John couldn’t take his eyes from the paper on the table. It had been sitting there for a week now. Probably a week anyway, time had been a little capricious lately. He’s been losing days, then gaining them back when he wasn’t paying attention. It was like getting caught in a Netflix auto play loop what never stopped, but in a more cosmic sense or something. He picked up the obituary and skimmed over it again.

“Jonathan ‘John’ Harper, Age 23, passed away near his home in Seattle, Washington on January 2nd, 2013. He is survived by his friend Alexandria Dobson.”

It was small and simple; made no mention of the accident, didn’t even declare the funeral time.

hell, there probably wasn’t even a funeral.

Alex may have been able to get an obituary in the paper, but there was no way she could talk her way in possession of his remain. Those would have been send to his parents, who most likely had them quietly cremated without any fuss.

Speaking of all consuming fires, he could use a cigarette. One major downside to being a ghost, that. No corporeality means no smoking. At least John wasn’t noticing any nicotine withdrawls. That was the last thing he wanted to deal with.

He found himself wondering, not for the first time, why he was still here. He always figured something would happen at the end. Maybe not heaven and the pearly gates, but at least something that didn’t involve handing around his best friends apartment trying to piece together a decent haunting. It seemed like a fun idea at first; move some shit around, maybe moan and scream a bit, but no matter what he did no one seemed to notice him. Turns out that watching Ghost didn’t count as training towards psychokinesis, and none of the sounds he made could be heard by anyone. Waiting around watching reruns of The Maury Povitch show left on for the dogs was all he had left to do.

It was raining when John started for the street. It didn’t really matter to him; the drops fell right through his body so he never seemed to get wet. He spent some time meandering through streets and alleys. At least the dead don’t get tired. He could walk for hours and not break a sweat.

The thing about walking for hours however, it gets incredibly boring after the first few.

Finding himself in a part of the city he didn’t recognize, John decided to take a seat at a nearby park and watch for a while.

He’d been doing that a lot lately. Just watching. People can be really interesting when they don’t know someone’s looking. The majority of the people on the sidewalk were briskly making their way through the rain. Some carried umbrellas, some seemed to be under the impression that power walking and force of will would somehow keep them dry.

He was so focused on the people milling about that John didn’t notice the man on the other side of the street at first. He must have been there for a while, but for how long John couldn’t be certain.

Nothing was particularly out of place about the man. He was dressed in an unremarkable suit, same as all the other men walking by. John couldn’t for the life of him guess the man’s age. He had one of those faces that could be anywhere from 30 to 60. No one else so much as glanced in his direction. Maybe it was just the way he was staring at John that seemed weird. Then again, John was staring pretty intently at him, so maybe he just thought that John was acting weird.

In a sudden bout of self-consciousness John averted his eyes and pretended to become incredibly interested in the ground at his feet. Then it hit him.

John was dead. The living can’t see the dead. The living can’t see John. The man was staring at John. That man can’t be living.

With a panic John looked back up to where the man was standing. When he couldn’t locate him John started looking through the crowd of office workers making their way to the subway.

“Odd day to spend at the park, isn’t it?” came a bemused voice from behind him.

John spun around immediately only to end up face to face with the man from the other side of the street. He offered John a cigarette as he lit one for himself. “They say these things will kill you. Not that we have to worry about that, do we.” John ignored the offered pack of Pall Malls in favor of staring incredulously at the sharply dressed man.

“You’re a ghost...” John said, not without a sense of bewilderment. “Like me.”

The man took a drag of his cigarette before flicking it between his fingers. “You could say that, but it wouldn’t be the truth.” His tone had the feel of a teasing uncle “No, you’d probably be closer in calling me a spirit. Though I’d prefer if you just used my name. It’s Death by the way.” He extended his hand toward John for a shake.

“Sometimes my job calls for a little drama. Speaking of which, I’m not just here on a social call, I wanted to know if you’d be interested in a little bit of work. I have a problem that you’re in the unique position of being able to fix.”

“Look dude, I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I don’t even know you.”

“Oh, you know me. Every one knows me a little bit. I’m like your friends friend who you always see at parties but never learned the name of.”

“I was never really the partying type.” John said, deadpan.

“I thought you could still appreciate the simile. Anyway, I have to go, lots of work to do. If you decide to take me up on my offer, I’ll have one of my men pick you up.

“Why exactly would I do that?”

“It’s not like you have anything better to do,” Death said as he rose from the bench. He unfurled an umbrella John was pretty sure he didn’t have before, then walked to the edge of the sidewalk to hail a conveniently located cab. He snuffed his cigarette on the sole of his shoe before getting in, leaving the butt on the sidewalk. John watched the cab until it turned at an intersection.

Sitting in the rain for a few minutes more John decided on what he should do. The man who called himself Death was right after all, he wasn’t doing anything particularly significant. Besides, it’s not like he really had anythingto worry about. What’s the worst thing you could do to a ghost?