In a tragic turn of events, Mongrel finds himself rather…dead. While talking to the Grim Reaper, he works out a negotiation, mostly using blackmail, and returns to the land of the living. Finding he is once again in a horrible place called the hospital, Mongrel learns that Dunttstown’s mafia was responsible for his death, and is returning to finish the job.
Excerpts:
Mongrel took a step outside his front door and was instantly hit by a bus and killed.
“What?” he gasped. Sadly, he would never know the answer to this question because he was hit by a bus and killed.
“A bus? You’ve got to be kid-” Mongrel started, but unfortunately wouldn’t get to finish because he was busy being hit by a bus and killed.
“Since when does a bus stop on my front door?” he asked, not seeming to get the point that he had been hit by a bus and killed.
The city bus had been regularly stopping on Mongrel’s front door every hour on the hour for the passed several hours. He probably would have done something about this had he not been hit by a bus and killed.
***
Death paused to adjust his posture and regain some composure. “Now you know we can’t have the world running around knowing my name; it’s bad for business. So in return for your silence-”
“Why is that bad for business?” Mongrel interrupted.
One could see Death’s inner struggle to find a way to explain this. “Well…suppose I come to take away cute little Becky, who’s only six but has…I don’t know, terminal flatulence or something. And she clings to my leg and says, ‘Please Mr. Greg, I don’t want to die, please!’ She knows my name. My name. What’s next, she knows where I live? She comes trick-or-treating to my house on Hallowe’en? I can’t have that. That would make it very hard for me to do my job, you see? This can’t get personal. My job depends on me distancing myself from you people.”
“Us people?”
“Humans.”
“Ah.”
“Now as I was saying, in return for your silence, what do you want?”
“So you were never human? You look like you used to b-”
“No! I was never human! Now if you would please tell me what you want!”
“All right, all right. Wait a second,” Mongrel said, pausing to catch his breath, which had escaped him earlier, and he didn’t want it running around loose. He was finding being incoherent exhausting. “Terminal flatulence?”
“Or something! Now what in the name of freaking hell do you want?”
“Well, I don’t want to die.”
Death ran a skeletal hand over its skeletal face. This had never happened to it before, and it was having a hard time adjusting to it. “You’re making it very hard for me to do my job. You see, that is something you don’t want. I specifically asked you for something you do want. So if you don’t mind, tell me something you do want!”
Mongrel thought for a moment. “Well, I want to live then.”
If a growl could have emanated from Death’s mouth it would have. “Fine. Very well then. But don’t you tell another living soul about any of this, or I’ll come back and take you again so hard you’ll be sore in the afterlife!”
Mongrel shook his head. “I’d keep practicing with that thesaurus, cause that sounded really gay.”
***
Mongrel struggled to fall out of bed, and then marched over to Nova and kicked him in the ass. “Hey! Does anyone care about me here? I’d be in less pain if I were dead!”
Bossa Nova turned around, rubbing his ass, and glared at Mongrel. “Aha! Little coma boy is awake. Isn’t that lovely?”
“Oh, uh…” Mongrel started, realizing the ramifications of his stupidity. “…it’s a miracle.”
Walking slowly around Mongrel, Bossa Nova laughed sadistically to himself. “And look at you – walking and everything! For a man who was just in a coma, that’s quite the trick.”
“Yeah.” Mongrel tried to think. “I told you, it really is a miracle.”
“It’s a miracle,” Dent said, trying to help.
“In fact, I think you should let me live. I mean, I just came out of a coma – it is a miracle, after all!”
Bossa Nova drawled for a moment, pondering this. “You think?”
Mongrel’s eyes went wide. “Oh there’s not a doubt in my mind!”
Bossa Nova drawled some more. “So you’re saying that since I killed you, and you came back to life, it means I shouldn’t try again? That I can’t kill you?”
“Absolutely.” Mongrel nodded conclusively.
“Well that makes perfect sense to me,” Bossa Nova agreed, shrugging. “But still, I think I should give it a shot, just to be on the safe side.”
“Oh nonsense! Nonsense!” Mongrel shouted, trying to stay on top of the situation. “That, my good sir, is a load of rubbish, and I’ll have none of that here. A miracle is a miracle, and that’s that.”
“Oh you’ll have some of it all right. Doctor’s orders. Now where’d I put my axe?” Bossa Nova looked around the room.
***
At the sound of big John’s booming voice Captain Pete jumped off the bed and landed on the ceiling, where he remained for a few seconds, getting his wits about him. It soon settled upon him that gravity was the only thing he hadn’t sorted out, and clinging to the ceiling was not the kind of activity he should have been capable of, especially with his recent surgery. After considering all this very carefully, Captain Pete fell back into his original position on the bed.
Having gotten all this out of his system, Captain Pete turned to big John with a look of horror on his face. His mouth moved up and down silently, as if the words refused to have any part of the conversation he was trying to start.
Big John, for his part, returned the look of horror to Captain Pete, and then bolted out the door and down the hall and into the elevator and up to the roof and off the building and into a dumpster, and then kept going.
“What the hell was that all about?” Mongrel asked.
The Chris Effect 