The Town I Moved To Has No Cemeteries And Now I Know Why | Part 1
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The first time I died, it was because I stepped on a landmine, blew both my legs clean off, sent a piece of my femur straight up through my pelvis and into my intestines. Blood and shit and piss gushed everywhere. It was my fault though. I was given one warning when finally sent into town on my own, and that was not to walk across Mrs. Lowenstein's front lawn. She hates it when you walk across her front lawn.

And as I lay there dying, in agony, gasping my last breaths, she made her point. "That's why they made walkways, you fucking idiot!" She definitely isn't a personable woman. Not as neighborly as, say, the Glasses, Travis and Carol. Lovely people. Really. Just lovely. Their front lawn is guarded by mini-turrets. Instead of sprinkler heads that pop up to water the lawn, small gun turrets pop up and shred people's ankles.

Then, as they fall over, because who can stand when your ankles are shredded? The rest of them get shredded. But the difference between the glasses set up and Mrs. Lowenstein's is that the glasses have the dangers of their yard clearly marked by a simple, homemade sign by the curb. "Do not approach the house. Defensive measures are in place. You have been warned. Thank you and have a great day." See? Very nice. Helpful message from a very nice couple.

Mrs. Lowenstein, on the other hand, has no sign and sits in a rocker on her front porch, beckoning for people to come visit her. She likes watching folks get their lower extremities blown to smithereens. Gives her a thrill. Probably why Mr. Dorman gives new residents like me a heads up. It's not his fault I didn't listen. Now, not all the neighbors are as thoughtful as the Glasses or as cruel as Mrs. Lowenstein. I'd say most fall in the middle.

Helpful to you if it's helpful to them. Otherwise, you're on your own. And since I was new to town, I was still learning all the finer points of getting by day to day. And learning the finer points of Bishop's Hollow is how you make it down the street without having the back of your head blown. Got a lot of snipers in Bishop's Hollow. A lot of snipers. Where to start?

At the beginning? No, no, you don't want to hear my sad sack of a story. I'm just some loser who losered his way into a lucky situation. Dangerous, painful, bloody as fuck, but in its own way, very, very lucky. And lucrative too. I have made bank living in Bishop's Hollow. Not that I can spend that money on anything that isn't already in Bishop's Hollow.

Amazon doesn't deliver here. There's no DoorDash that'll bring me coconut chicken from Ming's temple, which was daddy's favorite. But we do have a library, so that's nice. It's free though, so I can't spend my money there. But there are other places like, well, let's get to that. Bishop's Hollow. That's where I should start. A small town in New England, I think.

It's the weather that gives it away, not that I'm a weather guy. No, I'm not talented. I honestly don't know where I am, because as soon as I accepted the job and shook hands with Mr. Dorman, the recruiter, everything went black. Next thing I know, I'm waking up in the processing center in town. Mr. Dorman was back and he gave me a short orientation. Although, it was only short, because I sorta stopped paying attention.

There's a reason I have this job and not some regular 9-5. I have issues that don't exactly make me the most desirable employee. Spacing off when someone is trying to teach me something is one of those issues. Mr. Torrance? Man, the walls in the processing center could really use a coat of paint. I mean, they are painted, but in that soulless beige color. They need a splash of color, some blue or even green. A splash of orange would be nice too.

maybe bright red mr torrence uh yeah i replied as mr dorman stood in front of me his hands on his hips his face filled with frustration it's a look and stance i'm very used to seeing what sorry i said and shook my head i was checking out the room's paint job yes i could see that mr dorman responded and did you come to a conclusion

"Orange and blue," I said. "But not University of Florida orange and blue. More like a burnt orange and a sky blue. Southwest tones, as opposed to Gulf Coast tones. Does that make sense?" Mr. Dorman sighed. "Yes, James Lee. It does make sense, and you are actually correct," he admitted, and looked about the room. "I have put in multiple requests for new decor, but updating the design points and the processing center is not a priority at the moment.

