Raising the Dead

"I hate this part of the job. Creeping around morgues pretending I can raise the dead. It's horrible."

"It's the only way to make the big time. A genuine miracle! Raising a dead man. Or woman. No more fucking around in half-empty church halls. Raising the dead would mean automatic elevation to the big time, stadium gigs, your own TV show. You could probably start your own religion if you wanted. Hell, you'll be a millionaire within a week and a billionaire within a decade."

"What you're forgetting Jes, is that I can't actually raise the dead."

"Doesn't matter. Shitty little town like this, doctors probably make a mistake every fifty deaths or so, you read about it all the time. Try the raise the dead trick enough times an you're sure to have a hit eventually."

"It's not happened yet. I'm getting a reputation. The man who doesn't raise the dead. The man who raises your hopes and watches them die. The corpse pesterer."

"It doesn't matter. Nobody remembers failures."

"I do. I'm getting sick of it. Laying hands on dead bodies. It's sick."

"What've you done? About 40? Bound to have a hit soon."

"Forty-three. Forty-three grieving widows, widowers, mothers, fathers, all left with their hopes raised then shattered. I'm evil, that's what I am."

"As I say, town like this there must be lots of mistakes.  Bet the local GP's a lush. Probably pronounces them dead if they're laying down."

"Hey up, show's starting. She's here."

An elderly woman entered the morgue, accompanied by a council official.

"Mrs Tilpenny, welcome. May I introduce Mystic Dave, he has been talking to your husband in the other realm, trying to persuade him to return."

Dave put on his show voice.

"Your husband misses you dreadfully. He wants to return, but it is..." Dave paused for effect. "Complicated."

"Complicated? How?"

"Before I answer I must lay hands on your husband's body. Do I have your permission?"

"Of course," she said.  "Anything you need to do."

Jes nodded to the official who opened the casket containing the deceased Mr Tilpenny.

Working up courage, Mystic Dave placed his hands on the corpse, had he had 43 times before. He recognised the cold touch of the dead, naked body.

"Are you there?" he said out loud, to nobody in particular. "Are you there George?"

No answer.

Dave recognised the cold of the body, the still, silence and chill of the dead. He was getting sick of this. Except.

"George, are you ready to return. Your body is ready, will you come back to it?"

Except, this one wasn't as cold as the others. The body was still warm. Still alive. He could feel it.

"What's that George?" Mystic Dave said, speaking to the air around him. "You're ready to come back?"

Jes gave him a horrified stare, he had gone off message, totally off message. Except, he realised slowly, he wasn't off message at all. He was on the 'special message', the script they'd drawn up for when they found their needle in a haystack, a breathing body in a morgue.

"He is trying to return, Jes, I need your help. Mrs Tilpenny keep back, keep calm, you're doing everything you need to do just by being here."

Jes kept a mirror up his sleeve for just this situation. Discretely, as he helped Mystic Dave lay his hands on the body, he slipped the mirror under the corpse's nose. A mist, not much, but unmistakeably a mist on the mirror. Mr Tilpenny was alive.

He nodded at Mystic Dave, who, with the corpse thus confirmed as not a corpse, performed the final stage of the ceremony, a dramatic flourish where he screamed for George to return as loudly as he could then clasped the body and declared that George was no longer dead.

The council official glared at them in disgusted disbelief, Mrs Tilpenny collapsed in tears.

"I've got a mirror," said Jes, pretending to fish around in his pockets. He repeated the mirror test, under the council official's glare this time.

"He's alive," Jes declared.

"Let me check," said the council official. He grabbed the corpse's wrist and checked for a pulse. To his amazement he found one.

"He seems to be..." he started to say.

"Call an ambulance," Mystic Dave said. "He's back, but he's weak. He'll need medical help to stay there."

"I, er, there's a phone upstairs." the council official ran out of the room.

"Is it true?" Mrs Tilpenny said. "Is he really back?"

"He is," said Jes, calmly. "But he's weak, don't excite him. Look," he held up the misted-mirror. "You can see his breath."

"Oh good lord, a miracle. Enid Marple said you were a charlatan, but I knew you couldn't be fake. Who would play a trick with dead bodies?"

"I have to go," Mystic Dave said. "Call of nature. Sorry, it can't wait."

Once safely in the cubicle Mystic Dave threw up, a great gush of bile, a fraudster's vomit. Blood. There, amongst the bile and puke, was unmistakably blood. What trick of fate was this, Mystic Dave wondered.