"Counselling Service For The Undead" by Sarah-amy haley

“Amos?” The voice boomed like footsteps on a grave, “Amos, open your, eyes.” Amos rolled over, his eyes defiantly shut. “You not fooling me.” Patrick persisted, standing, with his arms folded, over the hunched figure.

“Go’way Patrick. ‘M asleep.”

“No, you don’t, mate, you’re going to stop this. Now! ”

Amos sat up, drowsily readjusting one of his eyes, “What?” he asked, indignantly.

“This. Acting like you’re still…you’re still” he faltered.

“Alive?” Amos offered bluntly.

Patrick sighed, staring sadly at his friend, “You can’t go on like this, mate, you’re either going to have to adapt to life as the un-dead like I have, or, move on.”

“Die you mean.”

“Amos, buddy,” he put an awkward hand on his shoulder , “You’re already dead!” A heavy silence followed, until finally -

“What are you doing here Patrick, other than spoiling my mid morning nap that is?” Patrick sprang to his feet brightly, offering a slightly mouldering hand as he did.

“I’m getting you some help, look -” He fumbled in the pocket of his burial gown for a moment, before producing a somewhat batter business card, “Counselling service for the Undead. 100% brain guzzling satisfaction guaranteed, or a free holiday to Transylvania. See, nothing to lose.” He smiled brightly. “Arthur Green, three graves from me, swears by it. He tried it a while back, chose the deluxe vampire option, I rarely see him without blood on his teeth these days. And there’s old Mrs Reid, she moved on after just two sessions. Ooh and Humphrey Wilson,” Patrick continued to prattle on in this manor for several minute. His voice getting more and more exited as he began discussing the many wonders of being a werewolf. He may have enthused on the subject all day, if he hadn’t been interrupted.

“You want me to see a shrink, don’t you.”

“It’s very therapeutic.”

“That’s because it’s therapy. I don’t hold with these people Patrick, they get inside your head.”

“That is the idea. Come on mate. You’re going.” Before Amos could protest he had been dragged from his dingy apartment and was being pulled hastily down the street. He struggled for a few moments before giving in to defeat, grumbling quietly to himself about forgotten hats and missed naps.

“Happy-Smiles Counselling Provisions, how can I help.” The woman on reception had far too much lipstick, and smile too big for he face. He voice was shrill, overly optimistic And her head tilted patronisingly as she spoke.

“My friend here has a session booked, I rang yesterday. The name’s Berk, Mr Amos Berk.” The woman flicked through her files, humming a sickeningly cheerful tune.

“Ah yes, A. Berk, 11:30, excellent. Sign here please.” Following a piercing look from Patrick, Amos reluctantly signed the dotted line. “Right, now one last thing,” the receptionist lowered her voice, “Dead or Alive?” she asked, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“Excuse me?”

“Are you … erm … dead, or … well … alive?”

Amos looked incredulously from the receptionist down to his mouldering limbs. His mouth fell slightly ajar.

“He’s dead.” Patrick offered, wincing a little.

“Right,” the receptionist nodded, “Sorry. We’re obliged to asked, some of the living used to get somewhat touchy when we got it wrong.” She made a nervous smile. “Take the right hand door to the waiting room. Good luck.”

As Amos and Patrick turned a woman walked towards reception, her face was grey and sallow, her pale eyes sunken. She moved stiffly to the desk and was addressed, friendlily, by the perky women. “Good morning Mrs Jones, you look … well.” Mrs Jones gave an icy glare. “You know which way to go.” The pale woman’s lips tightened, she nodded curtly and marched brusquely through the door on the left.

Undead fish were slowly swimming (on their backs’) in huge, grimy, tanks in the walls, watched by an assortment of awkward patients, who sat in brightly colour beanbags, and strange shaped chairs, that were strewn erratically across the floor. Amos sighed heavily and caught the eye of a small girl on the far side of the waiting room. She smiled, two, tiny, white fangs protruding over her bottom lip, then rolled her eyes. Her mother scolded her, and made her pick them up.

Amos hadn’t expected it to be so busy, most people ‘moved on’ first time, after all. Feeling rather silly he approached the small girl, “So, why are you here?” He asked, he’d never been good at small talk.

“My mamma says I don’t drinks enough bwood.” She answered, with intentional sweetness.

“Oh,” Amos struggled for some way to reply.

“Se says I’m ameemic.”

“Anaemic, darling.” The girl’s mother corrected. “I’ve tried everything, freezing it, letting her suck it fresh, I even hid it in her mashed potatoes, but no, she’s having none of it. I don’t know what we’ll do if this doesn’t’t work!?”

“But you’re a vampire.” Amos pointed out. “Why won’t you drink blood?”

“‘S yucky.” The little vampire wrinkled her nose. “Don’t like. Won’t drink. Won’t, won’t, won’t, won’t, won’t.” The girls mother bore her fangs and she immediately hushed. Amos hastily bade them good day and sidled away.

“I don’t understand Patrick.” He said, once he was safely on the other side of the room. “If that girl won’t drink blood, why did she become a vampire. It doesn’t’t make sense!”

“She can’t help it, she was probably born that way.”

“Born? As in …born?”

“Yup.”

“She was born undead?”

“Right.”

Amos pulled an array of faces, as though unsure how to express the next question. He settled for, “How?”

