He had been dead awhile.

That was really all he knew. He didn’t recall how he knew this because so much time had passed since he had figured it out. Or, at least, he thought it had. 

He asked around, but no one could really help him. There was a lonely gal across the street that he noticed was probably dead, too, and he had tried to talk to her a few times.

“How come I don’t remember anything?” he asked once, having found his way into the hallway of the complex she hung out in.

She had simply looked at him, rubbing her hands gently over the large gunshot wound that encompassed her entire face.

“Can you hear me?” He reached out and tapped her ears, verifying that they were largely intact. The woman dissolved and faded out of the room, leaving him alone.

“Hmmm,” he spoke quietly. “Cool trick, I guess.”

And another instance, when the loud fellas came to stay for an evening with their cameras and microphones and spiky hair, he had also tried to talk to them as well. It was about as easy as talking to the dead woman, because talking to the living proved rather tricky.

“Is anybody here?” the television crew would ask, over and over.

“Right here,” he said, raising his hand.

“What was that?” One of them yelled, grabbing a device and replaying some very poor quality audio. “I think it said ‘Get Out!’ Bro! Feel my neck! Feel those goosebumps?”

“Y’all from the Discovery Channel?” he asked.

“I heard it again! Get Out!”

“There’s something evil here, I can feel it.” The crew did this throughout the night, capturing all sorts of evil voices and noises. At one point he posed them a difficult situation, as a testament to the true evil he was apparently harboring on his descent into the darkest depths of hell. 

One of the crew had set up a child’s toy and had teetered it precariously on the edge of the top step on the staircase.

“If you want us dead, push that toy over.” The crew waited in anticipation. “Come on, don’t you want to communicate with us? Tell us what happened to you! Were you ever even human?”

At this point, he realized that they were far from capable of helping him, and even though he didn’t necessarily want them dead, maybe their offer of communication would hold true if he just played along.

He left the toy alone, and rather found the nearest pencil and tossed it at the man asking all the questions. As he searched for paper, the pencil wedged itself firmly into the left eyeball of the man, and the crew tried very hard to stop the gushing blood. As they jumped from the second story window to escape, he realized that the paper would probably not be any good, even if he did find it, on account of the very leaky roof and general humidity of the area. 

And then he went for a very long time without seeing anybody at all. It seemed as though the living did what they did best, and kept living. Elsewhere mostly. The town outside was all but abandoned. And the woman across the street, dead as she was, must have found another firearm and did it all over again, because he didn’t see her anymore at all.

Finally, though, one day, he had a visitor. A young fella looking quietly for ghosts, as his mother had fallen ill and he needed some sort of reassurance. When he entered the old house, he said a few things, remarking on the infamous location as made famous by the Discovery Channel. 

Turns out, he gathered, that the young fella who had the misfortune of looking too closely at a #2 pencil had actually up and died on his way home, refusing to go to a hospital as he had assumed that a hospital had a high probability of being filled with many, many ghosts, some of which may toss pencils at you. 

He felt a momentary sadness for the young camera enthusiast, but it faded quickly. 

The man had brought a companion with him, a young sport dog. It’s tongue rolled out as he panted, and overall just looked generally dumb and undisturbed. 

He expected the dog to bark at him as he approached, but instead it turned and faced him, saying a few words that were completely unexpected: 

The world is still here for the dead. Please, continue living, in this new form, and ask for help when you need it. 

He thought it strange, and although unchanged and still panting wildly, he thought the dog looked rather wise and wonderful. 

“Friendly dog,” he said, and patted the dog on the head. Then he walked out the door and thought he might go find a Poodle, or maybe a Pomeranian. He thought that they would have a lot more to say.