Dead Peculiar

By Stefan Jakubowski

After dying in "Strange Relations" - not a spoiler - Richard Ross now embarks on his life after death in "Dead Peculiar".

Everything changed for Richard Ross the day the relatives came to call; they were all dead you see. Called the Podium of four, they claimed to be his past lives; lives he has never lived before. They needed his help. Richard was their last chance you see, to make it to the light.

But that’s all in the past, Richards dead himself now and although he’s not exactly ecstatic about it he is getting used to it; slowly. In fact he was starting to look forward to kicking back and relaxing now that the dying bit and the strange goings on of those last frantic days of his life together with the toils and tribulations of living in general were over with and behind him. He was, you could say, looking forward to life beginning at death.

If only it were that easy.

Throw time travel; of a sort, a badly named hypnotist, a plant psychic, mysterious baddies and an almighty cosmic spanner into the works and Richard Ross soon discovers that life after death isn’t all fluffy clouds and walks in the park; that life after death can be, well, dead peculiar.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stefan Jakubowski
• Release date: Dec 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9780955424465

Stefan Jakubowski

Hi, I've been writing since 2005 and to date have seven books to my name. Love writing, always wanted to from a young age, and when I got the opportunity to write a book I grabbed it with both hands. Love meeting people at book signings; most have a story to tell of their own. Love the feedback from the people who've chuckled at what I've written. Hate editing, but as that goes a long way to getting your work at least to half way decent, then it's an evil that just has to be faced. Up until recently my books have all been paperback and I have been touting my wares through the portals of bricks and mortar outlets but now I've decided maybe it's time to hitch my wagon and travel along the great electronic highway and see where that takes me. Hope you come along for the journey.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

It wasn’t so much a shudder as a full on bone crunching dead-stop.

A sudden and unexpected cessation of movement that sent all and sundry flying across the brilliantly lit transparent orb to land in an untidy and dishevelled heap on the floor; there were no discernable top, bottom, or sides.

Richard, who had landed on top of this heap through luck rather than judgement, was first to his feet and stood vigorously rubbing various parts of his anatomy; a habitual reaction rather than a real need to ease pain, but he could be forgiven, after all, he hadn’t been dead that long; death needed practise.

Happy he was still in one piece Richard turned his attention to the moaning tangle of relatives at his feet. ‘You okay?’ he asked, helping a struggling Laura from the top.

‘I think so,’ said Laura, now standing and straightening her coffee stained apron while at the same time delving into its pocket, ‘but I think my hair could do with some help.’ She had produced a small compact mirror which she now viewed with some disdain.

‘Er-hm!’ Richard cleared his throat and motioned to the floor. ‘If you don’t mind. A little help would be appreciated.’

‘Sorry,’ said Laura popping the mirror back.

Together they began to haul the others to their feet. The Chaplain, having the misfortune to be at the bottom, was last to be raised; he wasn’t happy.

‘What in all that is Holy happened?’ moaned the disgruntled shepherd of people as he was hauled vertical; his indiscretion would of course be apologised for later. Shaken and most definitely stirred the Chaplain turned his attention to the only one of his fellow travellers that to his mind might possibly have an idea as to what was going on. ‘Surely there is something greatly amiss?’ he said, turning to face Roberta.

Around them the orb began to gradually dim.

CHAPTER 2

With the sun warm on his back, the diet seeing results and the gym visits a regular pleasant occurrence, life, it seemed for this jogging ex-angel, had never been better.

Joe, once a guardian angel, but now reaping the reward of mortality that had been bestowed on him for services rendered, was a happy if slightly troubled man.

It was almost six months since his new life had begun, a life within the body of the recently passed on mortal known to some as the fat – but not so much now – number seven, and now, as he stopped jogging to sit on the wooden park bench he always stopped at, at the end of his daily ritual, he found his mind wandering back to the beginning.

He smiled as he recalled the Podium of four and Richard and wondered how they were getting on. Had the pompous Chaplain found himself yet? Had troubled Laura finally discovered peace? Had? The smile on Joe’s face disappeared, replaced by a frown. Had he found what he was looking for? The only blot on his otherwise rosy horizon had surfaced once again.

