Romance of Mystery

Eddie leered at the immaculately dressed man standing on his front porch. The chump was in an ironed, three piece blue suit, and when he smiled Eddie wanted to knock the planks from his white picket fence grin.
"Howdy, sir. Jack Lamort's the name, selling�s the game." The yuck-head extended a hand as he laughed at his own joke.
"I�m not interested in anything�"
"Hold on there, partner. I haven�t even gotten a chance to show you the merchandise."
The salesman snatched up his briefcase and had it snapped open in the blink of an eye. Pictures and graphs displaying coffins, corpses, and funeral lots on discount came pouring out like a waterfall of morbidity.
"What the hell?"
"Impressive, ain�t it? You seem like an alright guy. So I�m gonna give you the best deal on the market."
When the jerk laughed, Eddie winced at the smell of formaldehyde and graveyard earth.
"What in God�s name are you selling?"
"Why death, my good man! It�s the hottest commodity these days."

"Death?"
"Let me explain. I�m not here by accident. You were on my list, see? But we do things differently nowadays. We let the customers have a little more freedom with their choices of, uh� departure."
"Look, buddy. I ain�t got no time for these jokes. The game�s on, for Pete�s sake."
"I�ll try not to waste any more of your time than I need to, Ed."
"How�d you�"
"Now we have a lovely array of terminations for you to consider here. We have the basic death from heart attack, which is standard for the middle aged man such as yourself. But you seem a little adventurous. How does bear mauling sound to you? No, you�re right. Far too messy. How about perishing while saving a child from a burning building? Gives you the nice heroic look, if you ask me. Pull in some more people at the funeral that way. Or if the goody-two-shoes approach isn�t your thing, we can always arrange to have you murder your wife and then fry in the electric chair at the state penitentiary. From what I hear, the ladies seem to love that bad boy personality. But then again, so do the guys at the state penitentiary. Let�s drop that one for now. We really should discuss your funeral service�"
Eddie was gaping at the peculiar little man on his porch. His meaty fists shook with rage.
"Get out," he hissed.
"How do you fancy yourself in this model coffin?"
"I said�" Eddie reached forward and gripped the man by his coat. His body promptly went stiff and he collapsed through the open door onto his back.
The salesman peered down at the dead man, a frown painting his features. Marking Eddie�s name from the list, he let out a sigh as he headed back to his car. The salesman tossed the briefcase into the trunk of the car next to the scythe and swung into the driver�s seat. As he drove away, he checked the time on his wristwatch.
"Still morning. Boy, am I gonna make a killing!"

Labels: Bloggin Madness, Humor, Original Work, Random, Short Fiction

For those who don't already know, I love the theater. After seeing Andrew Lloyd Webber's magical stage version of The Phantom of the Opera, I knew that one day I would have to tread the boards. And tread them I did, as I was an active member of my high school's drama club for all four years. Although now my participation has shrunk down to pretty much none to speak of (this is definitely out of lack of time, not interest), I cavorted on that dingy little stage in the auditorium like it was nobody's business. I was so enamored with theater that one day I decided "Hey, I could probably one of dese here plays!"
So I wrote one.
A horror anthology, to be exact.* And the next thing I know it's November 2008 and it's being staged for the whole world (re: small Florida town) to see. Which I think is enough history to bring us to where we're at right now. What you see below is a filmed segment from Nightmare Theatre (hey you, in the back, stop giggling!), the first story in the collection of short terror plays. I chose to show this one to you because A) I'm in it, B) It's the story I'm most satisfied with, C) I wouldn't dare make you sit through those other passingly-bearable "stories", and D) Only two out of those three are true.
*Did you expect anything less of me? Don't answer that.
It's called "The Ghost Train." Ectoplasmic railway hijinks ensue. Enjoy if you find it in your heart to do so.

Labels: Anthology, Ghost, Nightmare Theatre, Original Work, Theater