Dead Men Scare Me Stupid (6 page)

“You might want a
second belt anyway,” chimed in another staffer. “One to hang yourself with, the
other to keep your pants up while you hang.”

That seemed like
a good idea. I picked out a couple of good strong looking belts. I wasn’t
planning on hanging myself, but if I did, I wanted to make sure I hung there
with dignity.

I was ushered
into a large room filled with inmates who were dressed exactly like myself -
though a few wore old faded baseball caps that said “I’m Nuts For The Gibber
Palace”.

No one took any
notice of me when I came in. They didn’t seem to be taking any notice of
anything. They were just sitting and staring at nothing, as if the world around
them had ceased to exist. I asked the nurse if I could have whatever drug they
were having. I could use a rest like that. She said it had already been
sprinkled on the candy bar I was eating, and the finger I was picking my nose
with. I said good.

Once the door to
the outside world had slammed shut behind me, and I was alone with the other
special people like myself, I relaxed for the first time in months, maybe
years. Now, finally, the pressure was off. The world can’t expect much of you
if you’re locked away in a loony bin. Life is unfair, but it’s not that unfair.
No one can expect you to be a success anymore, or keep up with the current
trends, or even keep your pants up. You don’t have to pay your taxes, plan for
the future, or explain why you just yelled “SMEM!” so loud. You’re set. It’s
like being royalty. I felt like King George III.

I picked out a
nice comfortable looking chair, turned it so it was pointed away from the real
world, then sat down and began my staring. There was a humorous sign on the
wall near me that said “You Don’t Have To Be Crazy To Be Here, But It Helps”.
It was funny because it was true, like… I dunno… I was going to say the Lincoln
Assassination, but I guess that’s not a good example. The Lincoln Assassination
is true, but it’s not funny enough. I’ll think of a better example later.
Anyway, you know what I’m driving at.

I was still
laughing at how true the sign was when Ed and Fred showed up to gloat. They
really gave me the horselaugh, letting me know that this is what happens to
people who cause them trouble. People who cause them trouble get it in the
neck. They get theirs. Their ass is grass. And so on.

They were quite
enjoying themselves, but they didn’t end up staying long. After awhile, they
began to feel uncomfortable there. They didn’t like being in a place where
everybody could see them all the time, even when they were invisible. They
weren’t used to eyes following them wherever they went. So finally they cut
their gloating short, and left. We all watched them go, then I went back to my
staring. I was getting a little behind in that.

After awhile, I
started taking an interest in things, despite myself. The other people in the
room began to fascinate me. Special was the right word for them.

They didn’t think
of themselves as people with mental problems. They thought they were a lot more
interesting than that. Some thought they could fly, some thought they could
walk up the walls, some thought they could transform their bodies to appear to
be something else, like extension ladders, or race cars, or – if a nurse was
coming – mental patients. They all thought they could do something amazing.
What was fascinating about them was that, as near as I could tell, they really
could do those things. I asked the nurse if these delusions were why they were
committed to the asylum, pointing out that the delusions seemed very real to
me. Three patients were walking on the ceiling right now. And one of them who
claimed to be the rightful King of Spain was, in fact, wearing what looked like
a very valuable crown. And there were Spaniards outside his window waiting for
him to tell them what to do.

“Oh, no, they can
do everything they say,” she said. “They’re crazy, not liars.”

I was getting
confused. “But… if they can do those things…”

She interrupted
me: “Sounds like someone needs more ‘Head On A Pole’.”

“Yes, please.”

After she had
given me my medicine, I tried to get back to my staring, but it was difficult.
I was starting to get a little bored with it. You can only stare at something
for so long before it starts looking the same.

When I could get
some of the other inmates alone, out of earshot of the nurses, I asked them
when the big escape was going to be. I knew a big escape was being planned,
because it always is in places like this. Television has taught us that much.
They said it was set for tonight. They said they had been waiting for a big
stupid guy who could act as the muscle for their operation. And I had finally
showed up. Just when they were starting to think I wouldn’t. I said I wasn’t
stupid. I was methodical. To the point of stupidity. But I was pretty big.
Would I do? They said I was perfect.

