Expiration Date

by Nancy Kilpatrick

  See, Richie, he just didn’t understand that soon he would be no more, that everything around him would go dark and that he was going into the ground forever. At least his body was, and to be honest with you I doubt my brother’s soul would be traveling to Heaven because I never much believed in that Bible stuff. I knew Richie would see no angels and he wouldn’t be holding Jesus’ hand either. There wouldn’t be any of that eternity-with-God stuff. No, I wasn’t going to kid myself. My brother’s grave would have bugs, worms, probably some maggots and not much else. For sure, being dead is nothing like Reverend Lovejoy preaches in church, not that I ever paid much attention to what he had to say. For Richie, there would be only this lonely cold darkness in the dirt and lots of crawling creatures chewing his insides out and his outsides in. No angels, no God. Yeah, go tell that to a six year old and see what happens!

  At least Mom and Dad were straight with me, I have to give them that. A week shy of my thirteenth birthday they came into my room and sat down on my bed. My father spoke first. I saw Mom sort of nod to him, so they probably decided ahead of time what to say.

  “Adam, we just talked to Richie’s doctor at the hospital. I’m afraid we have some bad news about your brother.” If my father hadn’t uttered another word, I would’ve known anyway ‘cause for months Richie had been getting these really bad headaches, even had passed out a few times at school. But I just needed to hear the words, needed to know that this was something real. The look on my parents’ faces pretty much told me that it was. “He’s dying, isn’t he?”

  I guess no one expected me to say that. A long pause followed before my mother spoke. “Richie is very sick and we don’t think he’s going to get better. You have to be strong in front of your brother, Adam. We don’t want him feeling afraid, so we have to be very— we have to—”

  And then she lost it. I know she was trying not to cry, but it was too much for her and I understood that being strong about some things isn’t easier just because you’re a grown up. Dad looked about to break down too because his lips were quivering, but instead he held my mother. Then Mom reached for me and we all just held each other without anyone saying another word. But even with all the holding and crying and all the words my parents had said earlier to prepare me for the worst, I think that was probably the loneliest moment of my life. I think it was Mom and Dad’s loneliest moment too. Even when you try to share sad feelings, you can’t really. You’re all alone, even when you’re not. That kind of sadness, well, it’s something you have to feel on your own.

  Richie and me, we used to talk about all kinds of junk. You know, important stuff that brothers share about life and all its mysteries. Like, Richie wanted to know why girls sometimes made him feel all squishy inside. I knew what he meant because lately I was feeling pretty squishy about Rochelle Goldenberg whose chest suddenly took on a whole new look over the summer. So I told Richie the truth, even showed him how my Mr. Willy could do a lot more than pee. Richie said he didn’t think he could make his Mr. Willy do what mine did ‘cause his was so small, but I told him it would happen soon enough, and when it did then he would really be feeling squishy about girls. ‘Course we didn’t tell Mom and Dad about what I showed him. Brothers share those kinds of secrets. I never for a minute thought Richie wouldn’t live long enough to experience any of that stuff.

  The point is, Richie always wanted to know about the way things worked, and why things were the way they were. It’s natural for little kids to want to know those things, right? Well, my little brother wanted to know about a lot of stuff way before most kids his age. Like the time we found Edgar, his turtle, on his back and all dried up on the staircase. Edgar had climbed out of his tank somehow, and for a week we looked all over for him. He must have been crawling around the upstairs, and when he found the staircase he flipped over. He was probably too tired and hungry to do much else, just lay there and die. Of course, Richie had to know why Edgar looked the way he did, and I knew it was my job to tell him the truth. Mom and Dad, sometimes they sugar-coated stuff like that, and I felt my brother should know what was what. So I held out his turtle for him and he cupped Edgar in his hand.

  “Edgar is dead, Richie. He won’t be here to play with you anymore.”

  My brother looked confused. “But he’s here right now. I’m holding him.”

