That Rockin’ Club Tomb

Ghosts can have a social life.

"Le's see, now,"  gravedigger Bubba Clay ruminated to himself as he sat on the cracked seat of a Payloader, checking a list his boss -- Ms. Terra Firma, cemetery manager -- had taped to the dashboard. "One hole in'a section 22, 'tween Johnson B, and Johanson J.  Then, this afternoon, fill in Simpson, Homer N.   And, she says, clean up the mess and don't put it in'a hole.  Damn.  Why'a hell not?  I gots ta carry at trash all'a way back?  Screw her, it goes in'a hole wit' old Homer.  That damned b***h in the office ain't 'bout ta dig it up to see, nohow."

He was parked behind an ancient-looking crypt, the largest in that part of the cemetery, two-stories high and towering over its neighbors.  It had an overhang in back that was perfect for Bubba to park his Payloader out of the rain. 

As he cursed his boss, then started up the vehicle, the noisy machine caused Bubba to miss hearing cursing on the other side of the crumbling brick wall of the tomb.

The sound of the vehicle being revved up woke Gloriana.  At first, she thought she was home in bed.  Still half-asleep and groggy from booze -- or, in this case make it formaldehyde --  she rolled onto her left side.  

Gloriana had been an addict, in point of fact an addict's addict, addicted to addiction.  Her favorites were booze, drugs, sex with men, sex with women, sex with -- well, you name it and she'd done it.  The woman fully expected to find a stranger sleeping on the other side of a mattress, preferring never to sleep with the same individual twice.

Well, thinking back through a foggy haze, hardly noticing how stuffy the atmosphere had become, or how her elbows and knees were bumping against something solid -- she tried to remember the night before.  

Ah, yeah, she thought, smiling,  That guy Jim, or Jon, or something.  I remember.  We sealed ourselves into that plastic trashbag to make love, swearing to stay in until we died or both climaxed.  We made a bet, that the first one to tear their way out was a coward.  No f*****g way I was gonna let him win.  I wonder who did win?  Must have been me, cause I sure as hell didn't tear that f*****g bag.

When she tried to sit, Gloriana hit her head on a padded surface.

"What the f**k!"

That's when she noticed the stuffiness.  Trying to swing her legs off the mattress, she found herself in a dark enclosed space.

"What the f**k is this ... a f*****g coffin or somethin'?"  And it was.

Gloriana thumped its padded sides, swearing and cursing as she tried to find some sort of a catch, fighting to get free.  She was lucky, being in a crypt and not covered with dirt in an outside grave.  One corner of the coffin-top had been carved a little too deep.  Her fingernails pulled the padding loose, one fingertip managing to poke through a thin plywood surface, waving inside the middle of a letter "a".   A small matter to a human body, but an adequate exit for a ghost.

Instinctively, she squeezed her ectoplasm through that hole.  The tomb being old, the door to her crypt didn't fit very tightly.  Seeing a little light through a crack, she exited into an outer room on the ground floor of the tomb itself.

Staggering against a dirty and dusty wall, she looked around in amazement.  There was light coming through stained-glass windows on three sides of the room, up high.  Behind her were three rows of drawer-crypts, metal covers closed, sectioning off the back wall.  

The room and its drawers were familiar to Gloriana, especially the ones containing her father and mother.  So she knew where she was -- and realized why.  At least her  b***h of a sister, Suzie, wasn't with her, Gloriana thought. She wouldn't mind Mama or Papa, but not spending eternity with that f*****g high-rolling b***h of a sister.

"S**t," she whispered to herself, "we both must have won."

Instinctively, Gloriana sat on a wooden chair in one corner, that someone had somehow missed.  Raising a hand, she looked at it, noticing she could see all the way through the appendage, though no bones were in evidence.  The sound of some sort of soft classical music was coming out of nowhere, drifting over her, breaking what would have been an interminable silence.

Why am I still here? she thought, rather than in one of those other places?  I didn't really think I'd be going to heaven, but why not the ... the other ... other place?  

She rose, somewhat stiffly, to go over to the door.  Although heavy, she found she could lift an old-fashioned latch, even shove the door outward for a few inches until a chain on the outside stopped it.  By turning sideways, she found she could easily slip outside, into the shade of a large elm tree.

Ambient sunlight burned her eyes.  Holding a translucent hand over them helped.  As small limbs and leaves above stirred, rays of sunlight filtered down onto Gloriana's head and shoulders.  They hurt.  Not a whole lot, but enough to be uncomfortable.

Luckily, she still had her hand on the door, since a breeze threatened to blow her off her feet.  Clasping the door-chain tightly, she looked around, seeing vaguely familiar landmark headstones.  After all, she'd never paid much attention to them in the past, on the few occasions she had been there.  In the distance, she saw a man and a machine digging a hole, presumably for another grave.  It was only then that a feeling of intense loneliness came over her.

She found that a ghost can cry.  Sniffling, Gloriana slipped back inside and closed the door.  Was she ... was she, going to spend eternity like this? she thought.  Alone in this dirty tomb?  The formerly fun-loving woman found that prospect hard to face.  Maybe this is meant to be my personal hell? she thought.