"Bummer," I said and then frowned. "What is it, James Lee? That right there," I said. "I prefer JL. James Lee is what my daddy called me. And, well, you know how that went." "I do, yes," he replied. "It is why you are here." He rubbed at his face and turned around, muttering, "What did I do to deserve this? I don't know," I said and shrugged. "Who'd you hurt?"

He looked over his shoulder at me, then he looked up at the video camera in the corner. When he returned his attention to me, he had a weird look on his face, kinda like he had to pee but wasn't sure. "You heard me ask that?" "Ask what?" "When I mumbled what I did to deserve this." "Um, yeah," I replied. "Wasn't hard to hear. Just the two of us in the room." I looked around the orientation room and it was true. Just me and Mr. Dorman.

The other three dozen seats were empty, all beige by the way. Beige chair after beige chair. And plastic, no padding on the seat, like the one I was sitting in. "Are you okay, JL?" Mr. Dorman asked. "You look uncomfortable. Am I squirming? People say I squirm. You are squirming, yes. These chairs are a little hard on the bum." "On the bum?" "On the bum. My apologies. May we continue with the orientation?"

"Oh, sure. Yeah, go ahead," I said and smiled, as I pointed at the PowerPoint presentation that was up on the big screen on the far wall. "You went to a lot of trouble to make those slides. Thanks for that." "Thanks for making a PowerPoint?" "Well, yeah. You could have just written on cardboard with markers. That works too. But you went all classy and professional. I mean, nothing is more classy and professional than a solid PowerPoint presentation."

"Are you fucking with me, JL?" I sat up straight and frowned. "I don't think so," I said. "Do I sound like I'm fucking with you? It can be hard to tell sometimes. Hard for you to tell, or hard for others to tell." "Both, I suppose," I shrugged. "My daddy could never tell." Mr. Dorman winced when I admitted that. "Most people wince when I bring up my daddy. People who saw the news." "Alright," he said and looked at the PowerPoint slide on the screen.

"Let's continue, shall we?" I nodded and we continued. I don't remember any of the slides, but I know they were outstanding. Mr. Dorman is very good at PowerPoints. When the orientation was over, Mr. Dorman led me from the orientation room down a hallway that was painted beige, through a set of double doors, beige also, and into a large room with several sets of shelves as well as plastic bins stacked ceiling high.

"Let's get you provisioned, shall we?" he said, and went to the first shelf.

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Mr. Dorman has a funny way of talking sometimes. I think a therapist of mine once said that ending statements with questions of assent helped the person believe they had agency in the matter at hand. I don't know what any of that means, but I repeated it to a different therapist once, and she was very impressed by my self-awareness. Then I told her the color of her office walls was all wrong, and she stopped speaking to me for the rest of the day.

After gathering all sorts of supplies into a really neat backpack, like toothpaste and a toothbrush, hand soap and shampoo, some aromatherapy candles, and a bunch of other stuff to make a home all homey, Mr. Dorman showed me to the front door. "Bishop's Hollow," he said as he walked us out onto the set of stone steps that led up to the processing center's front doors.

Although, I suppose the steps would have led down to Main Street, since I was already standing at the top and looking down at the pavement. Subtleties like that matter in Bishop's Hollow. Say the wrong thing the wrong way, and you end up blood-missed, believe me." "This town is exactly four miles square," he continued, sweeping his hand out like he was showing me everything.

"I only see the town square." "Yes, right, well, of course," he replied, seeming miffed. "You can't see it all from here." "Oh, I thought that was what you were showing me," I said. "Everything." "No, I was explaining the town size, but showing you the town square." Confusing. "Not really." "I think it is." "Yes, well, so where do I live?" I ask, looking the town square over.

