I open my eyes. I'm on the same street, I think. It sort of looks like the same street, but it's different. Ghostly. Phantoms dressed in Victorian garb walk along the pavement. Their skin plays their lives like a movie screen. The trees are different too. They grow; they reach their peak, and start all over again. Summer, fall, winter, spring. Down the road, horse-drawn carriages clatter beside mustangs and trucks.
A hand is on my shoulder. I can't feel it, but like a dream, I know it's there. I turn. There is a man. He's unshaven and his dark, curly hair hangs into his eyes. He looks real though, solid. Normal.
"New here?" He asks.
"Ya." I reply. "What happened?"
"You died." He reaches into a pocket of his leather jacket, pulls out a pack of cigarettes, and offers me one.
"No thanks."
"Yer not gonna die from it." He says.
"I don't smoke." He grunts and takes one out.
It dawns on me.
"What do you mean I died?!"
"You died. Kicked the Bucket. Eternal Sleep. Whatever you call it."
"Hhhow?"
"Don' know. What d' ya remember?"
I try to think.
"I was going to meet my sister. I was crossing the street and then . . ."
"And then?"
"Nothing. I don't remember anything. I got up, and I was here. Where is here?"
"I don't know. Call it Ghost Town. Phantom?s Haunt. Friend of mine used to call it Sleeping City."
"Are you dead too?" He smirks.
"Walkin' down an alley way one evenin'. Found myself with the wrong folks. If it wasn't for my arrest record, wouldn' 'ave even gotten an obituary. Read it. Wasn't half good. Ha! Dead!"
He finished his cigarette and ground it into the sidewalk. "You know," he mumbled, "I never actually get anythin' out of 'em these days. Guess I just do it to have somethin' familiar in my hand."
He began to walk off.
"Wait!" I call out, running to him, "What am I supposed to do?"
He smiles again.
"Go help your sister. She's what you came here for, right?"
And with that, he disappeared.
I scamper down the street towards her.