Back on her chair, looking at moving shadows cast by trees outside on the painted windows, she suffered in silence broken only by that f*****g opera crap.

Then, she heard a "thump, thump" above her.

It came from the second floor.  Climbing up a narrow flight of stairs, she found a heavy wooden door.  Gloriana had never thought about that second floor.  She knew it was there, but nothing else.

Anxiously, she shoved her head through a keyhole, looking around.

Oh, no! she thought, this must be, has to be my personal hell.  How could God do this to me?  I wasn't all THAT evil, was I?

It was Sister Suzie, the b***h herself, sitting in a ratty stuffed chair, reading what was probably one of her damned old books from when Jesus was a f*****g pup.  Gloriana saw the noise came from a radio, playing some sort of classical music.

Both angry about the bad luck and glad to see anyone at all, Gloriana eased her entire body through the keyhole and inside the room.  

"What the f**k are you doing here?" she screamed at her sister.  "Do I have to spend f*****g eternity with YOU?"

"Awww, no," Suzie replied, regret on her own ghostly face.  "It's been a week now, and I thought you'd gone on to the hell you deserve.  My heaven has changed to the nether region."

"Screw your neither or nor religion bullshit."

"Now, sister.  I've given this a lot of thought.  Just in case you'd stick here on Earth.  Me, I'm here because I killed my last two ex's.   Nobody but God and I ever knew it, and God obviously didn't forget.  Although Alfred was a worthless bore and a womanizer, apparently I'm more evil than you.

"You a killer?  No f*****g way.  You'd be afraid of getting your shoes dirty, or breaking a fingernail."

"Oh, Glory, my dear. You've never heard of poison?  What with all of it you've been drinking throughout your sorry life."

"I still say I'm more evil than a wimp like you.  I've never killed anyone, but I've busted up one hell of a lot of f*****g marriages.  That should count for something. And where are Mama and Papa?"

"Probably heaven or hell, for all I know.  This sort of thing seems to be reserved for only the evil, like me ... us.  There are dozens in this cemetery alone, which is why I stay up here. I wouldn't be caught dead with those lowlifes."

Gloriana sighed.  At least her companionship wouldn't be limited to the b***h.

"Every once in a while, someone fades away, probably going up or down to heaven or hell.  Some, though -- murderers like me -- seem to stay around forever.  Johnny Stevens died in 1703, and he's still here.  I hear he's unrepentant and steals small objects from visitors.  Supposed to have quite a collection."  She made a show of groaning and getting to her feet, putting down her novel.  "I suppose I should offer you something, since we haven't seen each other for so long."

Suzie motioned her sister toward a square wooden table.  It contained a small platter of what looked like crumbs, also a saucer and part of a bottle of wine.

She had to hold both hands on the bottle, her ectoplasm seeming to merge with the glass, but  Suzie managed to tip the container until a bit of liquid splashed into the saucer, a spoonful or so.

"Chocolate chip cookie," she said.  "A kid dropped it on the path outside and I hauled it up here.  Not an easy thing to do, but worth the effort."

"You mean we can eat solid food?"

"If it's crushed fine enough.  As for the wine, I found I can sniff the fumes.  Not all that enjoyable.  But, then, I'm not an alcoholic like you, sis."

Ignoring the snub, Gloriana, having followed her sister, gratefully bent over and snorted wine fumes.  Ah, she thought, but that felt good.  The wine seemed to bubble as it dried in the dish.

"Don't hog the stuff.  It's lasted me for years, alky.  I see you'll never change."

"F**k you, you sanctimonious b***h."  Gloriana purposely snorted loudly, imbibing the last of the liquid.

"Get your behind out of MY home.  I don't need your uncouth presence around me. I've gotten along very well without you."

"Fine with me.  You rot up here and I'll do the same downstairs, w***e."

Gloriana forced herself through the keyhole again and stormed -- as much as a ghost could "storm"-- back down the narrow stairs.  As she entered the main room of the tomb, she could hear Brahms playing upstairs.

***

Once the sun went down and it was more comfortable to walk around outside, Gloriana went out to explore.  It was a large cemetery and she found she could go as far as the gates, but no farther.  A small chapel sat at one edge of the property.  Although she could enter, it proved as boring to her in death as in life.  The preacher apparently lived somewhere else, so the building was empty of living humanity.

The new ghost did inspect a small library but found nothing she was interested in reading.  Nothing but that religious crap.  Not even a comic book in sight.

Hearing sounds in a back room, she finally found others like herself. They were watching television.

Most seemed to be older people sitting in front of the tv, but there was a group of younger ghosts milling around in back of the room, some playing cards.

Half a cupcake sat on a table, a half-dozen ghosts bent down and nibbling at it.  Others were wandering around, talking and laughing together.

She saw one particularly handsome ghost.  He stood by himself, watching the card-players.  Seeing Gloriana, he hurried over.

"Hi there, beautiful.  You must be from that funeral last Tuesday?  I'm Johnny, Johnny Stevens.  And you are?"

Looking into his handsome face, Gloriana had a hard time keeping herself together, literally, as her ectoplasm seemed to drift apart, reaching for his.

