who would have thought it was so easy?  A little penicillin in the toothpaste and *boom* she just keeled right over . . .”

“I’m glad that’s over.  I was starting to think he wouldn’t do it.  I guess the black negligee was the right choice . . .”

What!?  It wasn’t just a heart attack?  Betty concentrated to try and pull the thoughts closer.  At first, she was shocked.  But, the more she listened, the angrier she became.  While the pastor was speaking—other than the murder victim in the coffin, this was really a lovely service—the two of them went on and on.  Bruce, the dutifully mourning husband and Madge, the grief-stricken neighbor.  It seemed they’d been carrying on an affair for over a year and, in the last 2 weeks, had plotted the murder.

Look at them, she thought.  In their heads, they’re fairly jumping for joy, patting themselves on the back for getting away with murder.  But, outside they’re all sad and dejected; the picture of mournful gloom.  Not only that, but they can’t wait to get back home and . . . oh, she couldn’t take anymore.  Betty was about to shut out the offensive images, when something completely different oozed from Madge’s sordid mind.

“. . . Yes, $10 million will buy a lot of . . . well, a lot whatever the hell I want!  I’m so glad I got him to get that extra insurance policy.  $100,000 would barely pay off my house!”

Now Betty was really angry.  It was bad enough it was just sex, but money?  They’d murdered for money!?  As she lay in her silk-lined coffin, fuming, she abruptly cut off all outside stimulus and retreated into her padded sanctuary.  She resolved to just wait until everyone was gone, before she was tempted to do something she might regret.  She lay there, letting her mind empty of the vile thoughts she’d heard, when she sensed things were winding down.  The pastor, a few yards away, was making polite conversation with some of the attendees as they left.  Beginning to relax, Betty suddenly flinched as a malicious chuckle broke through her enforced calm.

“I wonder if she really thinks she’s going to get me.  I bet she’s already counting the ways she’s going to spend my $10 million.  She thought she was so clever, ‘suggesting’ we make each other beneficiaries on our individual insurance policies.  Well, she’s got a surprise coming.  I wonder if I should tell her, as the light fades from her eyes, that she’s not the first.  But, not to worry.  With her $2 million, she can be the last.  No need to get greedy.”

Bruce’s evil chuckle faded as he left the gravesite, thanking the pastor for such a moving ceremony.  Beside herself, Betty let her anger turn to rage.  Channeling that rage, she floated out of her coffin and drifted slowly past the pastor, who shivered and looked around in her wake.

Sitting beside Bruce as he drove home, she forced herself to listen in as he replayed, in his head, the deaths of his 8 previous wives.  She burned with fury as he smiled seeing them all die over and over in his mind.  It was all she could do not to reach out and wrench the wheel over, forcing him into oncoming traffic.  Bruce was the true monster, but Madge was certainly no innocent.  They deserved to die together.

Home now, Bruce pulled into the garage and Betty followed him into the house.  She had a pretty good idea how the rest of the evening would go and had something she wanted to find before the night was over.  She left Bruce to make himself a sandwich and went off to conduct her search.

A few hours later, as she predicted, the doorbell rang and Bruce ushered Madge inside.  Soon enough they were naked and celebrating their victory.  To spare her sanity, she made a concerted effort to block Madge’s thoughts.  It was obvious she was faking her “enjoyment”, so Betty didn’t need a running commentary of Bruce’s . . . shortcomings.  Bruce’s thoughts were laughably predictable, magnifying every portion of his performance to epic proportions.  Betty rolled her eyes and waited patiently for the moist finale.  Ten minutes later, they were both asleep.

Betty had already deactivated all the smoke alarms, and all the lights and electronic appliances were off.   The gas was flowing full-blast from the stove, the furnace and water heater and, an hour later, it had finally seeped upstairs and was entering the bedroom.  Of course, she didn’t need that much gas.  The house would have blown sky-high from just the amount in the basement.  But, of course, she wanted to send a message.

Her last task was to turn off the stove and reconnect the lines to the furnace and water heater.  Everything back to normal, she settled in and woke the happy couple.  She had given a lot of thought to how she would do this and, in the end was torn between excruciating pain and crippling humiliation.  She’d finally decided and sat back to reap the rewards of her efforts.

Bruce grunted and shifted under the sheets.

Madge stirred and opened her eyes, “Wha…?  Hey!”  Suddenly awake, she shoved Bruce away.  “What the hell?”

“Oww!  Wha’dja do that for?”

“You peed on me, you freak!  I told you I wasn’t into that shit!  What’s the matter with you!?”

“What!?  What are you . . .?”  He pulled back the covers with a wet hand and recoiled at the acrid stench that wafted up at him.  “What the . . .?”

Betty cackled madly and loudly and Bruce and Madge froze on the messy sheets.  Trying vainly to stifle her laughter, Betty managed to gasp out, “Woo-hoo!  You should have seen your faces!”  She broke into more gales of laughter.  Calming down a bit, she told them, “You know, I’ve always wondered if that would work and it was great!”

Bruce and Madge stared hard at the wall where Betty’s voice was coming from, but couldn’t see anyone.  Bruce started to get out of bed, but stepped right into the bowl of warm water Betty had put next to the bed.  The bowl of warm water she’d stuck his hand into.

“Oh no, you need to stay in bed.  You, too.”  Betty drifted forward and placed a hand on each of their chests and, suddenly, neither could move.  Of course, she was a ghost, and invisible, but had altered her form so that each of her hands weighed about 300 pounds.  Not quite enough to crush them, but they certainly weren’t going anywhere.

“Ok, you two,” she began.  “We don’t have a lot of time here and I only need one thing from each of you.  Starting with you, Madge, tell Bruce here what you had planned for him.”

“Wha . . .?  I don’t—” she cried out in pain as Betty increased the weight on her chest.

