God, this bed feels so good at the end of the day. How’s the ceiling this evening, Martin? Comfortable?
Yes, yes. I’ve heard it before. So I may not have a corporeal body. Means I don’t have the aches and pains you do anymore, Harriet. So there, ha!
I don’t ache…much. I hate how it seems to get just a little worse each passing year. As though finding out you can’t see like you used to, then the joints start to ache. It’s crap.
Well darling, I’m beyond that now, but I still do sympathize.
Bite my arse, Martin. And do shut up. I’m going to sleep now. Mind awfully if I shut off the light?
It doesn’t matter at all dear. I can see equally well in light or dark. Yet another bonus to this imposed sentence with you. Once you’re asleep I seem to blink out. Just not be anywhere.
Martin, do you ever meet up with other dead people? I mean, you can’t be the only one round here. This house is over a hundred and fifty years old. It must have ghosts. I mean, other ghosts.
I haven’t seen or sensed another soul. Nothing. No chains, no moans, no rattling doorknobs. Seems I’m the ghost host with the most these days, eh Harriet.
Some host, dear. No one can see you or hear you but me. It’s making me really wonder about my sanity. I never was one of those spiritualist flakes.
Well, not a spiritualist flake, at any rate…
Shut up, Martin. I’m trying to sleep.
Harriet do you realize how often you tell me to shut up and then ask me another question.
Ok, I’ll try to refrain from asking questions. You’ll have to excuse me Darling, it’s just that I’ve never encountered a ghost. Now I seem to live with my dead husband. We’ve spent more time talking since you passed, than the last five years of our marriage.
Harriet?
Yes, Martin. Do shut up.
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LIFE on the HALF SHELL 