  “No, he’s not here. That’s his body that’s here. It feels cold, doesn’t it? People call it the ‘remains,’ because it’s what you leave behind when you die. But the thing that made Edgar crawl around his tank when it was time for his breakfast, or whatever made him decide he wanted to take a swim, that’s gone. Forever. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “You mean he isn’t just sleeping?”

  I had to be careful with what I told him, I knew that. “Being dead is kind of like sleeping. Except you don’t wake up. Not ever. We’ll have to bury Edgar in the back yard. You can say a few words about him if you want, about how you’ll miss him and stuff.”

  “Will I ever get to see him again?”

  A tough question. Times like that, it’s so hard to know the right thing to say. But I couldn’t lie.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You mean like when Gran’ma went away?”

  “Yeah. Exactly like when Gran’ma went away.”

  Richie considered that. He didn’t cry, not one tear. He had only one question.

  “Do you think Dad will let me buy another turtle?”

  That ended my lesson to Richie about the mystery of death. But now my little brother, he was dying, and I had to tell him what death really was about because I didn’t want him leaving this world believing something that wasn’t true. I knew Mom and Dad meant well and that maybe they would feel angry that I told Richie the truth, but my mind was made up. If one of Dad’s lectures followed, I could take it because I knew I’d done the right thing. Isn’t that what grownups are always telling their kids they should do?

  A few weeks before Christmas the phone rang really late at night. I knew it had to be the hospital, so I left my bed and listened just outside my parents’ bedroom. I could make out only a few bits and pieces of what Dad was saying to the doctor over the phone, but it was easy to put together the rest.

  “Is he able to talk?” from Dad. A pause, then, “Well, is he in any pain?” Then the question I never wanted to hear. “How much time—?” Through the door I heard my mother begin to cry. My father muttered, “All right. We’ll be there right away.”

  I stood frozen, not able to move, not caring if my parents found me listening to their conversation. I was still at the door when it opened. My father looked at me. He didn’t seem to know what to say. But he didn’t have to say anything because I spoke first.

  “I want to go with you.”

  Mom was throwing on some clothes, and Dad looked at her for a moment before turning to me. He stood right in front of me, but somehow his voice sounded far away.

  “Get dressed,” he said.

  * * *

  It was real late when we arrived at the hospital, but I was wide awake. For some reason I felt more scared than sad, although I was plenty sad too. The night nurse was just leaving Richie’s room when we got there. “He’s been drifting in and out,” she told us. “He may be awake for a little while, but I wouldn’t expect him to talk much, okay?”

  He was sort of half awake when we walked in. His eyes were rolled back a little like he was there for a moment and then somewhere else. I let Mom and Dad speak to him but I stayed back near the door.

  “Richie, we’re so sorry, honey, so sorry…” Mom said, while brushing his hair from his eyes. I couldn’t tell you why she was apologizing to my brother. None of this was anybody’s fault. But I let my parents say what they had to say, because mostly I think what they were saying to Richie was goodbye. For me, though, I had something to share with him, and I waited until both my parents had their last words
, although I wasn’t sure my brother was really hearing any of it because I didn’t hear anything from him. Then I stepped forward.

  “Can I be alone with Richie for a little bit? There’s some stuff I want to tell him.”

  Dad and Mom both attempted smiles that I didn’t believe for a second. But they left me alone with my brother and closed the door behind them, and I was glad they did that. I kneeled as close to Richie’s face as I could get and whispered, “Can you hear me, Richie? You don’t have to say anything. Just open your eyes a little if you can, okay?”

  Nothing happened, so I waited for a moment. But then I saw his lids flicker, and when his eyes opened for real I knew what I wanted to say. “I was wrong about what I told you, Richie. About Edgar and about dying, and all that stuff. You’re going to see that little turtle again real soon. He’ll be waiting for you. And Gran’ma, you’ll be with her too, and she can’t wait to see you. The weather where you’ll be, it’s always warm, like springtime. Great weather for having a catch or just laying in the sun under some really beautiful trees the way we used to do with Gran’ma. There’s so many flowers, really pretty ones, and angels singing better than the choir at church. It never gets cold there. Never. I promise it’s such a great place where you’re going, a million times better than Reverend Lovejoy is always telling us. I just wanted you to know that, Richie, okay?”

