Be the Death of Me by Rebecca Harris

through his already tousled hair.
    “Then what are you talking about? Why shouldn’t I see you? You’re standing two feet in front of me for crying out loud!”
    He takes moment to look back at his pretty partner. She keeps her lips pressed together, and simply raises her eyebrows as if to say, “Just tell him already”.
    “You’re not supposed to see us,” he begins, carefully choosing each word, “because we’re dead.”
    This is it , I think. I have finally snapped and my sanity is no more than a memory, gradually slipping away with each second of stunned silence. I can hear what he’s saying, but the statement is so ridiculous, so insane, I don’t want to understand.
    “Okay, good joke.” My voice sounds abnormally loud after all the silence. “Very funny. You almost had me there for a second.”
    “This isn’t a joke.”
    The look on his face stops me from saying another word. This guy either has the world’s best poker face, or he isn’t kidding in the least.
    But how can he be serious? Dead? I mean, come on! Magicians, maybe. Thieves, probably. Out of their minds, most definitely. But dead? True, I can’t deny they do have a certain “otherworldly” quality about them. I mean they glow for chrissakes! And I will never, as long as I live, be able to forget the way they both vanished the first time I met them, disappearing into the night like vapor over boiling water.
    Oh god.
    “You’re . . .” I start, trying my hardest to verbalize. “You’re . . . you’re . . .”
    He laughs at my struggle to remain calm. “Just let us know when you’re ready.”
    “Dead?” The word explodes from my mouth like a cannon shot.
    “Atta boy.”
    “Dead?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Dead? As in . . . dead? As in deceased? As in kicked the bucket, checked out, shuffled off that mortal coil, headed into the light, pushing–up–daisies dead?”
    I may have armed myself with every means of protection I could get my hands on, but I in no way prepared myself for this. I shake my head back and forth, feeling whatever’s inside roll around like the inner workings of a pinball machine. “No,” I say, more to myself than anyone else present. “No, no, no, no! This is insane! You’re insane! Both of you!”
    “No argument here,” he says. “But that doesn’t change what we are.”
    “But . . . how? I mean . . . why? I mean . . . you can’t be! How can you be dead when you’re standing there talking to me. It’s not possible.”
    “Oh, it’s possible,” he replies rather ominously. “Just unlikely.”
    “ Unlikely ?” I sputter, ignoring the rush of shivers crawling up my back. “How is waking up to find my bedroom invaded by dead people categorized as unlikely?!”
    He shrugs his glowing shoulders. “Then don’t think of it like that,” he says, the epitome of casual. “Think of us as something else.”
    “Like what exactly? How am I supposed to think of you? Supernatural bodyguards?”
    “If that makes you feel better.”
    “Well, it doesn’t! I don’t care what you call yourselves! I’m not okay with this! Dead, living dead, zombies, ghosts, raging lunatics, I don’t c–”
    I stop, my attention momentarily drawn to what’s going on behind him. Billie’s hand is raised in the air as if she’s waiting to be called on in class, an adorable expression of impatience on her face. He–Tucker, I think he called himself–notices my slip of focus and turns to face his partner.
    “You have something you’d like to say, Billie?”
    She puts down her hand, and actually takes the time to unzip her lips before fixing me with a chillingly cold smile.
    “Zombie?” she asks, taking a single step toward the bed. I can’t help but cringe a little at her approach. “Zombie? Do I look like a zombie to you, kid? Do I look like I foam at the mouth and eat brains for breakfast? Huh? Do I?”
    I cringe. “If I say yes, are you going to eat me?”
    Now it’s