What I am saying now is a lie. You don’t have to believe me at all. It was Friday when my friend Bobby suggested taking me to a party on Saturday night. I would turn him down, but Bobby pled and assured me it would be super fascinating, and I wouldn’t regret it. Probably under the tiredness of overtime working for a week, I said yes.
The next afternoon, Bobby drove to my house to pick me up.
When we were at a crossroads waiting for the green light, Bobby suddenly said: “It’s about 20 minutes away. And, Scott, there’s something I need to tell you right now: It is a special party. In fact, it’s a dead man’s party – hosted by a dead man, joined by dead people.”
“What?” I stared at him.
“It means that living people are not allowed there. But, well, I know how to get two of us in. Don’t worry.”
Twenty minutes later, we stopped before a huge house. “It’s pretty easy to disguise as a dead man,” said Bobby, “You just need to leave your soul outside, and everything’s fine.”
“Huh?” I said.
“Where to leave my soul?” I asked.
“Here.” He pointed at the mailbox in front of the house. “The owner of this house would be busy hosting the party tonight. He won’t check the mailbox.”
Do dead people need a mailbox anymore? I thought, watching Bobby squatting down and reached down under the doormat. He then withdrew with a key in his hand, “That’s for the mailbox.”
He then moved his hand to his chest. He fumbled for a while, then pulled out a lump of something, wet and glossy. This is Bobby’s soul. He glanced at me, and I did the same. My soul was a little sticky when I pulled it out. Bobby thought that was because I was not sober enough after working for a long time.
We locked our souls in the mailbox and rang the bell. We walked in, and Bobby’s strategy worked. No one there realized we were not dead.
I thought dead men’s party would be gloomy and terrifying, but on the contrary, it was surprisingly bright and noisy. Everyone there looked like already drunk before the party began. We moved slowly and unusually, talking loudly, with stars shining in their eyes. I chatted and laughed with anyone walked pass me. My body felt so relaxed without a soul, and the tiredness was nowhere to be found.
“I don’t even know you have so many jokes to tell, Scott,” Bobby said.
“Me neither!” I replied dreamily. “I feel so good being a dead man. This is paradise.”
“But you are not really dead. Come on; it’s 4 am, we have to go.”
I stood up reluctantly, followed Bobby. We went outside, got our souls back. Bobby drove me home.
But like I said in the beginning, this is a lie. Till today, the mailbox key is still in my pocket. I never leave that house.