“We’ve got our
big stupid guy,” one of them said, rubbing his hands with satisfaction.

“What do you want
me to do?” I asked.

“You stand in the
middle of the room and fight everybody while we escape.”

“And then I
escape.”

“What?”

“After you
escape, then I do.”

“Er… yes, that’s
right.”

“Because that’s
the way it would have to work if it was going to be fair.”

“Uh… absolutely. You
escape too.”

“Fine.”

Late that night
the asylum was thrown into an uproar. One of the institution’s Special
Residents had gone insane! All the nurses, doctors, and administrators came
rushing into the main room to see me standing there swinging belts around and
yelling and gibbering like a madman.

The first nurse
to reach me tried to calm me down with a hypodermic needle and a few soothing
words. I decked her. The next one came at me with a blackjack. I decked her
too.

“Gibber!” I
yelled, doing my best to imitate someone who was not just special, but really
special - specialer than a fruitcake, “Gibber gibber yell yell!”

More nurses and
doctors tried to restrain me, but I knocked them over as fast as they arrived.
The nuts were right about me. I was perfect for this job. It’s too bad it was
just a one day deal. I could probably have made a nice living doing this.

While I was
keeping the staff busy, and security men were being summoned from their normal
stations outside to lend a hand in subduing me, inmates started going over the
wall by the dozens.

Some flew out,
chattering like helicopters, others bounced over the wall like the pogo sticks
they thought they were, and one who thought he was Lindbergh flew out in an
airplane he’d made out of toilet paper rolls that thought they were airplane
parts. One guy with a split personality escaped five different ways. Though I’m
told they later found two of him.

I was right
behind the last of the inmates, with two nurses still clinging doggedly to me,
one trying to take my temperature to find out what was wrong with me, and the
other trying to tell me a bedtime story so I’d go to sleep.

I shook them off
and grabbed the long plasticine arm of an inmate who thought he was a comic
book hero, and was dragged up and over the wall to freedom.

Once we were
outside, I immediately split off from the others. I figured I could do better
on my own, since I was sane and they were not. So when they headed north, I
went south. I don’t know what happened to the rest of them, but I know at least
one of them got away clean, because I later saw him in the news, breaking the
sound barrier, with his face. So he did all right. But I didn’t.

Just
as I got clear of the other inmates, and took my first step south, a hand came
down on my shoulder. I looked up. It was a G-Man. And he had a gun.

I was taken to a
large ominous government facility out near the edge of town. Central City had
outbid Cuba for it. Its purpose was vague, but the money it generated for the
local economy was real, and that’s all the City Council cared about, so there
were no investigations by the city into the weird noises or diabolical laughter
that came out of the facility. The people who lived in the neighborhood
complained about all the noise - and about the annoying “secret” smell that
belched out of the facility’s smokestacks day and night, a smell that no one
could identify exactly, but no one liked – but nothing was ever done to look
into these complaints. A lot of City Council members’ salaries were paid for
indirectly by that facility, and no one wanted to jeopardize their salaries.
Nobody’s that stupid.

Beyond the
heavily guarded main gate was nearly an acre of mixed barbed wire and dogs.
Then more gates, with a dog on each one.

The main building
was even more secure. There were guards at every door, on both sides. You
couldn’t open a door without hitting a guard’s head with it. The swinging doors
usually got both of them. So the guards were all in a mean mood. After awhile,
my escorts stopped letting me open the doors. They made me walk in the middle
of the group.

I was taken to
the office of the man running the facility, a Mr. Albert Conklin. He was a thin
white-haired, pleasant looking old duffer, but in my experience nothing about
the government is pleasant – except for maybe the stamps. Some of the stamps
are quite nice. So I wasn’t fooled by appearances. I expected him to be
trouble. And he was.

