Matt ran into the Grim Reaper, perhaps appropriately, in the meat section of the supermarket.
The most surprising thing about him wasn’t that he was grocery shopping in Woolworths. It was that he looked so damn much like the Grim Reaper. Same dirty skull for a face. Same black, hollow eye sockets. He even wore a black shroud and carried a scythe in his hand.
He was the spitting image of the Reaper in that famous AIDS awareness commercial from the 80s. The one who knocked helpless people down with bowling balls in a dark, misty alley.
Matt tried to remain casual. “How’s things?” he asked
“Yeah, not bad,” said the Reaper said. “Things could be a lot worse.”
“What are you up to?” asked Matt. “Shopping for meat?” He felt stupid as soon as he’d said it. The Reaper probably liked his produce a little…well, fresher.
“Actually,” said the Reaper. “I came to speak to you.”
Matt froze. It was rarely a good thing when the messenger of death came to visit you personally. In fact, it usually meant…
“I’ve got some bad news for you, Matt,” the Reaper said. “You might want to sit down for this.”
“Okay,” said Matt. He sat down and crossed his legs in the middle of the aisle, stopping a woman with a trolley from getting past.
“Actually, stand up,” said the Reaper.
Matt stood up. The middle-aged lady edged past, scowling at him.
“Matt,” said the Reaper. “I’m sorry to say you’re dead.”
“What?” Matt exclaimed. This made no sense. His heart was beating. Air was going in and out of his lungs. He felt as healthy as a man who lived primarily on corn chips and salsa could possibly be. “Sorry,” he said. “You’ve got the wrong Matt McColligan. I’m very much alive.”
“That’s not true,” said the Reaper. “You just think you’re alive. Really, you’re a corpse. And any moment, you’re going to start decomposing.”
Matt shuddered. The thought of decomposing in public was humiliating, especially if he ran into some hotties.
“So when did I die?” asked Matt. “And what did I die from?”
“You died three minutes ago,” said The Grim Reaper. He looked around. “From eating too much meat. That’s it, heart failure.”
“Oh,” said Matt. “I guess I shouldn’t buy these lamb chops then?”
“Well, it doesn’t really matter now,” said the Reaper.
Matt could picture the Reaper with a bowling ball. Not an especially heavy one, as his bony arms looked easy to break, but a bowling ball nonetheless. “So, what’s next?” he asked. “Are you gonna drag me to Hell or something?”
“Definitely,” said the Grim Reaper. “But I’m a little busy at the moment. Got some more souls to gather and all that jazz. So just go home and wait for me, okay?”
“Okay,” said Matt. He briefly considered arguing, but figured you couldn’t fight fate.
“Hey, Reaper,” he said. “I do have one question. What’s it like being dead?”
“It’s like being asleep forever,” said Death.
Matt thought it over for a moment.
“I can handle that,” he said.
*
Matt carried the groceries up the hill to his house. It was a punishingly hot day. As he made the agonising trip to his doorstep, he wondered how his supposedly dead body could sweat so much.
He hadn’t been expecting this. His day had started off simple. He’d slept in until the sun had unceremoniously woken him, cooked himself an egg, gone back to bed for two hours, played computer games for a little while longer and ignored repeated phone calls from Centrelink. The only reason he’d left the house was to pick up some much-needed cola and potato chips. Now he was dead. It was amazing how quickly it could all be over.
Matt pondered texting his family and friends and telling them the news. Nah, he thought. They’ll find out soon enough. No point wasting credit.
Matt looked back on his life. At the age of 21, he’d already accomplished some pretty remarkable things. He’d sat through a five-hour horror movie marathon without needing to pee. He’d seen The Rocky Horror Picture Show and Bloodsucking Freaks. So far, so good. But something was missing. There was something he still had yet to accomplish, some vague hope or long-unfulfilled dream that burned in the back of his mind.
“Oh my God!” he cried out loud. “I still haven’t seen Evil Dead 3!”
Matt broke down and wept. His life had been a waste.
*
Inside the house, Matt could see little yellow post-it notes stuck to the walls. Fiona had gone out, and she’d left him messages again.
Matthew! said large, angry letters scrawled in texta. If you make a mess… CLEAN IT UP! Wash your own dishes and the house will be MUCH happier.
Matt loaded his shopping into the fridge and went to the toilet, where another note awaited him. MATTHEW! This morning I found sticky drops of urine on the tiles and a troll doll in the toilet bowl. Don’t be disgusting and CLEAN UP IF YOU MAKE A MESS.