Joe began to walk. It was happening again, the doubts. As soon as he relaxed they were upon him. He was happy, wasn’t he? Of course he was, so why the troubled thoughts? Joe walked on.

They had started about a month ago, out of the blue. Joe had found himself at a loose end when the business of getting his host’s body and his new life on track had finally been realised and tuned into a way of life; a well oiled machine rising from the rusty nuts and bolts of the scrap yard that had been both their respective existences. And since then, whenever his guard was down, they would appear.

The walk gradually turned into a slow jog which in turn increased in pace. By the time Joe was exiting the park gates he was running. It helped, kept his mind busy; the aches and pains of exercise, the stretching of limits. And besides, he thought as he felt his muscles stretch, weren’t those feelings just as natural a side-effect of being mortal as the aches and pains. He had read books, surfed the Internet, done his homework, and found that however happy the human condition, it was never satisfied, it was never enough.

Joe slowed back down to a jog and began to whistle. It was something he figured he would just have to get used to. He was just worrying about nothing.

CHAPTER 3

Rosemary Bloom busied herself in the conservatory watering plants and generally tidying up. She was nervous but excited, it was a big day, and Rosemary was expecting a very important, maybe life changing call from the local university.

Single, forty-nine years of age, with a figure showing the first signs of bowing to gravity, Rosemary was well on the way to cutting it as a matronly figure. But did this worry her? Not in the slightest. She was happy, more than happy. Rosemary had a nice home; enjoyed being independent – Rosemary had been engaged to a lovely man from a horticultural club she had once belonged to, a relationship that sadly had been put on hold these past thirty years since he went missing up the Orinoco on an expedition – but in spite of that she counted herself lucky; she had her plants you see.

From a young age she had known she was special; had a special talent. Rosemary could tell how plants felt. When they were feeling sad, happy, feeling a little under the weather. Rosemary had an uncanny empathy to all things flora. And recently, after many years of thinking about her ability, she had come to the conclusion that she was inclined psychically towards them. Hence the eagerly awaited phone call.

By chance the town’s university had placed an advert in the local rag for volunteers to step forward and take part in psychic tests they were to conduct. Rosemary had of course jumped at the idea of confirming her suspected talent. That was two weeks ago. Today the test results were to be announced.

What would Horace think? Rosemary thought, as she arranged cushions for the umpteenth time. If he was to return home from the Orinoco one day to find her, Rosemary Bloom, the world’s foremost expert in Flora Psychic Communication; head of F.P.C. no less.

Rosemary giggled; Horace had always been a tad sceptical where her interest in plant life and death lay. She suspected he would turn a very light shade of grey at the news and disappear again and she would ask, ‘Where are you going?’ To which he’d reply, ‘Up the Orinoco!’ To which she would say, ‘Up Uranus!’ A private joke. She stopped what she was doing and stifled another guffaw. She shouldn’t, Horace would stand by her if he was there, he always had; they loved each other. Rosemary sighed and dabbed at an eye with her duster. If she allowed herself to admit it, she knew she missed Horace something terribly, but she couldn’t allow such thoughts. She was happy with her lot and was sure, when the phone rang, she’d be even happier. Rosemary sniffed as a tear began to well in the eye she had just rubbed. It had been a mistake dabbing at her eye with the duster, she now had something in it.

Duster discarded Rosemary headed to the bathroom and the medicine cabinet. There was eyewash in there that would do the trick.

It was just as the offending piece of grit was washed from her eye that the sound of ringing echoed throughout the house.

CHAPTER 4

Marvo the Hypnotist; the name was enough to announce disaster. Why would anyone call themselves Marvo the Hypnotist? It had no ring, no pizzazz, it heralded not a single connotation of greatness; it made no sense.

Everyday Marvo would ask himself the same question. And everyday he came up with the same answer. It was because he was a failure, a shadow seeking nobody with something to hide, and because he deserved everything that life threw at him.

