Short Story: The Death of Barry Marshall by Alice Elizabeth

Barry Marshall knew that he was dead. He’d been expecting it for some time, and now that he was looking down at his own body he knew with a certainty that it had finally happened.

He was disgusted by what he saw in the bed before him. The slack jaw hanging open, chin covered in drool. The fat stomach, the flaky scalp, the skin wrinkled all over like old wrapping paper. He was glad to finally be dead.

Death wasn’t what he’d expected though. He wasn’t a religious man, so he hadn’t thought that he’d be off to heaven or hell or that place inbetween. He honestly just thought it would be nothing. He’d die and that would be the end of it. He wouldn’t be aware that he was dead, his consciousness would just blink out of existence.

Now that Barry Marshall was dead he didn’t know what to do.

Should he stick close to his corporeal body? He didn’t want to go too far in case they moved it and he didn’t know if his ghost, spirit, whatever he was now, was somehow linked to his physical remains.

The time was 3:15am. It was the nursing home’s policy to check every four hours, but that meant the next check wasn’t until 6:00am. Barry had nearly three hours to have a look around and see if he could figure out what was what.

First of all, thought Barry, let’s see what I can actually do. Can I touch things? Barry grabbed at the lamp on the bedside table and wasn’t entirely surprised when his hand passed right through it. If I can’t touch anything, shouldn’t I be sinking through the floor? He asked this out loud but, his words made no sound. Barry didn’t notice this though. He was staring at his feet as though now that he had called out the universe on it’s lack of consistent rules regarding ghosts, that it might change it’s mind and he’d suddenly fall through the floor.

When he was sure that his feet were going to stay firmly planted on the linoleum, Barry moved around the room grabbing at objects only to pass straight through them, as though he was seeing if there was limits to his new found ability. Barry reached the door of the room and paused. With a quick look back at his cooling body, and a tip of an imaginary hat, Barry stepped through the door without opening it. On the other side he gave himself a quick once over to make sure his ghost body was ok. He turned and checked that the door to his room was still firmly shut. Satisfied, he hitched up his pyjama pants and set off down the hall.

I’ll have to take the stairs, Barry said with a grumble, realising that he wouldn’t be able to press the button to call the lift.

He was halfway down the first flight when he broke out in a grin and laughed. The chronic knee and back pain that had prevented him from using stairs for the last decade or so was gone. Barry did a dance on the stairs. Up one step, down two, up three, jump down two to the next landing. Barry spun around with his arms in the air. He felt amazing! And after all that he wasn’t even the slightest bit out of breath. This thought pulled him up short.

I suppose I don’t have breath anymore, now that I’m dead, he said silently. Barry descended the rest of the stairs thoughtfully, and exited into a lounge area. Everything was dark and quiet at this time of night, but he could see a light down the hall coming from the nurses station.

He went to see who was there and recognised both of the faces sitting behind the desks.

Excuse me ma’ams, I just thought I’d better let you know that I’m dead. Up on level 2, room 28. I’m just going out for a bit now, but if you stop by on your usual visit at six, I’ll be back by then. The nurses didn’t react or respond in any manner whatsoever. Barry had expected this, so wasn’t surprised. What he was surprised at, probably because he hadn’t yet thought of it, was that his words made no sound. Logically, he realised that of course they wouldn’t make any sound. It was just a very odd sensation to speak and hear it in your head, but not out loud. I have no breath to get winded running down stairs, then of course I have no breath to make sound when I speak. Barry said this deliberately out loud. Well, what to him felt like speaking out loud, but made no actual noise at all. I shall have to go swimming later. If I don’t breathe then I could sit on the bottom of the pool all day. No, think bigger, Barry. There’s oceans full of coral reefs and shipwrecks you could explore. Just imagine! As he walked out of the nursing home, Barry started thinking about all the things he could do, now that he was dead.

He followed the footpath off the grounds of the home and let it lead him away. He didn’t really have a destination in mind, he was just wandering. Just enjoying being able to walk pain-free and unassisted. He should have been cold, just wearing thin cotton pyjamas, but he didn’t feel any temperature at all. He wasn’t hot, he wasn’t cold, he was perfectly neutral.

As Barry wandered he began to contemplate his situation further. I don’t seem to be noticing any effects from moving further away from my physical body. Maybe I’m not far enough away from it yet, but I feel like I could keep going forever. He walked for nearly an hour before he thought it was time he should head back.

On the way back he thought of more and more questions that he couldn’t find answers for. Does everyone turn into a ghost when they die? If not, why only some people? It is the whole unfinished business thing? I don’t have any unfinished business, so why me? How long am I going to be a ghost for? It can’t be forever, because even if only a small percentage of people turn into ghosts the planet would be overrun with them. How long have I got before I disappear? I was ready to die when I was in my physical body, but I feel so much better now. I don’t want to disappear, or disintegrate or fade away, or whatever it is that ghosts do. Shouldn’t there be some other ghosts around as well? Can ghosts even see other ghosts?

Barry was still thinking his way down this ghostly rabbit hole when he arrived back at the nursing home. He went up the stairs to his room. When he went in he found it empty. Not just empty of nurses or staff, empty of him. His body wasn’t there anymore. They must have done the rounds earlier than usual and already discovered he was gone.

Barry was at a bit of a loss now. For some reason he’d thought that the discovery of his dead body would be some kind of landmark moment and he’d know what he was supposed to do next.

