El Merto was dead, to begin with.
TKC returned home, and lit a lamp, carrying it up to his sad little bedroom. Darkness is cheap, and TKC liked it. But before he shut his heavy door, he walked through his rooms to see that all was right. Half-watching a horror film earlier in the day had given him the shivers.
Sitting-room, bedroom, man-cave. All as they should be. Nobody under the table, nobody under the sofa; a small fire in the grate; spoon and basin ready; and the little saucepan of gruel (TKC had a cold in his head) upon the hob. Nobody under the bed; nobody in the closet; nobody in his dressing-gown, which was hanging up in a suspicious attitude against the wall. Lumber-room as usual. Old fire- guards, old shoes, two fish-baskets, washing-stand on three legs, and a poker. Quite satisfied, he closed his door, and locked himself in; doublelocked himself in, which was not his custom. Thus secured against surprise, he took off his Aston Villa cravat; put on his Talking Heads dressing-gown and slippers, and his nightcap; and sat down before the fire to take his gruel.
‘Humbugs!’ said TKC, remembering to post about a new supermarket snack he’d purchased earlier that day.
It was then, with great astonishment, and with a strange, inexplicable dread, that as he looked, he saw the bell on his wall begin to swing. It swung so softly in the outset that it scarcely made a sound; but soon it rang out loudly, and so did every bell in the house. He had a lot of bells, for some reason.
His colour changed, when, without a pause, a ghostly figure came on through the heavy door, and passed into the room before his eyes.
It was the ghost of El Merto. And his brother, El Hermano de El Merto.
Though TKC looked the phantoms through and through, and saw them standing before him; though he felt the chilling influence of their beautiful blue eyes; and marked the very texture of the folded kerchief bound about its head and chin, which wrapper he had not observed before: he was still incredulous, and fought against his senses.
‘Hey now!’ said TKC, caustic and cold as ever. ‘What do you want with me? You can say it right now please.’
‘In life I was your primary film listmaker, El Merto’
Frightened, TKC responded. ‘Please tell me Die Hard isn’t on the Christmas films list?’
‘Jajajaja’ laughed El Merto, and opened up his Google Sheets app.
gotcha