Matt made his way to the living room and found a note on the floor next to a plate of carrots. The carrots had started to sprout mould. WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS??? the note said.
Matt blushed. He’d forgotten he’d left those there.
It was Saturday. Fiona and Ollie had probably gone to the markets like they usually did. Matt threw the carrots in the bin and decided to go to bed. Maybe by the time he woke up, the Reaper would be back.
*
After three hours of peaceful sleep, Matt was awoken by someone even more unpleasant than Death.
His housemate Ollie.
“Matt,” said Ollie. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”
Ollie irked Matt not just because he was arrogant, but because he was justifiably arrogant. At 22, he was reasonably successful in every area of his life. He had a job as a primary school teacher, lots of friends, owned his own car and had a girlfriend, even if his girlfriend was Fiona. Fiona and Ollie were perfectly suited for each other. They shared a passion for cleanliness and accomplishment, and a dislike of Matt.
“Fiona and I have been talking,” said Ollie. “The rent is $500 a week. I pay $300, and Fiona pays $200. How much do you pay again?”
“Um, zero,” said Matt. “I think.”
“Riiiight,” said Ollie. “I think you’re gonna have to pay a little more. Otherwise, we may have to start looking for a new housemate.”
“Um, I have some change in my sock drawer,” said Matt. He sat up in bed, rummaged through his sock drawer and pulled out a 20 cent piece. “Give me a moment and I can probably find a little more.”
“I think you need a job,” said Ollie. “Fiona and I both work full-time. There’s no reason why you can’t.”
“I’d like to get a job, Ollie,” said Matt. “But you know how tough this recession is. Besides, you and Fiona both have… what’s that word? Oh yeah, skills. I’m not really qualified for anything.”
“Why don’t you make yourself qualified?” asked Ollie. “Have you ever considered university? Volunteer work? TAFE?”
“Those are all very good ideas,” said Matt. “But the problem is I’m dead.”
“Pardon me?” said Ollie.
“I’m dead,” repeated Matt. “I met the Grim Reaper in the supermarket this afternoon and he told me so. That’s why I can’t get a job, or help with the dishes, or do anything. I’m not even supposed to get out of bed. I’m supposed to stay here and sleep while I wait for the Reaper to come get me.”
“You’ve been doing that for 21 years,” said Ollie in disgust. But Matt didn’t hear. He’d already fallen asleep again.
*
Matt spent the next few days making the most out of his situation. He played computer games, posted on Internet forums and watched neglected DVD’s that he hadn’t seen in ages. He had to prepare his own meals, unfortunately, because Fiona and Ollie had scoffed at the idea of cooking for him. Ollie even had the audacity to say “I thought a corpse didn’t need to eat,” to which Matt had responded: “Maybe not. But I’m SO hungry.” Luckily reheated meat pies weren’t too hard to prepare, and if Ollie and Fiona were frightened by the sight of his dead body waltzing around the kitchen, that was their problem.
At first, everything went wonderfully. Even Centrelink stopped bothering him after he told them “the person you’re trying to call is dead”. But then disaster struck. By the second evening, he’d run out of food.
“Why don’t you just go down to the supermarket?” asked Ollie as Matt phoned Eagle Boys for his dinner. “You can’t just order pizza for every meal. You’ll burn through your dole money in three days.”
“I can’t go down to the supermarket either,” said Matt. “What if the Grim Reaper comes back while I’m out and totally misses me?”
“Wouldn’t that be a good thing?” asked Ollie. But Matt didn’t hear. “Can I get a large meat lovers with cheesy crust?” he asked.
After he’d gotten off the phone, Matt ripped his shirt off, threw it across the room and slumped on the couch to watch TV. Ollie looked at Matt’s skinny, ash white torso glistening with sweat. He shuddered in revulsion and whispered in Fiona’s ear.
“Do you want to put the accommodation notice in the paper? Or will I?”
*
The next morning, Matt woke up with a dry mouth, a throbbing headache and a wicked leg cramp. It’s not fair, he thought. I shouldn’t feel the heat now that I’m dead. How can a corpse perspire so much?
To make matters worse, there was a stranger in the hallway. “Wow, is this your family portrait?” shouted a woman with a strong Canadian accent.
“That’s my aunt Linda and uncle Frank,” said Fiona. “They live in Toowoomba. Did you want to see the room?”