"Hey, honey.  Get hold of yourself.  Self-control, that's the thing, babe."

"Oh, man.  Sorry ... Johnny.  My name's Gloriana but you can call me any goddamned thing you want, sugar."  She grabbed at him.  Damn, she thought, was this worth dying for?  She'd sure as hell find out.

It was instant lust, and almost instant gratification, as Johnny grabbed her arm and hurried her to a broom closet.  She found he couldn't get too damned stiff but, by shifting ectoplasm make it as large as he ... they ... wanted.  They copulated across the small space, her receiving double spasms from a broomstick up her butt as he pumped from the front.  A half-hour later, they had to slow down to prevent a fire as oily rags began heating from ectoplasmic friction.   Soon after, there was a puddle of hot GloriJohn spreading across the floor.

Who ever said ghosts can't have fun?

Later, the two sat, arm in arm, in the tv room, looking around at their somber fellows.

"Isn't there any action around here?" she asked.  "Here it is, three o'clock in the morning, and everyone's sitting around, thumbs up their asses.  Don't you have any excitement?"

"Hey, baby.  Live or dead, a man has to recharge, so to speak."  He shook his head.

"No.  I mean for the rest of them." She nodded toward the card-players.

"Guess not.  It's not as though we have any bars or nightspots.  This is a cemetery."

"Then ... let's us start one?"

"A nightclub?"

"Sure.  Why not?  I have plenty of room in my crypt.  Most of the old farts probably wouldn't be interested anyway."

"We'd need booze and food.  Pizzas and stuff.  Where we gonna get it?"

"Any money around here?"  Gloriana asked.

"I dunno.  There's gold trim on a couple of the crypts, kinda hidden by dirt and mold."

"That's all we need.  That and a living idiot to buy things for us and help us set the place up.  You know anyone?  A relative or something."

Well ... there's that a*****e that digs holes and fills them in.  He might do it."

"Is he afraid of us, I mean ghosts?"  she asked.

"Na.  He's kinda used to seeing us once in a while, when he works late.  We ignore each other.  Nothing in common, you know?"

***

Early the next morning, before sunup, Bubba came in to work.

Gloriana was waiting, sitting on the seat of his Payloader.

"You gotta get off, lady.  I have'ta get goin' ta work, ya know?"

"Come on, you got time.  Let's talk."

"Ain'ta got nothin' ta talk 'bout.  I ain't dead yet.  Up, girl."

"Wanna talk about some f*****g gold, Bubba?  You don't wanna get rich?"

"Sure.  Who wouldn't wanna get rich?  You gonna give me gold?"

"Uh, huh.  If you do something for me."

"Wat'cha want?" he asked, interested but skeptical.

A deal was struck.  First, Bubba needed to break the padlock on her crypt. She didn't think anyone would notice until her next relative died.  Her family wasn't into visiting the dead.

A few items of old furniture were scrounged up and added to the main room of the edifice.  Other items were taken out and modified, mostly into hidden gambling devices.  A flick of a small electronic switch and an old table converted into a roulette wheel, for instance.  Strobe lights were installed in the ceiling, looking like normal light fixtures.  A stereo system occupied one of the empty drawers, the one on the end of the bottom row.

Tubes were installed, one end on the outside, leading into narrow troughs along the walls inside the room.  Bubba was paid to empty booze into them before he left for the night, where they dribbled into the troughs for resident ghosts to sniff to get high.  

Bubba also dropped off  a package of cookies and Twinky cupcakes every night and promised to purchase a little pot to burn.  "Club Tomb" was born.

***

Sister Suzie lay back in a lounge chair.  A program featuring Beethoven played on her radio while she read a play by Plautus, found in the chapel library.

Book lying open on her lap, she luxuriated in the sounds of his fifth symphony, ghostly toes waving along with the orchestra.

"Blam.  Bling.  Boom, boom."  Loud rock and roll reverberated through the stone floor, almost knocking the book from her genteel translucent tummy.

"What in the world!"  She jumped up, rushing through the keyhole to float frantically downstairs, bouncing against both sides of the stairwell in her haste.  

There was her sister, dressed in a diaphanous yellow gown wearing no bra -- none at all -- with bright red panties showing through ... and her arms around those two nasty thieves from row 24b.  Some were playing ... was it really roulette?

Other ghosts were whooping it up against one wall, sniffing something over there.  What was that, she thought ... gamblers?  In HER tomb.

Livid with anger, Suzie floated down, trying to stomp on the floor, the effort bouncing her head against the ceiling instead.

Before she could open her mouth to scream, someone grabbed her shoulder, forcing her head ... HER head, into a trough of vodka.

Johnny held her down while she “blubbed" invectives into the liquid -- some she hadn't even known she knew.  When she came up for air, he shoved her head down again.  Out of one eye, she could see Gloriana laughing in the background, a ghostly male hand visible under her gown.

Finally involuntarily inebriated, sister Suzie ceased to simmer, satisfying certain sexually sensitive solutions to stellar sorrows -- and joined the party.

The End.  
Charlie -- hvysmker