25 comments/ 16321 views/ 1 favorites Turpitude By: ABSTRUSE 14 minutes and 32 seconds. That's how long it took for me to die. Death was not an option for me. I was set up. I know the amount of time it took me to die because I could only lie there and stare at my watch as the blood pooled around my body. I could hear the voices around me waiting for me to die. That rat bastard Dunston wanted to buy me out, now he has the business. I hope it fails. Dunston was my partner in a small real estate company, which was on it way up. I had worked my ass off to get lucrative clients while he dabbled in fixer-uppers. I had mentioned once that I wanted to move on to something else and he must have taken it too literally. For the most part Dunston was a schmoozer with weasel tendencies. I became partners with him because he had the capitol needed to get us up and running. We studied business together, thankfully we never dated but we did somehow maintain a friendship. Dunston didn't have many or any friends that I knew of; he was for sake of a better word, different. You could even say he was dark. So now I lay there on the fringes of continuation only able to watch in my ethereal form. Ethereal, I never knew what it really meant until I joined the ranks. It's really not so bad now, you get used to it after a while. I don't see that white light you hear about. It's pretty much the same as when I was still alive, except the coffee doesn't stay down as well. I would have to say that the most difficult part of being dead is not being able to interact with others. I should clarify: others, the ones that can still breathe. My fellow apparitions are easy to see and converse with but most are tormented spirits. They ruin the party. I'm not quite sure if this is heaven or hell or if I'm trapped between dimensional planes, they don't give you a handbook. It's more of a "learn as you go" kind of thing. I've learned that yelling at the living doesn't work, they can't hear you or won't hear you, and I'm not quite sure which it is yet. I've learned to move objects. At first it was a desperate attempt to communicate now it's just for something fun to do. People don't believe in ghosts and I really can't blame them, I didn't until now. Then again, no one really plans on becoming one, you either believe you go up or down or into space. The nice thing is that I was well dressed at the time of my demise. That's what you wear for this internment not what you are buried in so make sure you listen when mom says to wear clean underwear. I was wearing my favorite navy pinstripe suit with a power tie, my black pumps were the only thing missing. The newcomers flock to me thinking I'm a cruise director for the Great Beyond. They look so sad when I tell them I know as much as they do maybe a little more. I'm not sure what the date is, time is conceptually different now. I can make approximations based on what's going on in the living world as to seasons and holidays. Christmas is strange in itself. Mr. Dickens' concept was close because there are the souls that are in the throes of expiation making wretched attempts to right the wrongs of their past lives. It's a different level of perdition for them but who makes the judgment calls is still unknown to me. Sometimes they are able to intervene and that leads them closer to the theoretical or theological apotheosis we've become accustomed to as humans. It's the chance for redemption before final damnation. These were bad folks in real life. The really evil ones you learn to steer away from altogether. They are easily recognizable as ugly shapeless black entities, for a better description. You can feel them when they are close by and even in death they can make you shudder. They have no desire to be saved and move on; they are quite content to continue inflicting agony on innocent victims. And, they stink. It's like a year old Easter egg that was encased in dog shit, tossed in the compost heap and set on fire. I stay close to my old haunts, no pun intended. Familiarity affords some comfort and seeing friends and family is some provision of solace. It can also be frustrating. You see, I can't move on to whatever the next level is since I was murdered. Until my killer is found and punished I'm stuck here. The drawback is that no one realizes I was murdered and so the hunt for the guilty is not taking place. Turpitude Once I knew my potential as a spirit, I haunted every house he tried to sell. I slammed doors, broke windows and passed through the bodies of his clients. The business was ready for filing bankruptcy when I appeared to Dunston in his mirror one morning. Based on his reactions I would show up wherever he went. I tormented him in his sleep. He was beginning to look thin and wane, his clothes hung on him and he stopped shaving. His hands would tremble and he didn't dare to look down into his coffee cup because he may see me there. I had him almost where I wanted him, but I doubted he would confess to the crime. I needed to expose him. While he slept I planted the thought in his head that his finger prints may still be at the crime scene and that he should go back to check. Then I went into Detective Webster's dreams beckoning her to go back to the crime scene. I told her all would be revealed. I rode along side Dunston as he drove back to the house. I stayed quiet and stared straight ahead seeing Dunston shivering and knowing I was there but pretending he didn't see me. I vanished as he turned into the driveway. I would meet him in the house. Pulling up to the front of the house he paused and got out, opened the trunk and pulled out a bag. Walking up to the porch he hesitated as he reached for the front door knob so I opened the door for him. He walked inside mopping his forehead with a handkerchief staring up at the landing above, his eyes focused on the door to the room where I died. 