The Adventures of Dead Dan: The Old Religion

by John Rossi

Table of Contents, parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

part 2

She caught his eye as he was making his way towards the front entrance of the warehouse. He had seen her so many mornings before and had never really taken notice before because she and the elderly woman who ran the food truck had always annoyed him for some reason. She had her hair net off, and her hair was styled in a bob cut that accentuated how attractive she actually was. Her big, dark, doe eyes complimented her jet-black hair perfectly.

She met his gaze and, as he admired her, he wondered why he had always found her and her co-worker so agitating. He realized that since he hadn’t eaten anything in the last nine years or so, he had no reason ever to go over to the food truck, and he never had a reason even to talk to her. So he found himself wondering why he had judged her so poorly.

They continued to stare at each other for a moment. Dan had not forgotten that the old lady that the alluring goth worked with had seemed to know something about him that day Larry had revealed to him what had actually happened the day of the shooting. The truth was, he had too much on his plate desperately trying to seem more human these last three months to reflect on it much. Coming to terms with his own death had not left a lot of time for worrying about much else.

She suddenly began to walk towards him. A tingle worked its way up his spine as she approached. He wasn’t sure if it was anxiety or expectation. That didn’t seem to make any sense to him at the moment but, then again, he didn’t breathe, so it did make sense. He was just happy in that moment that his dead body could seem to experience such human emotions at all. He realized he had no idea how to react if she actually talked to him. He hadn’t talked to a girl in years, he hadn’t even thought about it.

The absurdity of the moment was not lost him. If someone was shooting at his co-workers, he took the bullet. If someone was pinned under a forklift, he lifted it. If a co-worker needed to make a telling revelation about something he had been carrying around for nearly a decade, he listened. Should an attractive woman come over and talk to him, he would probably just stand there and look stupid.

Suddenly, the oddest thing happened. The older woman quickly reached out and forcefully grabbed the young goth’s arm and stopped her. Then, as he watched, they suddenly began to argue vehemently with one another in Italian. He had no idea what they were saying, but it seemed intense. Finally, the older woman seemed to prevail, and the angry young goth stormed off back to the truck. Then the hairnet-laden lunch-truck lady turned and shot him a menacing stare that seemed to scream, “Oh no you don’t!”

Dan was taken completely aback.

All his co-workers were now staring at him. He looked around the parking lot awkwardly and decided he wanted to be inside on his forklift more than anywhere else right now. He turned and quickly made his way up the metal stairs and through the front entrance.

* * *

Behind him one of his workplace buddies, Charley Loomis, clowned, “You better watch flirting with those Italian girls, Danny Collins. Don’t you know you gotta go through her grandma first?” The rest of his co-workers laughed.

“He’s only half Italian,” Jim Tallman, another forklift operator, quipped. “It’s the Irish part she doesn’t like.”

Dan tried to defend himself. “I didn’t even say anything.”

“Maybe she likes dudes who powerlift forklifts,” Don Dougan cracked as he punched in at the time clock.

Now everybody was laughing at his expense. Dan was actually pleased by the turn of events. Some of his co-workers had been really uncomfortable in his presence lately. This situation seemed to disarm everyone and made him seem a lot less intimidating, which was exactly what he wanted.

Larry slapped him on the back again as he walked past. He and Dan chatted often now. The conversations were always brief, but friendly, and Dan had come to consider Larry a true friend.

The question, though, was: Did Larry really understand what Dan was? Dan didn’t think so, and given that the shooting had obviously taken its toll on Larry’s state of mind, he had no intention of discussing the matter. More importantly, Larry only considered Dan a friend and co-worker and that’s all Dan wanted to be.

* * *

After the fun at his expense had subsided, everyone got their job assignments and went off to start the day. Perhaps no worker in history was as glad as Dan was to be at work. Throwing himself into his daily labor allowed him to forget for a while what he had become. Here he felt he was just like everybody else, and he wanted it to stay that way.

He was, however, keenly aware that denying what he was could be dangerous. For nine years he had been unable to come to terms with what he had become. He had lived in denial and almost got caught. He knew he was far from coming to grips with what had truly happened that day Darren had shot him. He still couldn’t remember any of the details of his own murder. He didn’t even know how he had gotten home.

To that end, he knew he had to try and explore what he really was. He figured the best place to start was to try and figure out what he could actually do. He didn’t know where else to begin. It wasn’t like you could buy a “Walking Death for Idiots,” manual at your local bookstore.

