When he stepped out to get the morning paper, Harry found a dead body lying in the middle of the lawn. Scooping up the paper, he hurried back inside the house and closed the door. He pulled aside the curtain, and looked out the window. The body lay face down on the grass, its nose pressed into the ground. The left arm was thrown out to the side, while the right was bent awkwardly and trapped beneath the stomach. The legs were akimbo. The body only had one shoe, and there was a hole in the exposed sock.
It sure looked dead, Harry thought, and he wondered if it had been lying there most of the night. If it wasn't already dead when it hit the ground, it must have died of exposure. He stared for a while, looking to see if the chest was moving.
``Honey?'' called his wife, Greta. ``What are you doing?''
``Nothing,'' said Harry, squinting at the body.
``Is the paper there?''
``I'll be there in a minute,'' said Harry. He opened the door again, and shuffled down the walk in his slippers. He bent over the body, still trying to see if the chest was moving.
``Hey,'' said Harry. He waited.
``Hey!'' he said again. The body didn't move, so he poked it with the rolled up newspaper. He looked it over for gunshot or stab wounds, but saw none. He poked the body in the shoulder again. ``Hey!''
Harry scratched at his pajamas, and looked around. He could see over the hedge into the yard of his neighbour Gus, and out onto the street, but nobody was out this early. If someone were to walk by, they probably wouldn't even see the body lying in the yard. The hedge mostly blocked the view.
Harry kicked the body. ``Hey!''
``Who's that?'' asked Greta. She stood at the door in her dressing gown.
``Don't know,'' said Harry.
``Wake him up,'' she said.
``I tried,'' he said. He kicked the body again. ``Hey!'' He shrugged at Greta. ``See?''
``Is it Gus?'' asked Greta. ``Remember last Christmas when he came home so drunk and tried to get into our house?''
``I don't think it's him.''
``Roll him over. Look at his face.''
Harry bent closer, and wrinkled his nose. He took the rolled up newspaper and pushed at the side of the body's head.
``What are you doing?'' asked Greta. ``You can't roll him over with a newspaper.''
``I just want to look at his face,'' said Harry. But the head wouldn't roll. He pushed and jabbed and shoved, and the newspaper crumpled with the strain of it. Harry squatted down and looked at what little of the face he had managed to expose. The body smelled bad.
``It's not Gus,'' he said. He stood up, brushed at his legs, and then walked back towards the door.
``Is that it?'' asked Greta.
``That's it,'' said Harry. ``Let's call the police.''
He dialed, while Greta poured coffee and cleaned off the dirtied parts of the newspaper.
``Hello. I have a dead body in my yard,'' he said into the phone. ``Yes, it's definitely dead. I tried to wake it up, and it doesn't move ... 228 Fletcher Drive. You can't see the body from the street because of the hedge ... Thanks.'' He hung up.
``Well?'' said Greta.
``They're sending a car,'' said Harry.
The police showed up in a few minutes. Harry and Greta watched from the window as the two cops entered the yard and walked up to the body. One of them bent over and shook the body's shoulder, then lifted it to get a view of the face. The other spotted Harry and Greta in the window, and nodded towards them. Greta waved back.
The cops discussed the situation for a while, alternately shrugging and nodding to each other. Then the first cop went back to the car, and returned with a small glass vial. He opened it and waved it under the body's nose.
As if a puppeteer suddenly jerked on its strings, the body was instantly up on its feet, blinking.
``Oh!'' said Greta.
The cops didn't seem surprised by this turn of events. The body blinked a few more times, and swayed unsteadily on its feet. The cops asked it a few questions, and the body mumbled a few answers, occasionally nodding or shaking its head. The body produced a wallet and showed the cops some ID. The cops warned the body not to lie around in people's yards, and told it to go home. The body nodded and said it would do just that. Fine said the cops, and making sure the body was out on the sidewalk and pointed in the correct direction to find home, climbed back into their car and drove off.
``I'll be damned,'' said Harry.