  He looked at me and just kept looking, but he didn’t go to some other place this time so I knew he was taking in what I told him. And then the craziest thing. I’m not sure I really saw it happen, but— well, Richie, he smiled. It only lasted for a second or two and then it was gone, so I couldn’t swear it really happened, but it sure looked like—

  All right, there’s more to it than that, and this part I am sure of. You don’t have to believe me, and it’s not like I plan on sharing this with anyone else. But I just had to tell someone.

  I’d said what I wanted to say, and I felt good that he had heard me. I decided to leave Richie to his rest, but when I turned to leave I saw what looked like a shadow alongside my brother’s bed. At first I thought maybe it was my shadow because the nightstand light was pretty low and creepy in that room. But no, it was much too big to be mine. And when I looked again I saw it wasn’t a shadow at all. It was a man dressed all in black with some kind of hood around his head so it was hard to see his face. I couldn’t help myself, and I jumped back a little when I saw how pale and bony that face under the hood appeared. Then I heard this voice. It spoke so low the words seemed to rumble inside his throat.

  “You— you can see me?”

  “Who are you? What are you doing in my brother’s room?”

  The dark stranger moved closer, kneeled to eye level to speak to me. Although he was close to my face, I really couldn’t see much of his. He looked kind of fuzzy, like one of those grainy old black and white movies they show late night on TV that keeps going in and out of focus.

  “I think you know who I am, Adam. And I think you know why I’m here.”

  He was right. I’m a kid. I read comic books.

  “You’re Death, aren’t you?”

  I saw the faint glimmer of teeth. I guess he must have been smiling when he said, “At your service.” He leaned close to whisper, “Most can’t see me — sometimes the very young or old — but maybe I’m glad you can. We wouldn’t want your brother to be scared of me, would we? You’re not scared of me, are you, Adam?”

  He must’ve known I wasn’t. “Can you maybe take me instead of Richie?” I asked.

  That gleam of white again. “You know that’s not the way this works, Adam.”

  Yeah, I knew. Like I told you, I read comics.

  The shadowy man turned towards Richie’s bed and pointed a bony finger. “It’s time.”

  I know what I saw then. Now, you don’t have to believe this next part, but I know what I saw. Richie, he was still lying in his bed, but some kind of mist or something rose from his sheets and when it came into focus I saw that was Richie too, the Richie I remembered when he was healthy and full of life. The dark stranger reached out his hand and my brother took it like it was the most natural thing in the world to do, and he wasn’t afraid, not even a little.

  “These monitors will be flatlining in another few seconds. We’ll be going now,” the dark stranger said. “We’ve got a long trip, your brother and I.”

  Richie, he turned to me and said just three words: “I’m not scared.”

  I didn’t know what else to say. A million things should have come to me, but only a few words did. So I said, “‘Bye, Richie. Be good, okay?”

  The dark stranger turned to leave but I reached out to him and said, “Wait for just a minute, will you? I want to ask you something, then you can go, all right?”

  He leaned forward and I spoke low because I didn’t want Richie to hear. “What I told my brother tonight. I mean about seeing his turtle and seeing our Gran’ma, and the weather always being warm. That’s the way it is where you’re taking him, isn’t it?”

  A long pause followed while I felt my mouth go dry. Maybe the guy was trying to decide if he should tell me the truth, or maybe he felt that a kid my age couldn’t handle it. Then the dark stranger said, “You got the part about the weather right. Not that there’s much sun. It’s death, you know.”

  I’d hoped I was wrong about what I believed and I wanted to ask more, but in the next moment the two were gone. There was no puff of smoke like some stupid magic trick, no fading away into the dark like the phony ghosts in some special effects movie. They were just gone.