“Don’t make me—heh-heh—squeeze it out of you.”

“Aaah!  All right, all right!  Bruce . . . Bruce I-I was gonna make you marry me, then . . . then kill you to collect the insurance and—aaah!—all the money!  Aaah!  Stop, stop!  That’s everything!  That’s it, I swear!”

Bruce was able to choke out a laugh, but Betty wasn’t letting him get away with anything.

“Laugh all you want, Brucie, but you’re next.”  Betty squeezed and he grunted in pain.  “Tell her.”

“No, there nothi—aaah!”

“Wrong answer,” she whispered and squeezed again.

“Ok, ok!  I was gonna kill you!  I was gonna kill you!  For . . . uhn . . . for the insurance!”

“You dick!  You were gonna kill me for a measly $100,000!?”

“No, no.  I had it . . . had it increased to $1 million!  Aaah!”

“Why, you—”

“Hold your horses, lady.  There’s more . . . isn’t there, Brucie?”

“Unhhh . . . ok!  Ok!”  Bruce hesitated.  He’d never shared this information with another soul.  She couldn’t know.  “How do you know?  I never told anyone.  How do you—aaah!”

“I don’t think that matters very much now.  Tell her how many.”

 True fear blanched his expression.

“Yes, that’s right.  I do know.”  She squeezed again and heard a rib—or two—crack.

“Aaah!  Stop!  Stop!  All right, all right . . .” He licked his lips, still struggling, “I . . . I’ve killed other women for . . . for their money.”

Madge’s eyes blinked wide and she couldn’t speak for a moment.  Then, “Wha . . .?  Y-you told me you were almost broke.  That’s why you said this was such a great idea.  You said we’d both be rich.  You said . . .” her voice trailed off at the reality of what she’d almost become.  “How . . . how many?”

Bruce licked his lips again, “I . . . look, it doesn’t matter, ok?  I love you.  I wasn’t . . . I would never—”

“How many!?” Madge shrieked.

He didn’t speak for a moment.  Then, “Eight.”

Betty waited, expecting some sort of reaction from Madge.  If it happened, she’d let her go to scratch and claw at Bruce, tearing his eyes out and beating him to a pulp.  She might have even held him down for her.  Maybe she’d just shriek at him some more.  She was ready for anything.  Except what happened.

Madge started crying.

No gasping, heaving sobs, just a steady flow of tears running from both eyes.

Oh, thought Betty.  Perhaps the weight of her sins . . . wait . . . no.  Looking closer, she saw that Madge’s eyes were empty of anything but tears.  She listened, but only heard white noise from Madge’s mind.  Cautiously, she raised her hand from Madge’s chest.  She didn’t move.

Madge was gone.

Betty’s invisible face smirked down at Bruce, “Now look what you’ve done.  You broke Madge.”  She laughed a loud, long laugh.

“W-who are you?” he stammered.  “You’re . . . you’re a ghost, right?  Cecilia?  Is . . . is that you?  You’ve come back to haunt me, right?  I-I’m sorry, I don’t—”

“Shut up, Bruce.  No, I’m not here to haunt you, I’m here to kill you.  You should have quit while you were ahead.  If you had, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.  Before you go, though, I want to show you something.”  She gestured to her right and a medium-sized treasure chest floated into view.

Bruce gasped.

“Ah, you recognize this?  Good.”  She folded the chest into her arms.  To him, it appeared to be floating just above his head.  “Here’s what’s going to happen, Bruce.  Your house is going to explode, with you in it.  You can probably smell the gas by now and that means it’s filled up the basement, first floor and almost the second floor here.  With the explosion and resulting fire, not much will survive.  But, you know what will survive?”  She patted the chest, “This.  This creepy, horrible, terrible, grisly, treasure chest full of keepsakes and souvenirs you’ve keep around all these years.  You know what this is?  It’s evidence, Brucie.  And it will be the only thing here that survives.  They’re going to find it right here next to you because I’m going to make sure of it.”

Before Bruce could utter another word, Betty snapped her fingers and the lights turned on all over the house.  And every single room exploded.

As the flames roared and howled, devouring everything, Bruce and Madge’s screams faded into hoarse nothings as their throats seared shut from inhaling the molten air.

And there, dangling in front of Bruce’s fiercely charring corpse, was the treasure chest; kept safe from harm by Betty’s lingering presence.  Investigators had no idea how that wooden chest survived but, when they were finally able to go in, 2 days later, it was the only thing in the house that was recognizable.  And its gruesome contents, of course.

The dirty deed done, Betty floated serenely back to the cemetery.  Settling back into her coffin with a satisfied sigh, she heard her new friend calling to her.

“So . . . i-is it over?”

“Yes, Cecilia, it’s over.  They’re both dead.”  She let her mind drift, picturing her happy place.  “And, don’t worry, we won’t be seeing them.”

“Did . . . did The Bad Things come?”

“You bet!  It was quick, too,” Betty smiled, recalling their terrified expressions as they were being dragged away.  “They didn’t even have time to be shocked.”

Cecilia was quiet for a few minutes.  Then, “Betty?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Is it wrong for me to feel bad?”

“No, hon, not at all.  That just means you care, and there’s nothing wrong with that.  He was your husband, after all, even if he cheated on you and murdered you for some tarted-up trollop and $10 million.”

“No, I mean . . . I feel bad that I didn’t go with you.”  Cecilia let a little venom slide into her tone, “I would have liked to have seen their faces.  You know, at the end.”

“Oh,” Betty wasn’t too surprised at this.  She gave a small smile, “Well, you can come along for the next one.”

Cecilia returned the smile, “I think I’d like that.”

Here are our Finalists:

Comprehending Mortimer by Bill Behrendt

Devotion by Michelle Bynum