I’m Billy Bones. And I’m dead.

Not figuratively, like Biff Knucklehead is going to beat me up at school, but literally dead. Dead as a doornail.

I was ten when I died, and from what I can remember, I shoved my finger too far up my nose and stabbed my brain. Dumb way to die, I know, but hey, I was a notorious nose picker.

Actually, I still am.

I don’t remember all of my life, just bits and pieces. My parents were decent people from what I can recall and my sister, although odd, wasn’t really that much of a pain.

I think it was a good life, and that leaves me where I’m at now.

I’m in the Afterlife. Not the kind where there’s angels and puffy clouds, and not that other place with fire and brimstone either. Those don't exist. There’s just the Afterlife.

From what I can tell it’s like a recycling depot here. We sit in this place waiting for our number to be called. Then we start all over again in the Livingworld as someone new. My number is 1,312,356,421. I think I have a long wait ahead of me.

I look the same as I did in life. I still have black hair and I’m kind of pale. Like my aunt used to say, my eyes are “like the sky”, and with the exception that one nostril can sometimes look a little larger than the other, my nose is just right for my face.

Everyone here looks like they did when they died. I guess I’m kind of lucky I didn’t die by losing half my head in a bad chainsaw accident. Not pretty, let me tell you. That was the guy right in front of me when I first came to this place.

I was standing in a line, waiting to be registered. It was dark, and everything was made of old, black stone. There was a glass window with someone behind it at the counter, sort of like a clerk. She was old and trying to get the attention of the three people at the front of the line. They were all carrying fishing rods, and they were bickering.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she said. “You’re dead, you should have worn your lifejackets. Dumb, dumb, dumb, but you can’t change it. Take these papers and get in the Multiple Deaths line.” She pointed towards another window.

The chainsaw guy was next. He had to go to the Accidental Dismemberment line.

“Next!” the woman behind the counter yelled.

I did what any kid my age, who’s a little short of stature, would do. I jumped up when I got to the counter. I got a closer look and noticed that she had no markings on her. Didn't like she'd died horribly, she was just really old. She had a name tag that said, Stella. She had tall hair.

“Quit yer bouncin’ around,” Stella said.

I could hear her flipping through some pages.

“Jumpin’ Jehosephat!” she exclaimed. “Another nose picker! That’s ten this week!” She leaned over the counter and pointed towards another window. “You go there."

The sign above it read Unbelievably Stupid Deaths.

I hung my head and scuffed my feet as I made my way to the next window. There was no one in that line and a nice lady with claw marks all over her gave me a book and told me to go to a place called Wayward Place on Liberty Street.

So I followed some old, barely-working Exit signs and stepped outside.

The streets were filled with folks wandering about aimlessly, but some were going about their business in a rather fast manner.

A strange fellow on the road who looked a little flat and had some tire marks on his face yelled out, “Welcome to Necropolis!”

I tried to ask him for directions, but then he started moaning about the loss of his former life and limped off into the cobbled streets.

I was a little overwhelmed as I tried to cut through the crowds. Horse and carriages carried some, others walked, and some strolled about with parasols even though there was no rain and it seemed to be the middle of the night. There were a few dogs roaming the streets. They would sniff the people and then run off and find another pant leg or dress to smell. There were some cats too.

It was then that something strange occurred to me. I thought I’d had a dog once in my former life, and then one of the larger ones approached me. He took a sniff of my leg and wagged his tail. He was a rusty brown with a ridge running down his back and somehow having him standing with me seemed right. The only name that came to mind was Goliath when I saw him. I tried it out, just to see what he would do.

“Goliath,” I said. “Sit.”

The dog sat and continued to wag his tail. I reached out to pet him. He was sopping wet. Then I remembered something. The dog from my former life had drowned. Maybe this was my dog, after all. He shook the water off, but was still just as wet as before.

At that point, I decided he was coming with me. I could use with someone to talk to.

“Goliath,” I said. “I need to find Liberty Street. Do you know where that is?”

He didn’t bark or make any sound, but I could tell by the twinkle in his eyes, he knew. He started walking, so I followed.

It took a while to find the place. It was a wide old mansion with a black metal fence all around it in an older section of the city. It didn’t look very inviting, but the dangling sign in front of it read: Wayward Place.

I looked at Goliath. He wagged his tail.

I shrugged and we walked up to the front door where I lifted the gargoyle-shaped knocker. I let it drop.

It thundered as it struck the door.

Goliath and I waited.

And waited.

I reached to lift the knocker again, but the gargoyle on it suddenly came to life and slapped my hand. “Enough already!” it said. “They heard you. Be patient, Jeeves is slow. He’ll get here soon enough.”

I retracted my hand, and awkwardly put it in my pocket. I tried to act normal, but I couldn't help staring at the gargoyle.

Eventually, the door opened a crack and I caught a glimpse of messy white hair and a large, bloodshot eyeball.

“Whatcha want?” asked a voice that was a little squeaky.

“I’m Billy. I was told to come here,” I said.

The door opened a little more. The wild-haired man was dressed like a butler and had a large knife sticking out of his chest. The door caught on it. “Who sentcha?” he squeaked again.

“The woman behind the counter. She gave me this,” I said and held up the book she had given me. I hadn’t really paid attention to the title up to that point. It was called The Necronomicon.

The man opened the door fully and I stepped in. He eyed Goliath, but didn’t seem to mind that the dog was with me, or that he was dripping water all over the marble floor.

“If you’re takin’ up residence here, you’ll need to know the rules,” he said.

I nodded.

“First,” he said, and pointed to the knife in his chest, “if you’re a bleeder, watch the rugs. Gertrude will come after you if you bleed on the rugs.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Second, no screamin’ or wailin' in the middle of the day. We like our sleep here.” He waited on me to nod my head before continuing. “Third, don’t ask questions that are already answered in The Necronomicon. The Newly Dead constantly ask the same questions. Read the book,” he said, pointing to what I still held in my hand. “And lastly, keep the drapes closed during the day. Daylight gives us all a blasted headache.” He examined me with his bloodshot eyeball as if he thought I was going to be trouble. “Any questions?”

“What’s your name?” I asked. “And what do I do now?”

“Jeeves,” he said. “And since sunrise is coming, you’ll want to be goin’ to sleep. Tomorrow, you need to start your Dead Lessons.” He pointed towards a grand curved staircase. “Take room number fifty-two. Henry the First finally had his number called… thank goodness. If I had another request for cooked lamprey, I thought I’d strangle him. Gertrude should have cleaned the room by now.” From out of his jacket he pulled a large ring of skeleton keys and handed me one of them.

“Thank you,” I said. I then walked up the staircase which had paintings of some people all dying in rather ridiculous ways. Under the painting of a man appearing to be running from a bunch of mice was the name Prince Popiel.

The stairs curved towards a couple of long hallways, both with lamps along the walls and rugs that ran the length of the corridor. I couldn’t see the end in either direction. The corridor just kept on going, with doors and doors and doors. I wasn’t sure which way to go, but Goliath took the hallway to the right. I just followed until he stopped at the door that read fifty-two. I took out the key and turned it in the lock. The door opened and the two of us strode into the room.

It smelled a little fishy, but it had a huge four-poster bed and a large wardrobe. Over the dresser was a cracked mirror. Goliath jumped onto the end of the bed and settled down. I closed the door and climbed onto the bed. Then I opened The Necronomicon and began to read.

It started with: Congratulations! You’re dead!