  I wouldn’t be seeing my little brother again. From that second, I knew it for sure. And Richie, he wouldn’t be seeing Edgar or our Gran’ma either. Not ever. But he didn’t have to know that, did he? Maybe it wouldn’t be bugs and maggots like I once thought, but there would be no angels and clouds either.

  Geez…

  I know I lied to Richie, all right? I know it. I could tell Mom and Dad what I said to my brother, and they would be happy I told him all that cheery stuff about angels and sunshine in God’s Heaven. I knew they wanted Richie to leave this world happy, and I think he did.

  But I sure hope I did the right thing, lying to him like that. It’s so hard to tell what’s right when you’re talking to a little kid about death, you know? I mean, it’s really hard, especially when you know the truth.

  Geez…

  * * *

  Ken Goldman, former English and Film Studies teacher, lives in Pennsylvania and the South Jersey shore. His stories received seven honorable mentions in The Year’s Best Fantasy & Horror and appear in over 750 publications in the U.S., Canada, the UK and Australia. He has written five books, You Had Me At ARRGH!!, Desiree, Donny Doesn’t Live Here Anymore, Star-Crossed, and Of a Feather.

  To Dance, Perchance to Die

  by David McDonald

  Vladimir Zeglovsky stood poised, toes bent, legs flexed, every muscle of his lean body in sharp relief. The applause crashed over him like waves surging over the beach, roses scattered like driftwood after a storm. Still lost in the dance, at first he remained oblivious to the crowd’s acclaim, but as the ovation went on and on, gradually he became aware of his surroundings. With an elegant bow he acknowledged his admirers, then gracefully left the stage, body moving in such harmony that he might still have been dancing.

  “Beautiful, Vladimir, beautiful.” The voice, soft and slightly oily, was a familiar one. Sergei Diaghilev was the founder and manager of the Ballets russes, and it was he who had brought them here, to the heart of European culture, to Paris itself.

  “Thank you, Sergei.” Vladimir said.

  Sergei’s voice hardened. “But as for you, dubiina, how could you mess up a simple battement développé?”

  The object of his scorn was Vaslav Nijinsky, the only dancer in the troupe who was Sergei’s rival for the title danseur noble.

 
Vladimir could see Vaslav’s face redden and knew if the two men started arguing, things would get very ugly. He cut in quickly, hoping to avoid any trouble.

  “Sergei, it was at the end of a very difficult routine.” He put a hand on Sergei’s arm, hoping to placate him. “Anyway, Vaslav covered it so well that I doubt anyone noticed.”

  “You stay out of this, Vladimir!” There was such venom in the other dancer’s voice that Vladimir took a step back. “I don’t need you to defend me. We all know you never make a mistake. Well, we can’t all be perfect!”

  With that, he turned on his heel and stalked out. Despite his dismay, Vladimir couldn’t help but notice that Vaslav imbued even this simple act with drama. He shook his head. The man was worse than the prima donnas.

  “Don’t mind him, Vladimir.”

  The anger had already left Sergei’s voice, and Vladimir couldn’t help but smile. Despite the man’s often turbulent moods, he knew that Sergei genuinely cared for his dancers. His fierce rages and his habit of slamming his cane on the ground in anger were more show than anything else.

  Vladimir sighed. “I was just trying to help, Sergei. I don’t know why he hates me so much.”

  “You may be a wonderful dancer, Vladimir, but you can be incredibly naïve. He is jealous of you.”

  “Jealous?” Vladimir was startled. “Why would he be jealous of me?”

  “Because you are the only dancer he has met who is better than him.”

  Vladimir started to protest, but Sergei cut him off. “Spare me the false modesty, we both know it is true. Now, enough of this, I have someone you must meet.” Sergei winked lecherously.

  “Not another bored noblewoman!”

  After every show, there would always be at least one woman styling herself a patron of the arts who would request an introduction to the dancers. And, more often than not, she would have her eyes on one of the danzatore and pursue a more… personal encounter.