Marvo stared despairingly at his reflection, framed in the small tatty mirror propped before him, and sighed. The face that stared back looked haggard and old in the poor light of the single low wattage bulb that illuminated what was laughingly called the dressing room; he had had to move a dozen crisp boxes just to find room to sit. But show business was show business wherever you were and it had to go on. Marvo donned his trademark mask and blinked sadly through the slits. His reflection unerringly blinked back. Suddenly, without introduction, the door of the storeroom cum dressing room swung open.

‘Two minutes Mister Marvo,’ squeaked a voice that just screamed pimples and balls still yet to drop. The door slammed shut without waiting for a response, shaking the mirror where it stood.

Sighing again, this time with deep resignation, Marvo inspected his props one last time. There weren’t many, a dangling crystal and a pocket watch on a flaking fake gold chain. Nothing much to hide behind there, thought Marvo the seeker of endless anonymity, but he did have his trusty mask, without which he wouldn’t be able to go on; anywhere.

The brief check over with Marvo, resigned to what awaited him, rose and made to leave. But, as he placed a weary hand on the doorknob, something wondrous happened. A wonderful thought suddenly sprang to life amidst the usual dark and barren processes of his mind. Maybe tonight would be different? Maybe, just maybe, tonight would be the night his life got back on track? Sadly it lasted but a second before being grasped firmly by other thoughts, thoughts dressed in white coats that dragged it screaming and kicking back to where it belonged, to the cells of hopelessness that held all of what Marvo had been before.

The door swung open and Marvo walked out, ready to meet his audience as if nothing had occurred. Tonight would be the same as any other night and he knew it. He reached the edge of the stage and waited to be announced. A quick check of his pockets; the props were there, a swish of his cape; he was ready. Was he though? Was he ever really ready for what he put himself through, night after night? But time for contemplation was over, the compère was announcing him.

‘And now ladies and gentlemen, for your entertainment – feet off the table Barry – may I introduce Marrrvo the Magi – Er – Hypnotist!’

There, thought Marvo, the name even fails to roll of the tongue. What had he been thinking?

‘A big hand if you please!’

Marvo made his grand entrance.

Clap – Clap!

A swish of the cape.

Clap.

A twirl of the hand.

Cla….

Silence.

Marvo stood blinking in the glare of the spartan stage lighting.

The audience of three stared back, waiting for something to happen.

It had never been this bad.

‘Get on with it!’ encouraged a member of the audience through a mouthful of dry roasted peanuts.

‘Cou…Could I,’ stuttered Marvo.

‘If yer could yer wouldn’t be ere’,’ laughed a front row wag, who in fact constituted the front row.

‘Have a – er – volunteer please,’ rallied Marvo. Never this bad.

A third of the audience put his hand up.

CHAPTER 5

At first it appeared that Roberta was going to ignore the Chaplain’s question as she moved to what now could be made out to be, in the faint light, the orb’s shell, but she didn’t. ‘I have no idea what is happening,’ she said, raising a hand and shrugging, ‘but I do know we shouldn’t have stopped.’ Roberta touched the shell and a portion of it grew darker still.

Sammy, who had been trying to kid himself that the sudden stop was nothing more than the norm for ones ascendance into the Light, slumped bodily where he stood. How could life, or death, be so cruel; so close yet so far. ‘What do we do now?’ he asked, his lips all of a quiver.

Again Roberta shrugged her shoulders. ‘I am not sure but I will try and find out.’

‘How?’ asked Laura, one of her hands clasped tightly by a very concerned Geoff.

‘Through the usual channels of course,’ said Roberta, her tone very matter of fact, ‘I see no other way.’ She touched the darkened portion again, this time it glowed momentarily around its edges. ‘You must be patient, although I cannot see there being much of a problem. I will be back as soon as I am able.’ Roberta stepped into darkness and was gone.

Patience of course was not a virtue many of them in the orb had adequately been acquainted with in life.

‘It’s all right for her to go off, gallivanting Upstairs, but what about the rest of us? We should be with the others by now,’ growled the Chaplain, stomping over to where Roberta had made her exit.