The body swayed unsteadily on the sidewalk, took a few steps to the left, then a few to the right. Then it keeled right over onto the hedge at the edge of Harry's and Greta's yard. The head went right over and hit the lawn. The torso came after it, and then the legs tumbled after, all loose and gangly.
``Goddamit!'' said Harry.
``Oh would you---'' said Greta, but she didn't finish.
Harry opened the door, and started out into the yard.
``Wait!'' said Greta. She ran into the study.
``What?'' said Harry.
Greta came back with his .38 revolver. ``Take this.''
Harry took the gun and shuffled over to the body where it lay now in a heap at the base of their hedge.
``Hey!'' said Harry, but the body didn't move.
It was lying face up now. The face was very pale in colour, and had a few days growth of whiskers. The eyes were half-closed, and only the whites were showing.
``Hey!'' said Harry, pointing the gun at the body. He sidled up to it, and pressed the barrel of the gun into the body's chest. ``Hey, get up!''
The body didn't move. Harry took the gun and put the barrel to the body's left temple. ``I said get up!''
When the body still didn't move, he shrugged at Greta. She shrugged back at him. He took the barrel of the gun and stuck it into the body's mouth. He cocked the hammer. ``I'll shoot you, so help me God,'' he said. The body didn't seem to care.
Harry felt at the body's neck. He felt in several places, trying to find a pulse. Then he stood up and looked around. He exhaled sharply through his nose and shook his head in disgust. He kicked the body, right in the stomach. A wheezing sound came from the body's mouth.
``What?'' said Harry. ``What did you say?'' He kicked again, and got another wheezing sound.
``What did he say?'' asked Greta.
``Nothing,'' said Harry. He kicked the body right in the head. ``Ouch!''
``What happened?'' exclaimed Greta.
``Hurt my toe,'' said Harry. He hobbled back to the house.
``Oh boy,'' muttered Greta, looking at his expression.
``Okay, here's what happened,'' said Harry. ``The body wasn't quite dead when the police got here. But I think the exertion of standing up was too much, and then it keeled over dead for real.''
``So we should call the police again?''
``Yup,'' said Harry. He called the police again. ``Hi, there's a dead body in my yard ... Yes, that was me ... No, this time it's really dead ... Yes, I went out and did everything. It's definitely dead this time ... Well, when can you come? ... I see ... I see. All right, then. Bye.'' He hung up, and then exhaled sharply through his teeth.
``What?'' said Greta.
``They're not going to come.''
``That's crazy.''
``They say it's not dead. They already checked it. They're very busy, and unless we are in danger, they can't keep coming out to look at a body that's not really dead. Or something like that.''
``Oh,'' said Greta.
``They said they can come to check it again in 24 hours if it is still dead.''
``Oh,'' said Greta. ``Are we just supposed to leave it there?''
Harry threw up his hands. ``I don't know, okay? How am I supposed to know what we're supposed to do with it? Do I look like I deal with dead bodies every day?''
``Fine, then,'' huffed Greta. ``We'll wait until tomorrow.'' She went back to the bedroom to get dressed.
Harry paced around the kitchen for a while. He drank two cups of coffee, and tried to read the newspaper. He returned twice to the front window, before finally going into the bedroom to get dressed.
``Is it still there?'' asked Greta.
``Yup,'' said Harry.
``Am I just supposed to stay here all day with a dead body from who knows where, while you go to work?''
``I'll call in sick,'' said Harry, and he did.
At eleven o'clock he caught Greta poking the body with a shovel.
``What are you doing?'' he said.
``Nothing,'' she said, and she walked around to the back of the house, taking the shovel with her.
Harry watched her go with a frown. Then he walked over to the body, and felt at its pockets. He found the wallet in the pants' back pocket, and pulled it out. There was a credit card, and a driver's license that gave the name of the body as Lyle Garrigle. There was also twelve hundred dollars in cash, mostly hundreds.
