Adventure Novel
So....I've started an adventure novel to turn it for this contest where I could win $ 1000 and prestige. I have to have it done by October, which hopefully should be too difficult. Here's the prologue.
Prologue: In Which Dead Men Cast No Shadows
Phil Barnaby was dead. He died on a sunny, Sunday morning, sitting out on the lawn, waiting for the groceries to arrive. He scared Ronny Jenkins, the delivery boy so bad the boy ran back to town without his bike. They had taken him out to police station, because a small town like theirs could not afford a coroner. A coroner came from a larger city and declared him dead.
“Would have been about midnight,” said the coroner as his eyebrows wrinkled. “Who sits out on their lawn at midnight?”
“Meteor shower that night,” the sheriff grumbled. “Put down 11:58.”
“Why?” asked the coroner. He was young, probably fresh out of school, the kind that needed the extra money, such that he would drive all the way to a small town to declare a dead man dead. “I think it would be cool to die at midnight.”
“Uh huh, that’s nice. Now I don’t care what time you put, but it’s sure as heck won’t be midnight when I sign that form, you hear?” The coroner did not understand what the big deal was, but wrote down 11:58 anyway. They locked the body up in the one cooler they had for such purposes, and left him until the family could arrive so they could have a burial.
So, Phil Barnaby was dead.
Then why was he standing on his property line, like he did on days when he was expecting something?
“Mr. Barnaby?” The old man looked up and waved.
“Scott, you’re forty-six, I think you can call me Phil. What’chu doing way out here?” There was something to be said for Phil Barnaby’s memory. Even when he was dead, he knew every face in town and could tell you where they lived, everyone’s cousin’s names and so on. He knew, for instance, that Scott’s family lived on the other end of town.
“I came to mow your lawn and water the garden,” Scott replied. He looked Phil up and down. The man was a little transparent, and cast no shadow, though it was about nine o’ clock in the morning. “Phil, you know you’re dead, right?”
“’Course I do,” Phil said. “It’s hard not to notice you’re dead when you can’t touch anything. Well, not right off, but it takes too much work to try.”
“Er, well, you’re not a ghost are you?” Phil looked down at him.
“Ever met a ghost who talks as plain as a man?” Now that Scott thought about it, the few resident ghosts the town had just sort of glided by, or moved lawn gnomes. “No, didn’t think so. I’m something like vapor. I still got something to say, so I’m waiting to say it.”
“Waiting on who?” Scott asked.
“My family,” Phil replied. “Each one of my grandkids and my great-grandkids are coming.”
“Not all of your kids?” Scott asked.
“Well, three of them. Solomon passed away a little while ago,” Phil said. “Sad. I went to his funeral, but I had to stand in the back. His widow insisted that he would not have wanted me there. You know I had to call his youngest daughter to tell her that her father was dead?” Phil did not wait for an answer. “We’ve exchanged a couple of letters over the years, but she got away from her family pretty quick, and her mother had lost her address. I still had it though, even though I’ve had problems writing as I got older. Couldn’t move my fingers or just plum forgot! Anyway, I had to write her and tell her that her daddy was dead. Sad business that was. Did not hear from her since though. Looking forward to seeing her at the funeral.”
“Is she who you’re waiting for?” Scott asked.
“I would appreciate it if you would keep that a secret though,” Phil replied. “Don’t want to get the other grandkids jealous.”
“Yeah sure, I understand. I’ve got four of my own, they’re almost grown and they still argue over who gets the bigger brownie after dinner,” Scott said. “Well, I better get to the lawn before it gets too hot.”
'“Thank you,” Phil said, waving him off. “Send one of your sons to do it next time!” He turned back to the road and kept watching.
Prologue: In Which Dead Men Cast No Shadows
Phil Barnaby was dead. He died on a sunny, Sunday morning, sitting out on the lawn, waiting for the groceries to arrive. He scared Ronny Jenkins, the delivery boy so bad the boy ran back to town without his bike. They had taken him out to police station, because a small town like theirs could not afford a coroner. A coroner came from a larger city and declared him dead.
“Would have been about midnight,” said the coroner as his eyebrows wrinkled. “Who sits out on their lawn at midnight?”
“Meteor shower that night,” the sheriff grumbled. “Put down 11:58.”
“Why?” asked the coroner. He was young, probably fresh out of school, the kind that needed the extra money, such that he would drive all the way to a small town to declare a dead man dead. “I think it would be cool to die at midnight.”
“Uh huh, that’s nice. Now I don’t care what time you put, but it’s sure as heck won’t be midnight when I sign that form, you hear?” The coroner did not understand what the big deal was, but wrote down 11:58 anyway. They locked the body up in the one cooler they had for such purposes, and left him until the family could arrive so they could have a burial.
So, Phil Barnaby was dead.
Then why was he standing on his property line, like he did on days when he was expecting something?
“Mr. Barnaby?” The old man looked up and waved.
“Scott, you’re forty-six, I think you can call me Phil. What’chu doing way out here?” There was something to be said for Phil Barnaby’s memory. Even when he was dead, he knew every face in town and could tell you where they lived, everyone’s cousin’s names and so on. He knew, for instance, that Scott’s family lived on the other end of town.
“I came to mow your lawn and water the garden,” Scott replied. He looked Phil up and down. The man was a little transparent, and cast no shadow, though it was about nine o’ clock in the morning. “Phil, you know you’re dead, right?”
“’Course I do,” Phil said. “It’s hard not to notice you’re dead when you can’t touch anything. Well, not right off, but it takes too much work to try.”
“Er, well, you’re not a ghost are you?” Phil looked down at him.
“Ever met a ghost who talks as plain as a man?” Now that Scott thought about it, the few resident ghosts the town had just sort of glided by, or moved lawn gnomes. “No, didn’t think so. I’m something like vapor. I still got something to say, so I’m waiting to say it.”
“Waiting on who?” Scott asked.
“My family,” Phil replied. “Each one of my grandkids and my great-grandkids are coming.”
“Not all of your kids?” Scott asked.
“Well, three of them. Solomon passed away a little while ago,” Phil said. “Sad. I went to his funeral, but I had to stand in the back. His widow insisted that he would not have wanted me there. You know I had to call his youngest daughter to tell her that her father was dead?” Phil did not wait for an answer. “We’ve exchanged a couple of letters over the years, but she got away from her family pretty quick, and her mother had lost her address. I still had it though, even though I’ve had problems writing as I got older. Couldn’t move my fingers or just plum forgot! Anyway, I had to write her and tell her that her daddy was dead. Sad business that was. Did not hear from her since though. Looking forward to seeing her at the funeral.”
“Is she who you’re waiting for?” Scott asked.
“I would appreciate it if you would keep that a secret though,” Phil replied. “Don’t want to get the other grandkids jealous.”
“Yeah sure, I understand. I’ve got four of my own, they’re almost grown and they still argue over who gets the bigger brownie after dinner,” Scott said. “Well, I better get to the lawn before it gets too hot.”
'“Thank you,” Phil said, waving him off. “Send one of your sons to do it next time!” He turned back to the road and kept watching.