Dead Men Scare Me Stupid Read Free

ghost and saying “there
he is, Doc”, because he said that wasn’t helping with my cure at all. I guess
it wasn’t, but I mean there he was!
    When all the
tests had been concluded, the doctor looked them over, then sat me down and
explained to me what my problem really was. That’s what finally cured me. That
talk.
    I walked out of
the building knowing I would never see another ghost again. Dr. Smirky had
explained it all. There was nothing wrong with me. It was everybody else who
was screwy. The constant pressure they were unfairly putting on me to quickly
solve their cases for them was putting undue pressure on my otherwise fine
mind. That was all that was happening here. I felt like slapping those other
people silly for causing me so much trouble. They had nearly driven me nuts
there for a minute. But now I was cured. And I felt great. I’ve always wondered
why people pay so much money to go to psychiatrists. Now I know. You can’t put
a price on bullshit like that.
    On the way home I
saw two ghosts: my regular visitor, and another of my dead clients. They were
sitting on the hood of my car, looking through my windshield at me with
binoculars, waving at me, and saying: “yoo hoo”.
    I had to bounce
Dr. Smirky around a little, but I finally got all my money back. Cured, my ass.
As I left, he told me I was a very sick man, but I said I wasn’t falling for
that one again. Try it on somebody else.
    The patients in
his waiting room saw me coming out counting my money, and I don’t think I’ve
ever seen a room full of people so surprised in my life. They hadn’t realized
you could get your money back on a deal like this. They thought that all of the
money they’d spent on being crazy was gone. They crowded into Dr. Smirky’s
office, loudly demanding their money back too. I didn’t stay to see how it all
came out, but some of them must have gotten paid back, because for the rest of
the day the streets were filled with screaming crowds of crazy people running
towards Dr. Smirky’s office, gibbering with excitement.
    I went back to my
office and spent the rest of the afternoon thinking the whole thing over. The
simplest solution, I finally decided, was that I wasn’t crazy, that there were
ghosts, and that that’s why I was seeing them. That line of reasoning appealed
to me because it was so easy to understand. You don’t have to delve into your
subconscious or relive your whole lousy childhood to understand that you are
seeing something because it’s there. That’s the kind of simple cause and effect
relationship I like. So I decided to go with that.
    Now that I was
convinced that the ghosts were real, all I had to do was figure out what they
wanted with me. That turned out to be easy too. The two ghosts walked in the
door and told me themselves.
     

CHAPTER THREE
     
    Like I said, I’m
not exactly comfortable around the supernatural. Because of this, it took the
ghosts almost an hour to coax me down from the light fixture, which they
finally did with offers of food.
    As I nervously
ate the sandwich they had promised me - which was surprisingly good. There’s
something about coming out of a pocket that makes food taste better - they
introduced themselves. The short tough looking one said he was Fred C. Cramer,
of Indianapolis, Indiana. The wiry one was Ed Brannigan.
    “You remember
us,” said Ed. “We’re your dead clients. Fred here got killed in the case you
call ‘The Great Client Massacre’.”
    I looked at Fred
and tried to recall his part in that case. “Uh… head blown off, right?”
    Fred shook his
head. “Threshing machine.”
    Then I
remembered. “Oh, yeah. Hi.”
    Ed continued:
“And I hired you to find my wife’s real killer, remember that case? The one
where you kept finding me?”
    I nodded. “Sure.
Say, I hope that electric chair didn’t hurt much.”
    “Nah. I kind of
enjoyed it. Gave me a buzzy feeling all over. In fact, for awhile there I was
thinking of getting one for my