``Hm,'' said Harry. He took the wallet into the house, but he didn't remove the cash. He counted it twice without removing a single bill. Then he went through all the cards, and then put them back in the wallet. He went into the utility room, and put the wallet behind an old paint tin on a high shelf.
``Looking for something?'' said Greta, coming in from the garage.
``Huh?'' said Harry, looking at her in surprise. ``Um, yeah. You seen the ammonia?''
``It's under the sink. Why?''
``Those smelling salts the cops used did a good job. Maybe something smelly will work.''
``That's a good idea,'' said Greta. ``Ammonia really stinks. Wait, I'll get the gun.''
Harry took the bottle of ammonia, and tried to wave the nozzle under the body's nose, while Greta kept the gun trained on the body's head. Harry ended up spilling ammonia all over the lawn, and even splashed a fair amount on the body's face by accident, but the body didn't even twitch.
``Nope,'' said Harry. ``It's dead for sure.''
``Stupid corpse,'' said Greta. ``Fucking asshole corpse.'' She looked like she was close to tears.
``Nothing we can do about it,'' said Harry. ``Let's go.''
``No,'' said Greta, and then she began crying.
``Oh jeez,'' said Harry.
``Shut up,'' said Greta. She kicked at the body. ``Stupid jerk! Why can't you die somewhere else?'' She pulled the trigger, and the gun went off.
``Damn!'' said Harry. ``Give me that!'' He grabbed the gun from her, and she sat down on the grass, sniffling.
``Jeez, look what you did,'' said Harry. He was looking at a new bullet hole in the body's abdomen.
``So what,'' said Greta. ``It was already dead. You said so.''
``Do I look like a doctor? What do I know about dead?''
``You said it was dead. You said so!'' She stood up and ran into the house.
``Jeez,'' said Harry. He looked over the hedge, but the street was quiet. ``Damn,'' he said, bending over to look at the body's new bullet hole. There wasn't much blood. He went back into the house.
``I got an idea,'' he said, walking into the bedroom where Greta lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. She didn't answer, so he went on. ``Let's take the body and put it in Gus's yard.''
``You're gonna blame the gunshot on Gus?'' asked Greta.
``No, no. When Gus sees the body, he'll call the police. Then they'll come because it's not us calling again.''
``That's a good idea,'' said Greta after thinking about it.
They went back out to the yard, and Harry picked up the body under the armpits, while Greta picked up its legs.
``Are we going to walk it around on the sidewalk?'' asked Greta.
Harry considered this. ``No, lets just throw it over the hedge.''
They carried the body to the hedge, and Harry tried to throw his half over. But the body just fell into the hedge, parting the bushes and breaking off a lot of branches.
``Damn,'' mumbled Harry. He and Greta pushed the legs over, and tried to shove the rest of the body completely into Gus's yard. Then Greta knelt down and tidied up the messed-up hedge.
``I think that oughta do it,'' said Harry. They stood up and surveyed their work.
``I'm hungry,'' said Greta. ``Want some soup?''
``Love some,'' said Harry.
They ate lunch, and then left the house later in the afternoon to do some shopping. They stayed out longer than they had to, in the hopes that Gus would find the body when he returned home, and call the police. If things went their way, everything would be taken care of by the time they got home.
But when they got home, they discovered that the body was back in their yard.
``For the love o' Pete,'' said Harry.
``How did it get back in our yard?'' asked Greta.
``That bastard Gus must have thrown it back here,'' said Harry. ``Crazy old coot.''
``Why would he do a thing like that?'' asked Greta.
``Remember that time you caught him throwing the dog poo in his yard over the hedge onto our lawn?''
``Oh my. I forgot about that.''
``Shoulda known better than to count on Gus,'' grumbled Harry. They sat down on the sofa, and thought about things.
``Okay, I got a better plan,'' said Harry. ``We'll take the body and put it in the trunk of the car. Then tonight after dark, we'll drive it out to the old bridge on Highway fifteen, and we'll throw it into the river.''
Greta thought about this. ``Okay. That's a good idea.''
