Dreaming with the Dead

By

Frank  Larnerd

I see dead people.

Correction, I used to see dead people.

Five nights a week, I would don my gray security uniform and aim my car for a tiny unassuming building on Charleston’s West Side. It was a sickly brown color, like bleached cat food. Surrounding the building was a ten foot fence and a half a dozen security cameras.

The other guard would let me in and I would set up my laptop for my midnight to eight am shift. After he left, I was alone. Just me and the dead.

Now it might not seem like it, but my job at the Medical Examiner’s Office was nearly perfect. I was basically paid to sit around and surf the Internet for eight hours. They didn’t care if you read, watched TV, or slept. As long as you were there to check in the bodies, they were happy.

The bodies, they never complained.

Sure it was creepy and it smelled horrible. The office combated the stench with air fresheners that operated on a timer. Every forty minutes they would crank out a blast of “Malibu Breeze,” or “Country Summer.” Mostly, they just scared the crap out of me.

They had trouble keeping guards, but I was determined, not to chicken out. After a while, I got used to it, or as used to it as anyone could. I started bring my lunch, even the sudden spray of air fresheners ceased to startle me.

I know it sounds crazy, but after three months, I started to sleep there.

It would be quiet most nights with long stretches without visits or phone calls. Some nights, there was nothing.

I had a little vinyl pillow, I borrowed from the kids. It was yellow with a mock cereal box printed on one side. The pillow fit perfectly in my backpack with my books and Ipod. Some nights, when the hours had stripped away my reserves and my eyes would grow heavy; I would rest my head on the desk and fall asleep.

I never had any problems. I would slip in my headphones and crash out. A half an hour later, I would pop back up, feeling slightly refreshed and ready to finish my shift. Because I’m an extremely light sleeper, I never worried about missing a call or hearing the buzz of the gate.

One night, laid my head down, ready to get a few winks in. I must not have been very deep in sleep, because the dream over took me before I knew it.

I wasn’t lying on the kid’s vinyl pillow anymore. My head was resting on a body. I could feel the cold plastic body bag against my face and when I turned my head, I could see the faint outline of a woman’s face, all adorned with makeup, through the thin plastic.

Her face was lovely – like looking through an opaque glass, I could make out her smoky-colored eyelids, the supple curve of her cheeks, and her full dark lips.

I remember feeling confused and ashamed at my situation, and then she opened her eyes.

I shot straight up. I was panicked and struggled for breath. My heart pounded in my chest as I tried to recognize my surroundings.

Some people might never been able to sleep there again, but not me.

As a teen, I had read that the high levels of potassium in bananas could induce nightmares. I thought I could harness the nightmares for new story ideas. Every night before bed, I tried eating two or three bananas, but the nightmares never came.

Nightmares – like good story ideas can’t be forced. They sneak up on you while you shower, or wait in an empty parking lot. The good ones frighten you and leave their impression long after you’ve awoken. So when they come, be ready for them. Don’t push them aside with your morning cup of coffee, wrangle them and put them to work.

What was your best nightmare about?

Be my friend on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/flarnerd

My books are on Amazon http://www.amazon.com/Frank-Larnerd/e/B004LQ9BXQ/