Before he could
say anything to me, I asked him a question - a question I ask everyone I meet
for the first time: “Are you going to kill me?”

“Killing you
isn’t enough, I’m afraid.”

“Oh. That’s too
bad. Are you sure, because…”

“Oh we’re quite
sure. You’ve caused too many problems already. Just stopping you from causing
any more won’t do us any good. It won’t get rid of the ones you’ve already
caused.”

“No, I can see
that now.” I thought for a minute. “Wait, I think I thought of a way where
killing me would be enough.”

“It’s too late
now.”

I made a face.

“What are you so
happy about?”

“Oh. Sorry. Wrong
face.”

I made another
face.

“You’re right to
look worried, Mr. Burly, because…”

“That’s anger,
stupid.”

He looked at my
face again for a moment, then continued: “Anyway… as I said, I’m afraid we’re
going to have to do something that’s a little more drastic than just killing
you.”

I decided not to
try to convey my feelings about this through facial expressions. At least not
until I’d had more practice. I wrote “Disappointment” down on a piece of paper
and showed it to him. He crumpled the paper up and dropped it in his
wastebasket.

“You see, the
problem is, you have uncovered secrets which should have remained buried
forever,” he continued. “Now we’ll have to reverse the damage you have caused.
It’s fortunate that you got out of the asylum on your own. It saved us the
trouble of figuring out a way to get you out without attracting undue
attention.”

“Secrets? What
secrets?”

“Never mind.”

“This is where I
find out what’s going on, right?”

“No.”

“Oh.” I was
disappointed by this, but I tried to be philosophical about it. “Oh well, I
guess I’ll find out in the end.”

“You’d better
not.”

“That’s when I
usually find out. Right near the end.”

“Not this time,
buster.”

“Okay. I’ll try
not to.” I wasn’t happy about this. I like to find out at the end. “So, if
you’re not going to kill me, what are you going to do to me?”

“We are going to
make it so you never existed - so you were never born.”

I thought about
this, then slipped him a note with the word “plagiarism” on it. He read the
note, then threw it in the wastebasket with my other notes. Then he stood up.

“Let’s get this
over with.”

“All right.”

He led me
downstairs to a lower level to meet someone he would only refer to as
“Clarence”.

On the way, we
passed rooms full of secret machines the government had been developing.
Conklin proudly pointed out a few of them to me.

“That thing that
looks like a ray gun is really a new kind of broadcasting. It can shoot a TV
show into your head from three hundred yards away.”

“That will
revolutionize the entertainment industry,” I observed.

He nodded.
“People won’t have to argue about what to watch anymore. Everyone will get to
watch his own show.”

“Wonderful.”

“You’ll get the
show you want, in the head you want it in.”

“I can see that
being the slogan for your campaign.”

“Yes.” He pointed
at another gadget. “And that machine over there will make all the evil people
in the world six inches tall.”

I was interested
in this machine. As you know, I’d been looking for ways to make it easier to
spot criminals. This might be just the thing.

“Where can I buy
one of those gizmos?” I asked, reaching for my wallet.

Conklin shook his
head regretfully. “Not on the market yet, I’m afraid. It hasn’t even been fully
tested. Some of the higher-ups in our government are worried that…well, we just
haven’t tested it yet, that’s all. Good idea though, isn’t it?”

I nodded. “It
will certainly make my job easier, that’s for sure. Say, if the government can
do all this, why can’t somebody make coffee that tastes good?”

“I don’t know.
Are you sure you cleaned the pot?”

“Which pot?”

“Maybe the pot
needs to be cleaned.”

“I still want to
know which pot.”

He didn’t answer.
I decided to drop it.

Suddenly another
thought occurred to me. “Hey, how are you guys connected with the ghosts?”

“What do you
mean?”

“Well… one minute
I’m having trouble with ghosts, the next you show up with all this secret
government stuff. What’s the connection?”