‘She needs to find out what’s happening that’s all, she’ll be back,’ said Richard, trying hard to remain calm himself. He thought the hard bit, dying, meant that his troubles were over, but he now found he empathised with the Chaplain and his famed preoccupation with time. Except, as far as Richard was concerned, it wasn’t how much or how little there was of it, it was more of a case of wishing it would end so he could finish the journey. He didn’t want to seem selfish, he knew the others were as excited and as worked up as he was at the prospect of eternal life, and they had been waiting longer than him, but with all he had had to put up with recently he really didn’t want to wait. He wanted to reach the Light now; it owed him.

‘Are you okay?’ Laura had left Geoff and had quietly sidled up to Richard with a concerned look on her face. ‘You look troubled.’

‘What – no – just a little anxious, that’s all.’

‘You sure?’ Laura felt she knew Richard well considering the short time they had actually known each other. She felt he was holding back.

‘Yeah, sure I’m sure,’ smiled Richard, looking into her eyes, ‘just looking forward to meeting the rellys, that’s all.’

‘And the Light?’

‘Yeah – okay, and the Light.’

She did know him. ‘You and us all.’ Laura gave a little laugh. ‘I wonder what’s going on?’

Richard brightened up a tad; he found Laura had that effect on him. ‘We’ll have to wait and see I suppose, can’t be anything too serious. I mean what can possibly be wrong? We’ve finished what we were meant to, just a little hitch in the grand scheme of things.’

‘Yeah, that or Upstairs is full,’ said Sammy. Sammy had been eavesdropping, which wasn’t hard given the circumstances. ‘Maybe we’ll have to walk the earth for all eternity.’

‘You’ve been watching too many zombie films,’ laughed Richard. But the worry etched on the little tramps face didn’t shift, if anything it grew worse.

‘You shouldn’t scoff,’ said the Chaplain, joining in. ‘There could be some truth in what Sammy says.’

‘Zombies?’ puzzled Sammy as the conversation veered from him.

‘You don’t believe that Chaplain any more than we do,’ argued Laura. ‘We’re on our way to the Light. It’ll just be a hitch like Richard said, nothing more.’ Laura subconsciously crossed her fingers. ‘Besides, we’ll find out soon enough when Roberta gets back.’

‘A horror,’ explained Geoff, joining the conversations wayward loop whilst readily taking the opportunity to take his mind off things, ‘about monsters. When the dead start coming back to life for some reason and start eating the living; their brains usually,’ he added as an afterthought. ‘You remember, we talked about them during one of our chats; just a writer’s imagination.’

Sammy thought about what Geoff had said and the recollection of just such a conversation did spring to mind. During his time in the Afterlife Sammy had kept abreast of the developments, if any, in the living world, thus a two man movie appreciation society had formed, albeit heavily one-sided as far as movie experience went. But Geoff’s words hadn’t helped to quell the uneasiness Sammy was feeling. ‘I suppose,’ he said, which if analysed supposed nothing.

‘If she gets back,’ said the Chaplain grimly. The conversation veered back onto the inside track.

The movie society turned as one at the Chaplains words. It had a worried look on its face.

‘What do you mean, If she gets back?’ said Geoff, the uneasiness Sammy felt starting to spread like a particularly virulent disease.

CHAPTER 6

Rosemary, so focused on the awaited call, was halfway to the telephone before realising her mistake. It was the front doorbell that was ringing. When she opened it she was greeted by a cheery faced and grinning postie.

‘Morning Missus,’ he said holding out a brown package, ‘parcel for you. Could you sign here please?’

Rosemary signed, bade the postman a good day, then closed the door and hurriedly carried the package, impending important telephone calls forgotten for the moment, through to the kitchen.

It was another one, she was sure of it; same packaging, the same typed address. Rosemary quickly rummaged through a drawer until she found the scissors. A deep breath and a quick snip saw the string binding the package fall away. Excited, Rosemary tore away the brown paper to reveal a cardboard box the size of a large shoebox. She then carefully removed the lid.

‘So what do we have this time?’ she muttered, as crumpled blue tissue paper was exposed. With a steady increase in heartbeat Rosemary delved into the papers depths. ‘What have we here?’ she said as her hand found something solid. But before she could discover what secret the box held the telephone rang. ‘Bother!’ she exclaimed, releasing the object. She then remembered the call she