“Well. I suppose, since more and more people are choosing not to, ‘move on’ now-a-days, death isn’t really seen as the end anymore. Some people find it the ideal time to start a family, no work commitments, insurance rates are much lower, financially it’s the perfect time to - ”

“ - They’re breeding together!?”

“Sometimes together, sometimes with the living…” Amos gave him a horrified stare. “It’s controversial, admittedly, but there are lots of benefits. Most vampires are safe to walk in sunlight now, werewolves find it easier to control ‘the change’, it’s really is becoming common place. Personal choice of course.”

“Sounds a bit human to me, a bit alive. How is it any better than what I’m doing. It’s worse. It’s a hundred times worse.”

“Ah yes but you’re in denial - ”

“ - Am not - ”

“- They, on the other hand, are expressing their rights, as undead citizens, to choose how and when they raise their children.”

“As opposed to me, who horrendously wants to take a nap in the mornings, and sleep in a warm apartment shock, horror! This is prejudice. Just because I don’t go around savaging the necks of pretty ladies and eating the brains of scientists you think - ” His rant was interrupted by an excited whooshing noise. A door at the end of the room opened and a coffin was wheeled out , pushed by two smug porters. The room erupted in applause and an electronic message above the door whirled around on a loop. Another Happy Success Story, Congratulation Mr Terrance Brooks - Moved On 19/05/07. As the coffin finished it’s procession through the waiting room Amos’s protest could just be heard above the roar of applause, “ - And they are NOT carting me out in one of those!”

“ Mr Amos Berk, the doctor will see you now.”

“Doctor? Patrick, you never mentioned any doctor.”

“Go Amos. Don’t make a scene.”

“PATRICK! Patrick … ” His yells muted as a astonishingly firm nurse pulled him, grudgingly, to his doom.

“Ah, Mr Berk. Take a seat.” The doctor was swathed in loose bandages. A pair of gold rimmed spectacles balanced low on his nose and a tomblike notebook rested on his lap. He signalled to a long sofa against the wall. “You don’t look very happy Mr Berk, you’re taking death quite badly aren’t you?” Amos lowered his eye brows resentfully and sat down, folding his arms. “What would you like to get from these sessions, in the long term, that is.” The doctor asked in a reassuring voice.

“Bit of peace would be nice …” He muttered half to himself.

“We’d all like that, Mr Berk. But where, where do you see yourself getting peace.” The doctor pushed some brochures towards him. “These might help.” Amos scanned through the bundle of information, pausing for a while on ‘Zombieing in the 21st Century,’ then pushed them away, shaking his head.

“Perhaps you’d prefer something more spiritual,” the doctor persisted, “Have you ever though of becoming a banshee, or a poltergeist maybe.”

“I’m really quite happy as I am thank you.”

“Well I’m afraid that’s just not good enough, society will never accept someone or your sort.” He had a sneer in his voice.

Amos narrowed his eyes. “That didn’t sound very understanding.”

“Never heard of cruel to be kind?”

“You don’t care about me at all do you?”

“Ah, you’re the cynical type. You’d make a good lost soul. Now for a starting fee of - ”

“This is all about money to you, isn’t it?”

“Guilty, guilty.” The doctor raised his hands in mock apology. “But this isn’t about me.”

Amos pondered, rising from his chair to pace the room. “What are you?”

“Pardon.”

“Under all the bandages, what are you?”

“A mummy. Obviously.”

“Nah. That what the bandages make you, but underneath? You’re just like me. You carrying on as though you’re still alive. You’re client group might have changed, but it’s still the same basic job you‘re doing. The same basic lifestyle.” The doctor shrunk away from Amos’s accusing finger. “Why? What are you hiding from Doctor?”

“Are you really doing this?”

“Oh yes.”

“Really, really?” Amos nodded. The doctor sighed. “Why shouldn’t I be allowed to live how I did before. I had a good job, nice house, beautiful wife. I wasn’t ready to give that up.”

“But?”

“People didn’t like being told their problems by a dead man. Children were scared of me. Some of my patients even thought I was a figment of their imagination. It was like I wasn’t real.”

“So you started dealing with the undead.”

“They accepted me. Heck, they needed me.”

“So you thought you’d con them out of their money.”

“Not con. Charge an extortionate rate.”

“You made your living solving other peoples problems when you can’t even solve your own.”

“What do you think psychiatrist means?” The two men were rounding on each other now, their faces inches apart.

“If you looked at yourself, saw what you really are, what do you think you’d do.” The doctor shrugged.

“Lets find out, shall we.” Amos looked around, skimming the contents of the room.

“No mirrors I’m afraid. They frighten the vampires.”

“No problem.” Grabbing the doctor by the shoulders he steered him towards the patio windows, ripping the bandages from his face as he did. “Look.” The light reflected off the glass, causing an image of the doctor to float, transparently before them. The doctor gazed at the reflection, tracing the picture with his fingertips. He breathed like only a living person could, them slumped to the floor. Dead.

A little red light flashed on the doctor’s desk, accompanied by a lasting beep. A coffin slid into the room, through a panel in the wall and two surly men skulked in. The looked from Amos to the doctor and back again; shrugged, loaded the body into the coffin and marched out.

Amos wander around the room, unsure if what he’d just done was legal or not. He was already dead, he reasoned, settling down on the sofa, I was just doing his job.

Yawning slightly he nestled down. “Comfortable,” he murmured, closing his eyes. “Nice spot for a nap.”