“Sure,” said the Canadian woman. She dropped her voice to a hushed, solemn whisper. “I just want you both to know that I’m really sorry for what happened. I know it’s probably a very difficult time for you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Ollie. “These things happen, don’t they? If you don’t mind sleeping in a dead guy’s bedroom, I don’t think it will be a problem.”
Matt sat up with a shock. They were giving away his bedroom! He tried to jump out of bed, but a spasm of pain shot through his leg and paralysed him. He clutched his leg and groaned helplessly as the door opened and a chubby, red-headed young woman with a mouth full of braces stepped inside. Matt guessed she was 18 or 19.
“Wow!” she shouted, looking at Matt’s purple bed sheets with question marks on them. “Awesome sheets, dude!”
Matt jumped out of bed. Dripping with sweat and wearing only his boxers, he walked over and stared down the trio in the doorway.
“Holly,” said Fiona, gesturing to the Canadian girl without smiling. “This is Matt.”
Matt tried to be polite. “Who the fuck are you?” he asked.
“Holly’s our new housemate,” said Fiona. “We figured that since you were dead, you wouldn’t mind giving up your room to a uni student with a job. We can even help you move your stuff out.”
“You’re giving away my ROOM?” screamed Matt. “Where am I gonna live? I mean, die?”
“How about a nice coffin?” said Ollie. “I’m sure your grieving family will pay for one. If not, I can bury you in the backyard right now.”
“You guys are jerks,” said Matt. “Don’t you realize I need somewhere to stay while I wait for the Grim Reaper?”
“Well, he’s certainly taking his time,” said Ollie. “And we’ve got an electricity bill due next week. Reckon you could give him a call, tell him to hurry up a bit?”
“I don’t have his mobile number!” said Matt. “Plus I don’t know how many other souls he has to gather and process. It probably takes him weeks to file all the paperwork.”
“Well,” said Fiona. “We could always ring the nursing home. It’s a popular place to die these days.”
*
Matt sat in the park with a suitcase full of clothes under one arm and a bag full of porno DVD’s in the other. He pondered his next move. Who could he stay with for the next few weeks (or possibly next few years, depending on how things went)?
He figured he could do pretty much anything. He could sky-dive without worrying that his parachute would break. He could swim in shark-infested waters. The possibilities were endless. He was dead. He was invincible.
He was speaking too soon.
The Reaper moved his way across the grass, his heavy black shroud glinting in the sunlight.
“Oh, crap,” said Matt.
He stood up. He wanted to die on his feet.
The Reaper shuffled over and put his hand on Matt’s shoulder. “Matt McColligan,” he said. He smelt like decay and old books. “It is time.”
Matt quivered. “It’s time?” he asked.
“Yes,” said the Reaper. “Time to go home and get on with your life.”
Matt’s mouth fell open. He stood there, unable to move, blinking stupidly.
“You’ve been the victim of a nasty little joke,” the Reaper continued. “I do apologise for my son’s behaviour.”
“Your son?” said Matt, confused. “But I thought he was the Grim Reaper. I mean, the other Grim Reaper.”
“I’m the Grim Reaper!” the Reaper shouted. “He’s the Grim Prankster! He’s done this to eleven people now. One poor woman in China had to wait six weeks before I could find her and explain.”
“The Grim Reaper has a son who plays jokes on people?” said Matt. “I never would have figured.”
“I’ve tried to get him to follow me into the death industry,” said the Reaper. “But he doesn’t seem interested. He’s very lazy. Spends all his time bowling.”
“Wow,” said Matt.
“So you’re free to go,” said the Reaper. “But stay safe, okay? I don’t wanna have to come back here this afternoon.” And with that, he disappeared like a fleeting memory.
*
“My blood pressure is up again,” said Mr. McColligan. “That’s what the doctor said.”
It was another tense dinner moment at Matt’s parents’ house. Matt had spent the last half-hour listening to his father blame him for his poor digestion, his baldness, his kidney stones and the blotches on his torso. It was a small price to pay, he supposed, for having a place to crash rent-free.
“That’s no good,” said Matt, trying to appear sympathetic. “Maybe you need to eat less meat.”
Matt’s mothers mouth fell open in shock. Matt started laughing at his own joke. He laughed so hard the half-chewed piece of steak in his mouth went down his windpipe. His chest seized up, and he began coughing. Violently.
“Matt?” his mother gasped. “Are you okay?”
And with that, Matt fell from the chair and rolled around on the floor frantically. A few seconds later, he was dead.
The Grim Reaper shook his head as he peered through the window.
It was going to be a long night.
