Paul E. Martens's story, "What Dead People Are Supposed to Do" appeared in last week's edition of the horror podcast Pseudopod (I'm just catching up with my podcasts after a week teaching the Viable Paradise science fiction writing workshop on Martha's Vineyard) and it's fantastic. Perfect for Hallowe'en.
Brad is a gormless single manager in a telemarketing firm whose father died in debt and was therefore revived and turned into a telemarketing zombie who works to pay off his credit card bills. Iris is Brad's ex, who is trying to make Brad understand that their relationship ended because Brad just doesn't care about anything. Spurred by a need to impress Iris and by the impending repayment of his father's debt (with concomitant switch-off) he decides to show his zombified father a good time.
It's funny, it's got heart, it's sick — what more could you ask for?
My dad sits in his recliner. He doesn't talk, or eat, or breathe. He watches TV. He comes home from work and he watches TV. I don't know if he knows what's on, or if he cares. We sit in the dark and the light from the TV screen flickers on his already greenish skin, reflected light and shadows lending his face the only animation it's capable of. It looks unnatural, which, of course, it is.
But what is natural these days? Talking monkeys? Dogs that go shopping? Designer diseases? Crops that pick themselves? Gene-jockeys and bio-mechanics have tinkered with so many things that I've lost track. Maybe it's a good thing that there are still laws about what they can and can't do to people. People that aren't dead yet at least.
Iris said it was wrong of me to have Dad brought back from the dead to work off his debts. But I didn't ask him to run up the balances on all those credit cards. I think a son should be entitled to inherit something from his parents. Am I wrong?