Today was Wednesday, and that meant that Don and many of the other workers would go out to Rosotto’s for lunch hour. Naturally, he wouldn’t join them, but today he had a better reason than just the fact that he couldn’t eat. Parked in the warehouse garage where Don worked was Drexel 10, which was down for maintenance. A Drexel swingmast forklift weighed about fourteen thousand pounds. Dan knew he could pretty easily heft at least three tons, could he more than double that?

He knew the warehouse well, so well he knew where all the cameras were. They were located in the aisles to help discourage any teammates from stealing from the inventory. His murderer, Darren, had gotten away with filching stuff from the warehouse for so long because he knew where all the cameras were and how to dodge them. Dan found it ironic he was sneaking into the garage using the same tactic. Still, he couldn’t take the chance on anyone seeing him going in or coming out.

Just as he was about to enter the garage through the side door, he had the most peculiar notion he was being watched. He quickly stopped and cast his gaze about to see if anyone was nearby. He didn’t see anybody. With everybody at lunch the warehouse was quiet.

You’re just nervous, he thought. He took some comfort in the fact that he could be nervous despite being dead. He looked through the small window in the door on the side of the garage and when he was sure there was no one inside he went in.

His hesitation about proceeding increased as he looked towards the large, yellow forklift. One of his primary goals was to hold onto everything that made him human. If he was truly strong enough to do this, it was yet another leap away from his humanity. Human beings could not lift seven-ton forklifts. Could he? If he could, should he?

He hated dithering; his grandfather had always thought it was sign of a weak character. There was also a part of him that wanted to do this. He still thought about how easily he lifted the forklift off Pete Hall. A part of him thrilled at the prospect of wielding that kind of inhuman strength.

“Wuss,” he accused himself. Then he walked over to the lift. The forks had been removed, and it was set on a hydraulic jack so that if he lifted the back, where most of the lift’s weight was centered, it would pivot safely forward on its front tires. He approached the lift and stared at it.

“Hell with it,” he decided. He bent down, put his hands under the carriage, and lifted.

Seven tons of forklift moved sure and steady up over his head. He braced himself into a powerlifting stance and began to press the lift. Then, he just kept going. Fourteen thousand pounds of forklift went up and came down again and again as he pressed it repeatedly. He felt the strain for sure, but no fatigue: first ten, then twenty, next thirty and by the time he was reaching forty reps he decided he was enjoying himself far too much and finally put the lift down.

“Goddamn!” he shouted with a huge grin on his face. A feeling of elation came over him. He knew that he shouldn’t feel this way, but the sense of power was overwhelming. Yes, he couldn’t eat, but he never got sick. Yes, he was always room temperature, but it wasn’t like he had to worry about pulling a muscle. Yes, he would never be able to do many of the things normal people could do, but normal people couldn’t power-press forklifts.

* * *

It was at that moment when he was contemplating a whole new outlook on his condition when he got the annoying headache again. Suddenly the feeling he was being watched returned. He whirled around to see a face staring at him through the small window in the door.

He froze. “Oh, crap!” he said softly as he thought furiously about how he could possibly explain this. The door opened and there she was, the beautiful, young goth woman. He stood there dumbfounded with a stupid look on his face.

She was wearing her work clothes but, without her hairnet and with her heavy makeup on, she projected a much different image then he had seen before today. “So this is how you work out?” she asked so nonchalantly it was as if she saw walking dead, blue-collar workers heft forklifts all the time.

“How the hell did you get in here?” he demanded, completely flabbergasted. Of all the people in the world to have caught him doing this the very last one he possibly imagined was the attractive goth girl from the lunch truck.

“Nicky let me in,” she explained with seeming calm.

“Human Resources,” he said incredulously, “you know Nicky in Human Resources?”

“We know everybody in the building,” she explained. “My grandmother has worked this site for over five years. You’re the only one we really don’t know but, seeing as the undead don’t eat, that’s not much of a surprise.”

Dan’s headache suddenly became more intense and then just stopped. He put his hand to his head and looked at the young woman with a grimace of confusion.

“I know, I hate it too,” she offered. “Mine gets me right at the base of my skull, feels like I’ve got arthritis or something.”

“What feels like arthritis?” he asked utterly baffled.

“My sixth sense,” she replied in a matter-of-fact tone, which seemed to indicate they were both having two different conversations.