'Come on you jerk,' I said to myself. I didn't want the Detective to arrive too early. The timing had to be perfect. He finally started up the staircase stepping over the hole where my foot had gone through and where I lost my damn boot. Taking a deep breath he entered the room. I had lit the candles and placed his cell phone in the center of the inverted pentagram. He padded his inside jacket pocket realizing the phone was gone, he never felt me as I slipped it out while he was gathering cleaning supplies to get rid of his fingerprints. Dunston reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle of spray cleaner and some paper towels, he wet the towels and started to wipe the edges of the mirror. "Make sure you do a thorough job this time." I said to him from the reflection. "You bitch." He said as he stared back at me. "What do you want? Why can't you leave me alone?" "Stupid boy, I want my revenge." I could hear the sound of someone else in the house climbing the staircase quietly. Dunston didn't hear anything as he was focused on me. "I don't know what you're talking about." He lied. "Even as you face the end you're still a weasel." I said. "I'll just have to keep haunting you the rest of your days, I can do it. I have lots of time on my hands." "I'm not afraid of you." He said smugly. "No? You look like shit warmed over." I said as I allowed him to see his own gaunt reflection in the mirror. "You're the walking dead. You sold your soul remember?" "Fuck you!" he spat. "You tried that too. Didn't get very far, did you?" I said. "I would have if it wasn't for that bitch demon." He sneered. "God you're pathetic. You summoned a demon and sold your soul to get my business. Wouldn't it have been easier to just kill me yourself?" "I needed the power and a way to do it so I wouldn't get caught. It was worth it, all of it." He said. "Was it really, you gutless wonder?" I knew the Detective was standing outside the door listening. "What did you do call 666-DEMON? Surf the web?" "I didn't need to I've been a student of the dark arts for years, it was just a matter of timing and summoning the right demon. Not that you would believe me but I never meant for you to die like that." He said. "Aw, my heart's breaking. Tell me something; do I have things set up right? I've got the mirror, the candles, the symbol and something of yours. I want to make sure I get it all right." I said. He started to laugh. "You think you can call up a demon? You're dead or don't you recall? I only wish that I was awake at the time to see her do it." "Hang on I'll show it to you." I brought up the image of my final moments into the mirror so he could see what had transpired. Detective Webster was now inside the room and watching with disbelief as my death played out before her. Dunston stood there slack jawed as he saw himself being thrown against the wall and winced as he recalled the pain. He grinned during my assault and last breathing moments. I wanted to strangle him right then and there. "So admit it Harry Potter, you murdered me didn't you?" I taunted. "Yes, I did. I killed you through my dark powers. I summoned one of the vilest demons from Hell and got what I wanted...and you. You lost your soul and your life and here I am still alive and with all that you've worked for in my possession. It was so easy to set you up, just a matter of timing." He said. "Just a matter of timing." I said back as he spun around when he heard the clicking of Detective Webster's gun being set into the firing position. "Freeze Dunston." Said the detective coolly. "I saw it and heard it all. You're going away for the rest of your life." Webster got on her phone and called for a unit to come and get Dunston. He admitted to the crime and was going to jail. As the investigators returned to re-evaluate the crime scene I stood next to Detective Webster as she leaned against her car and smoked a cigarette, the first one she had since she quit 5 years ago. "Detective Webster?" I whispered. "Don't be alarmed, you're not crazy I'm a spirit." Her eyes grew wide as she stared through me trying to focus on my fading form. "I noticed that from inside the room." She said. "What do you want from me?" "Nothing. I just wanted to thank you for setting me free. I can move on now since my death has been exacted. I can finally be at peace." I said. "I'm sorry we had to meet this way, so to speak. I just wish he were getting more than a prison sentence. That bastard deserves to fry for what happened to you." She said. "Not to worry Detective. He'll get what's coming to him, I promise."