“Do you have brittle bones?” said the cadaver who had lost the fingers.
“No, my bones are okay. In fact, I’ve always been pretty athletic. But my boss fired me today because I look too scary to teach aerobics.”
“Nonsense!” bellowed a burly corpse across the room. “You’re not scary at all. Actually, you’re pretty cute!”
“Adorable!” another stiff squealed.
All of the audience members grunted or hooted in agreement.
“Oh! Thank you!” Inga said. “But I’m afraid my boss was right. Living people have a problem with me. My class isn’t even big enough to pay my salary. It’s a pity you folks don’t need an aerobics instructor.”
“Exercise doesn’t agree with us,” Rose said. “We try to avoid excessive movement. And sunlight.”
“And animals,” a one-legged green atrocity said. “A dog ran off with part of me last week.”
Soon all the audience members were talking about their various inconveniences—the trials of trying to exist in secret, in a world of unsympathetic living beings.
“Flies!” one mushy heap exclaimed. “Do you know how hard it is to keep the flies off? And don’t get me started about maggots!”
“I’ve got plenty of money,” the burly corpse said, “but how am I supposed to go shopping? I can’t go walking around the mall!”
“I can pass for living,” Rose said, “but how long is that going to last? Make-up and perfume can only go so far! And I simply can’t go out on hot days. It would be nice to have someone to help with the touch-up work ... and the maintenance ... but who can I trust?”
Then the noseless creature said,” Yeah, it’s not like there’s some living person we could pay to help us out on a regular basis.”
A thoughtful silence settled over the room.
Then heads slowly began to turn—all toward Inga.
“I’d pay cash!” the lumpy horror said.
“I’ve got gold coins! So many pretty gold coins!” creaked an especially withered she-thing.
“Would you like a new car?” one dapper cadaver offered. “I bought a lovely red sports car about two weeks before I died. Why, it even matches your hair!”
“You could move in here, if you like,” Rose said. “I don’t use most of the house, so you’d have the run of the place. Say, can you type? I’m thinking of writing another book, but I’m starting to get CDS—Carpal Decay Syndrome.”
Inga wasn’t even worried when new tears—of happiness—began to flow down her cheeks. Her make-up was already ruined, and her generous new friends didn’t care how she looked anyway.
The Agony of Claude Bawls
The Muzak played Alley Cat as Landford stepped off the elevator.
Instantly he knew something was up. Everybody in the office had that deer-in-the-headlights look—a look no one likes to see at work. He was a half-hour late, and for a frantic second he wondered if some crisis had taken place which had required his attention. But no: the fright-eyes weren’t focused on him.
He dropped off his valise and coat at his office and headed for the staff lounge. If gossip was on the wing, that was where it would eventually go to roost.
He found Marla, the receptionist, and Peg, an intern from the community college, by a plate of jelly doughnuts, exchanging sotto voce comments. He tried to maintain his most serious, concerned expression as he snatched a raspberry doughnut. “Everything all right?” he said.
Peg turned to him with a grimace of a smile. “Oh, Isaac. You haven’t heard? It’s so—” She rolled her eyes, as if searching her brain for the right word. “—freaky. In a bad sort of way.”
Marla stepped closer to him. “It’s Zuzie’s husband. Claude.”
Zuzie Bawls was Landford’s supervisor, a fiftyish, dark-haired woman who wore black blazers and loud, flowing scarves. “Claude? The piano teacher?” he said. He had a quick mental image of a keyboard lid slamming down on plump fingers. He pushed the thought out of his mind.
“It’s just so freaky. Really.” Peg whispered.
“Yes, dear, we know.” Marla gave the girl a withering glance, then turned to Landford. “He was walking down Caslon Street last night. You know that area? Hilly, with steep lawns?”
“Yeah...” He couldn’t imagine what the terrain had to do with anything.
“Someone was cutting their lawn by lowering the mower down the hill with a rope. Claude was walking by at the base of the hill when...” She gulped—visibly, audibly. “When the rope came loose.”
“My God.” In his surprise, Landford squeezed his doughnut, slopping a bit of raspberry jelly on his silk tie.
“That’ll never come out,” Peg said, dabbing his tie with a napkin. “Claude’s hurt real bad. Zuzie told us what happened and then shut herself in her office. She’s still in there.”
He exhaled slowly. He didn’t know Zuzie very well, but as office relations went, he was her best friend in the company. “I guess I’d better go say something to her.”
The two women nodded in synchronized sympathy.
As he walked to Zuzie’s office, he heard the bee-buzz of employee whispers. Here and there he caught a few words: terrible...what about his hands?...I heard...tried to push it off and...
He knocked on Zuzie’s door. “Zu? It’s Zack.” he smiled at that. Zu and Zack: sounded like a comedy team.
“Oh! Oh, Isaac.” Her warm voice cracked. “Yes, come in, please.”
He opened the door to what he called Cat Land: Zuzie had dozens of cat statuettes scattered on shelves on each wall. Cats of jade, glass, silver... wooden tabbies, chintzy plastic Siamese kittens...even a china collector’s figurine of Felix the Cat.
Zuzie had mentioned that she had twenty-seven cats at home, and that she liked to read to them. And cook gourmet meals for them. And sew little costumes for their special kitty parties. As she put it, “Pets are good for you.”
Zuzie stared up at him with puffy, reddened eyes. She was clutching a cat figurine he had never seen before. It was about eight inches tall and carved, very badly, out of dark red stone.
“You shouldn’t have come to work,” Landford said. “I mean, the bank would understand if...” His words trailed off. Zuzie wasn’t paying attention. She simply moaned and ran her fingers over the stone cat.
He moved a little closer. “Do you want me to drive you home, Zuzie? I’d be happy to. Really, no problem. You should get some rest.”
“Rest?” She glared up at him. “We have three pianos in the house. How can I rest, seeing those pianos, knowing he will never—”
“Claude’s going to be okay, right?”
“He’ll live. But it won’t be much of a life.” Zuzie set down the stone cat.
Landford got his first clear view of the red cat’s face, and it was—horrible. Huge round eyes, topped with heavy brows. A mouthful of jagged teeth, surrounding a thick tongue that protruded in a viciously comic expression.
“What hospital is Claude at?”
Zuzie turned away from him to stare out the office window. “He’s not in a hospital. He’s with friends.”