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The great thing about the Dead Boy Detective Agency being run by ghosts is that they didn’t need very many days off. On holidays, especially Christmas, the agency would close but other than that, it was open nearly every day at all hours. They had one exception: March 21st, their death day.
At first it had been two days, on the boys’ actual death day. But they decided that was too much remembering for one year so they decided to combine it into one. It didn’t make it any easier though.
“Edwin?” Charles asked hesitantly. They were finishing up a report for a case—well, Edwin was finishing up the report and Charles was watching him. His handwriting was awful anyway.
“Yes?”
“Tomorrow’s, um…” He trailed off because what was he supposed to say? He had no idea how to convey what the day meant to him. Luckily, Edwin seemed to understand. They always understood each other.
“Ah,” he said, his pencil freezing in the middle of a letter. “I had nearly forgotten.”
Charles could never forget. He was surprisingly good with dates and all of that but he also hadn’t spent 70 years in a place without time. “Yeah.”
Edwin set his pencil down and straightened his shoulders. “Whose would you like to visit first?”
Charles shrugged. For some odd reason, he wanted to crawl into Edwin’s lap like he was a little kid and stay there. Death day was making him clingier than usual. “I don’t know.”
Edwin nodded, his face tight. He always got all tense in the same way Charles got sad. He reached into one of the desk drawers and pulled out an old coin. He squinted at it to make sure it wasn’t the cursed one that flipped lights on and off and raised his eyebrows in a silent question.
Charles nodded. “Heads,” he called.
Edwin flipped the coin and it landed on tails. “My grave it is,” he said emotionlessly.
“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” Charles said quickly. “We can always skip this year.”
Edwin smiled weakly but at least it was a smile. “I want to go.” He stood up and busied his hands by shuffling papers around on the desk. “It is probably good for me.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s any fun.”
Edwin looked up at him and let their eyes meet. Charles was the only person who could ever come close to understanding how he felt and vice versa. “You are absolutely right.” He placed his hand on the mirror and began navigating. A minute later, they were stumbling out of a church. They both could find Edwin’s grave with their eyes closed but they took their time, wandering around the edges of the cemetery. He took a moment to gaze at all the unmarked World War I graves.
“I bet we could find a spell that could locate your brother,” Charles said quietly. Philip Payne II had died about two years into the Great War. Charles had been with Edwin when he’d found out the news. He’d been determined to find out everything he’d missed in Hell, which meant finding out what happened to his family. Philip was the first to die after him.
Missing in action
, the archives said. They never found his body. Mrs. Payne died a year later; Edwin said it was from heartbreak.
“I’ve looked,” he revealed. “It would be difficult to perform.” He turned away from the identical gravestones. “Philip was never the sentimental type. I doubt he cares.” Edwin took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I could be wrong though. I hardly knew him.” As the baby of the family, most of his siblings had already left home when he was growing up. It was sad. Charles didn’t have any brothers or sisters but he was close with his cousins in the same way. He couldn’t imagine having no one his age to play with.
Eventually, Edwin stopped stalling. He marched to a little plot of land a ways away from the church like he was some sort of soldier. He planted himself in front of a gravestone that looked no different from the ones around it.
Edwin Payne
8/1/1900
17/3/1916
Beloved Son
He stared at it intensely, like it was going to start moving or something. “It’s an odd thing,” he said quietly. “Not having any remains.” He flicked some moss off of the stone surface. “It is almost as if I never existed.” He tilted his head and examined the gravestone critically. “I suppose this is the only proof I did.”
“That’s not true,” Charles argued even though at times like these, he felt like he knew nothing about Edwin’s life. He wondered if Edwin ever felt the same way.
“Thank you for your confidence,” Edwin said. “But I truly did not make an impact on the world when I was alive.” He sat down on the ground which was pretty unlike him. “I had no friends, no connections to anyone really.” His expression darkened. “I wonder if I would have stayed so insignificant if I’d been able to grow up.”
“Hey,” Charles scolded. “Don’t talk like that.” He sat down and grabbed Edwin’s hand, which felt a bit rude considering his father’s grave was only a few spaces to their right. “You’re significant to me; that’s all that matters.”
Edwin swallowed and his eyes shone a bit. He wouldn’t cry though. He never cried on death day. They stayed there for a bit. Some years, Edwin would tell stories about his life, cheeky stuff he’d done as a kid, how his father used to read the newspaper to him, little things like that. Not this year though. He stayed quiet and stared ahead at his own grave. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair.
“I believe I am ready to go.”
Charles nodded before realizing it was time to go to his next.