He sat on the bed for a moment. And then put his feet up and laid back. He was staring at the ceiling thinking about what he was going to do next, when he suddenly realised what he was doing.

How am I on the bed? I should be falling though it. None of this makes any sense at all! Perhaps it was the shock of his death finally catching up to him, but Barry was now quite upset and frustrated that things weren’t working as they should be.

I don’t even believe in ghosts, or the afterlife, or anything like that! I’m a man of science and reason. Why is this happening to me?

Barry Marshall raged silently in his room. He tried to pick things up for the satisfaction of throwing them, but his hands passed through them. He tried to lift the bed on which he’d previously been able to sit and lay upon, but even those rules had changed and he was now unable to grip any part of the bed frame, mattress or the blankets and pillows upon it. He was frustrated by the lack of logic and consistency in this new existence.

He sat in the corner and began to cry until he realised that he was leaning against the wall and not falling through it. With tears falling from his eyes Barry found his way down to the morgue to find his body. It was laid out on a cold sterile table, waiting to be collected by the funeral home. He climbed up next to his body to have a last look, letting out a cry of despair when his hands and knees didn’t pass through the metal structure.

He didn’t think he looked like himself anymore. Death had changed his physical body in small odd ways that made him look like a stranger. Barry reached out to touch his own face but he met no resistance. With a sigh of resignation he lay down on the table inside his own corpse and wondered if his ghost face had changed the same way his dead face had. If someone was looking at both faces overlaid, would there be any difference?

Goodnight, old boy, Barry said and tried to fit himself as closely as he could into his body.

In the morning, Barry was moved to the funeral home where he had already made plans for, and paid for, his cremation. A notice of his passing was placed in the local and in one national newspaper. His lawyer was consulted, and Barry’s will was determined to be a valid and binding document, and in the absence of anyone else, became the executor of Barry’s will.

Barry’s only living relative was his sister, whom he had not spoken to in five years. Not because of any rift between them, just because they were both old, lived far away and before you know it, five years have gone past without even a phone call. She was notified of Barry’s death, but was too ill herself to make the trip.

Barry had an ex wife, whose attention was brought to the notice in the newspaper by an old friend who knew she’s once been married to a Barry Marshall, did she think it was him? Barry’s ex wife made no attempt to find out if it was him.

Barry didn’t leave behind any significant wealth, or property, or possessions. He’d sold his house and most of its contents to fund moving into the best quality nursing home he could. What money was left in his name he bequeathed to the nearby animal rescue shelter. He was given a special mention at their next annual general meeting and the money paid for life saving surgery for a dog, provided food for a litter of kittens and paid for clean up of the lake where ducks kept getting tangled in discarded plastic bags.

The nursing home were notified of the time and date of the service to be held for Barry prior to his cremation. The staff who favoured Barry were all going to be on duty at that time so were unable to attend.

Barry had kept to himself at the home, so while the other residents were notified of his passing, none of them felt they knew him well enough to attend the service.

Barry’s body stayed at the funeral home for two days before being prepared for cremation. During this time Barry’s ghost, or spirit, or whatever he was now, he still hadn’t decided, wandered the town, never daring to go too far from his mortal remains. He continued to test the rules of his new existence. What could he touch, what could he pass through, could he find any other ghosts or spirits to tell him what was going on? Just when he thought he had figured out how things worked, he found an exception. A wall that he couldn’t walk through, or a chair that he couldn’t sit in. And never once did he find another dead person up and about like he was.

On the day of his cremation a service was planned for beforehand, for those who wished to come and pay their respects, to celebrate Barry’s life.

Barry didn’t expect there to be many people, but hadn’t expected there to be no people at all.

A funeral home employee stood outside the door, ready to greet and console anyone who was coming to mourn. After 20 minutes and no arrivals he decided that it would be ok if he nipped out the back for a cigarette and to put his feet up for the rest of the hour.

Barry stood alone in the sombre and impersonal room that the funeral home used for these occasions. The soft lighting, dark colours and restrained floral arrangements didn’t distract from the main attraction of Barry’s coffin at the end of the room. There was a wreath on top and a card proclaiming his name, date of birth and date of death. But there wasn’t even a photograph of the dearly departed.

I think I’ll come with you, buddy. Barry said this to his coffin. I can’t stand this existence where the rules keep changing and I’m alone and I can’t talk to anyone and no one can see me. He snorted. Alone. I was always alone though, wasn’t I. You can see all the hordes of people that cared about me. No one. Not a single one. He climbed up into the coffin with a grimace at the fact that he could pass through the top of the coffin, but the bottom remained solid for him. He settled down inside himself and waited.

At the end of the hour alloted for people to come an pay their respects to Barry Marshall, the funeral home started the process of cremating his body. As they pushed yet another lifeless corpse into the furnace, little did they know that they were also pushing Barry’s consciousness into the flames as well.

Barry felt nothing, of course, he was already dead after all. He just hoped that this would work. That the destruction of his physical remains would also mean the end of the ghostly existence he’d experienced over the last few days. He didn’t know what he would do if it didn’t work.

There wasn’t even a moment of triumph for Barry, no point at which he knew his plan had worked. One moment he was lying there, hoping and wishing. The next moment the spark of consciousness that was Barry Marshall was gone. He no longer existed.