“Sixth sense,” he repeated in disbelief.

“Yeah, our sixth sense. Why, do the Tribe of the Dead call it something different?”

He stopped and glared at her as if she couldn’t possibly be real. She had seen him lifting a seven-ton lift, didn’t seem to care, and was talking about sixth senses and tribes of dead people.

“Who the hell are you and what the hell are you talking about?!” He demanded loudly.

She immediately backed up and put her hands up in a placating gesture. “Calm down,” she said in an alarmed tone. “I didn’t mean to offend you. Look, I know this isn’t protocol, but I figured what could it hurt to reach across the aisle and greet another tribe. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“What tribe?” he insisted. “What are you talking about?”

She stopped and cocked her head at him as if he had now offended her. “Are you messing with me, revenant?”

It took him a moment to register what she had said but, when he did, he asked her softly, “What did you call me?”

“Revenant. You are a revenant, right?” Now she finally sounded hesitant. When he didn’t respond, she asked, “Are you a vampire?”

“No, I’m not a vampire!” he snapped. “Are you saying... are you actually saying there are vampires?”

“Are you serious?” Now she was the one who was incredulous.

“Look, I don’t who or what you are, okay? I am not a vampire, I don’t know what a revenant is, I am not part of a tribe, and I don’t have a sixth sense. Now, who the hell are you?”

At first she didn’t answer. She gazed at him as though he had to be lying. “That’s not possible.”

Now she could see he was growing visibly angry. “Okay, wait a minute, if you’re telling me the truth, prove it.”

“How am I supposed to that? Turn into a bat?” he growled.

“No, and vampires can’t shape-shift. Just take this, hold it in your hand and tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

She went into her pocket and pulled out a small blue stone with a hole in its center. Then she carefully approached him and held it out for him to take.

“What’s that?” he said as he looked at it skeptically.

“It’s a sooth stone; it lets me know if you’re telling the truth.”

“You’re serious?” he asked doubtfully.

“You don’t breathe, you pick up forklifts, you’re dead yet you live, but you have a problem believing in magic?” she countered.

As much as he hated to admit it, she had a point. The thought struck him that if she was somehow truly supernatural and not faking it, this was the way to find out. So he held out his hand.

She hesitated a moment before she placed it in his palm. “Now,” she said, “tell me you’re serious.”

“Like I said, I have no idea what you are talking about.”

What happened next must have taken her by surprise, because she gasped. The stone began to glow a bright silver. It was at first a soft illumination but, as they both watched, itd began to grow brighter until even within the well-lit garage it cast a visibly argent hue over everything.

She looked up at him with wide eyes as he stared back at her with equal wonder. “What are you?” she asked softly.

“I thought you said I was a revenant.”

She didn’t respond. She then reached out and plucked the stone from his palm without ever taking her eyes off his. Its light faded almost as soon as it left his hand.

“Does that mean you believe me?” he asked.

“I... I believe you,” she said in a mystified tone.

“Is that normal?”

“No, it’s not normal, you’re not normal,” she told him.

“Well, I’m dead. What do you want?” he snapped back.

“This isn’t a joke!” she rebuked.

He flinched at her sudden intensity.

“Look, Dan, you are way behind the curve here. None of this is normal, even for someone like you. We need to talk, there are things you need to know, and a lot sooner rather than later. Meet me over at Rory’s Tavern in Woodbury after work, right after work.” With that she turned and quickly moved to leave.

“Wait a minute!” he insisted. “Who are you? What are you?”

She turned back and stared at him for a moment. Then she answered, “I’m Drina. Drina Jilani. And I’m Streghe.”

“What’s a Streghe?”

“I’m a witch from the Etruscan tradition,” she explained. “Rory’s Tavern, after work,” she repeated and then quickly left the garage.

He stood there with the same dumbfounded look fixed to his pale face that he wore when she first walked in. “Well,” he thought, “you wanted to know what else was out there? Let’s hope all the supernatural people you meet are beautiful witches. I suppose that would be better than meeting a massive, slavering werewolf in the Pine Barrens.”

She had left him with more questions than he had since discovering he was dead. What did she mean about a sixth sense? Who were the tribe of the dead, and was he supposed to be a member? How the hell did a sooth stone work?

He mused in anticipation, “Here’s hoping she doesn’t invite any vampires along for a drink.”

* * *

Proceed to part 3...

Copyright © 2021 by John Rossi

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