His grave wasn’t as posh as Edwin’s. It wasn’t even in a churchyard but it was by a tree and it had nice green grass growing over it so he couldn’t complain. He stood in front of it, unsure of what to do.
Charles Rowland
29/7/1973
13/12/1989
Gone But Never Forgotten
Yeah right. He wondered if his old “mates” even remembered his name. Only one of them had gotten in trouble with the police after his death. That kid had rich parents though and he got off as if Charles’s death had never happened, as if
he’d
never happened
“I wish you weren’t all alone here,” Edwin said quietly. Charles looked at him in surprise. He was never one to talk during emotional stuff like this. He usually just shut off unless he sensed Charles truly needed support. Apparently, that was now. “I would never wish anything ill upon your parents—well, your mother, but you should have someone here with you.”
His parents. They were part of the reason they’d combined death days. He’d run into them once when they were still using his real one and it had been too much. To see his dad all empty while his mum wept and placed flowers on his grave was something no one should experience. He’d never lost his composure like that before. Edwin had to drag him away, kicking and screaming for his parents to see him. Edwin had held him until he calmed down and announced he’d never put himself at risk of seeing them like that again. Death day was already complicated enough; he didn’t need to throw his parents into the mix too.
“It doesn’t matter,” he insisted because it really didn’t.
“Still,” Edwin continued softly. “Your bones are lonely.”
Charles’s throat closed up and he had to clench his teeth to stop his eyes from burning. “Well my soul isn’t,” he said, trying for a smile. It didn’t work. Just because his afterlife was great didn’t mean he could forgive his death. Edwin seemed to sense his thoughts and moved to lean his head on his shoulder. The contact felt nice, especially Edwin’s soft hair tickling his face. It was weird being quiet for so long. The two of them always had something to talk about. Sometimes it felt like there was neve a moment of silence. But there were no words for this kind of pain: standing in front of your own grave, knowing someone had put you there for no reason. Why did he have to die but the tossers that killed him got to grow up and have a family?
“Why do we do this?” Charles asked, feeling a familiar anger in his chest. It was like hot coals and acid mixed into one. He wanted to break his gravestone and scream until his lungs gave out. Except, they never would. The painful irony of being a ghost. “It’s not like it’s going to change anything or make it better.” He scooped up some dirt and threw it at his gravestone. “We’re never going to stop hurting.”
Edwin nodded, not lifting his head off of Charles’s shoulder. “I am sure we have different reasons.” He sighed and if he was alive, his breath would’ve turned to steam in the air. “I have no one to mourn me so I must mourn myself.” He pressed his knuckles together. “It is a reminder as well. Of where I came from.” He stepped away so that he could look Charles in the eyes. “We are the culmination of our experiences and we have to give them their proper recognition.”
“Even if it hurts?” Charles hated how broken his voice sounded.
“Even if it hurts.”
Charles nodded and wrapped his arms around Edwin. He needed his best friend or else he was going to break into a million tiny pieces and not know how to put them back together. Edwin returned his embrace. On death day, none of the rules mattered. Charles didn’t have to smile and Edwin hugged.
“What a shitty experience,” Charles mumbled, his voice muffled by the fabric of Edwin’s coat.
“Indeed.” Edwin laughed bitterly. “Some days, I cannot stand the fact that Hell made me who I am.”
“You’re made up of a lot of things,” Charles said fiercely. “Hell’s only one of them.”
They broke apart but didn’t let go. Charles wished they could break the rules more often. He liked the feeling of safety he got from Edwin’s touch. “It’s not fair.”
“It’s not fucking fair.” Another rule broken: Edwin swearing. He cleared his throat and straightened his coat self-consciously. “Is there anything else you’d like to do?” he asked. “I have had quite enough ‘remembering,’ as you call it, to last me the next year.”
“Me too.” Charles studied his grave. He was suddenly struck by how weird it was to be standing on top of his own bones. He shuddered then grinned at the small sticker on the crumbly-looking stone. It was for some band he liked ages ago and he’d stuck it on his grave on his 3rd or 4th death day. The old man had tried to scrub it off at some point but he hadn’t been successful. Charles gently ran his fingers over it before nodding to Edwin.
The further they got from his grave, the lighter he felt. He hadn’t realized how anxious he’d been about death day until it was over with.
“-see the new murder mystery movie in the cinema,” Edwin was saying. He knew Charles loved the movies, especially now that they could get in for free. As Edwin continued talking, Charles allowed himself one last look at his grave, so small in the distance. He forced himself to memorize every detail of it, even though it hadn’t changed much since last year. He tore his eyes away and sighed in relief. Death day was over. Good. Now he didn’t have to think about it until next year.