They went out to the yard, and picked up the body again, with Harry holding the shoulders, and Greta the feet. ``We'll take it through the house,'' said Harry, and he led the way through the door. They carried the body into the kitchen, through the utility room, and into the garage. They lay the body down on the concrete floor by the rear wheel of the car.
``I'll go get the car keys,'' puffed Harry.
``I'll come with you,'' said Greta, not wanting to be left alone with the dead body. In the kitchen she noticed the .38 revolver sitting on the kitchen table, and she stopped to pick it up.
``Here, give me that,'' said Harry, taking the gun. ``I don't want you shooting the place up again.'' He grabbed his car keys from the hook by the door, and they went back into the garage.
The body was gone.
``Where is it?'' asked Greta.
Harry knelt down and looked under the car. ``I don't know.''
``Where did it go?'' asked Greta, and an edge of hysteria crept into her voice. ``Oh my god, Harry, where is it?''
Holding the gun out in front of him, Harry walked around the car. There was no sign of the dead body.
``It's not here,'' he said.
Greta, holding her hand to her mouth, looked to the left and to the right. ``Where could it have gone?''
They both looked around the garage, their eyes settling on the door to the utility room they had just passed through. ``Oh my god,'' said Greta. ``It's in the house!''
She ran to the utility room door, hoping to slam it shut and trap the body inside the house, but the body came lurching through the doorway just as she got there. Greta screamed and clawed at the face of the body.
``Help me, please help me,'' the body was saying, as it tried to grab Greta's hands and stop her from clawing its eyes out. ``I've been shot,'' it said. ``And robbed. Help.''
By this time Harry was able to run over, place the gun barrel against the body's chest and fire twice. The body staggered sideways, hit the wall and fell over.
``Shoot it again!'' screamed Greta.
Harry shot it again, once in the back, and then again in the head.
``Again!'' screamed Greta.
Harry shot again, hitting it in the neck.
``Again!'' screamed Greta.
``No more bullets,'' said Harry.
``Oh,'' said Greta.
``It's not moving,'' said Harry.
``Is it dead again?'' asked Greta.
``I think so,'' said Harry.
But Greta didn't believe him any more, so she tied up the body with an electrical extension cord. She also tied a cinderblock around its waist, and filled its pockets with gravel from the alleyway, so that it would sink well when they threw it off the bridge on Highway fifteen. She also wrapped the body in plastic garbage bags that she taped around it like a mummy, because it was bleeding a lot from all the bullet holes.
That night, they threw it off the bridge into the river. The body, wrapped in black plastic, vanished from sight as soon as they let it go. There was a big splash, and that was all. They drove home in silence and went to bed.
The police called the next morning.
``Hello?'' said Harry when he answered the phone. ``No, it isn't there anymore ... Yes, you were quite right after all, I guess it wasn't dead ... No problem, thanks for calling.''
He hung up and went to get the morning paper. On a whim, he stopped by the study, picked up his .38, and re-loaded it. Then he went outside and found the newspaper lying in the middle of the walk. Harry picked it up, and looked around the yard, his hand on the gun in the pocket of his dressing gown. He walked along the hedge, checking underneath it.
``Hey Harry,'' called Gus from next door.
Harry waved with the newspaper.
``Lose something?'' called Gus.
``Nope,'' said Harry.
``Whatcha lookin' for?'' called Gus.
``Not sure,'' said Harry. ``I'm not sure.'' He walked back into the house.
``Get the paper?'' asked Greta.
Harry whirled, with the gun in his hand. ``Jeez! You scared me,'' he said, lowering the gun.
``Oh! You scared me too,'' said Greta, with her hand on her chest.
Harry laughed, and then Greta laughed too. ``Let's go have some breakfast,'' said Greta.
``Good idea,'' said Harry.
Greta started towards the kitchen, and then paused, looking back. ``Are you coming?''
``Right behind you,'' said Harry.
``Bring the gun,'' said Greta.
``Yup,'' said Harry.