There was a diner, a barbershop, a beauty parlor, a pharmacy with a soda fountain and lunch counter advertised in the window, a library, a grocery store, a butcher shop, a hardware store, an office supply store, an accountant's office, a toy store, and a doctor's office. Oh, and at the very end, opposite the processing center, is the town hall which held the courthouse and police station. I pointed at the windows above the butcher shop. Can I live there?

"No," Mr. Dorman said. "No one lives in town. Then what are those rooms for?" I asked, still pointing at the windows above the butcher shop. "They have various uses," he said, then turned and squinted at me. "You did pay attention during the orientation presentation, yes?" "Oh yeah, totally," I said. "Great slideshow, Mr. Dorman. Loved it." He watched me for a few seconds. When it got uncomfortable, I looked at him and gave him a huge smile.

Big smiles are reassuring. That's what a different therapist told me once. "Your residence will be on the west side of town," he said, and pointed in that direction. "Cool, thanks," I said, and hurried down the steps and into the street. I was really eager to see my new place. Oh wait, nope, I'm wrong. The first time I died wasn't on Mrs. Lowenstein's lawn. It was when I ran out into the street,

I got hit by the SUV that had come to pick me up and take me to my new place. Whoever was driving really shouldn't have been going so fast. Yes, I stepped right into its path. Yes, I wasn't even looking at all. Yes, the SUV outweighs me by a couple thousand pounds. So I was destined to lose that one. But pay attention, right? Then I respawned.

which is what I call it, even though it drives everyone nuts. And Mr. Dorman was showing me the town once again about three hours later. "I'm going to walk you down to the curb, JL," he said and took me by the elbow. Mr. Dorman is very courteous. Once I was in the SUV's backseat, I thanked Mr. Dorman and waved at him until he was lost from sight as the driver turned left at the square and aimed us in what I assumed was west.

since I apparently lived on the west side of town. "I'm JL," I said to the driver. He just grunted. "First day," I said. He grunted again. "Already died once." He didn't grunt. "Oh, was that you?" I asked. "Did you run me over?" The driver sighed. "I don't hold it against you," I continued. "My fault for not looking both ways. Or looking at all, really. I was busy thanking Mr. Dorman. He's a nice guy, don't you think?"

"Yeah, me too," I said. "And that PowerPoint? Don't get me started. That was sure something." I leaned up and put my head between the front seats. "Say, do you remember what was in that presentation?" Because I sort of spaced off, and I didn't want to tell Mr. Dorman. It would have offended him considering how much work he put into that PowerPoint. I waited, but the driver didn't respond. Didn't even grunt. He just drove.

"Right. Sorry," I said and leaned back. "I'm being distracting, and you're just trying to get me to my house in one piece." That got a grunt, and I think a laugh. When we pulled up to the place, I frowned. "An apartment house?" I asked. "I have to share a space?" "Get out," the driver said and the doors unlocked. I hadn't realized they'd even been locked. Good thing we hadn't had a fiery crash in the SUV. Talk about a death trap. "But I thought I was getting my own house," I said.

"The bro sure said I would have my own house." "Get out," he said again, and then turned and stared at me. That's when I noticed he was missing his left eye and most of his nose. "You bet," I said, and hurried out of the SUV. My new cool backpack gripped tightly in my hands. It was newer than the first one because the first one got all bloody and had a tear in it from when I got run over. The SUV drove off as soon as I closed the door.

Then I stood there and stared at the sky-blue, semi-Victorian house that had been split into different apartments. Four apartments if the row of mailboxes on the wall by the front door told me anything. I noticed these things. I'm very observant. "Hey there!" I called to the young woman standing next to the mailboxes.

There was no response, so I waved hard and yelled, "Hey there!" "Shut up and do not move," the young woman muttered. It was hard to understand her because she barely opened her mouth when she spoke. "Are you a ventriloquist?" I asked as I hurried up the walkway, eager to meet my new neighbor. "Not to be rude, but I saw your lips move a little." "Shut up," she said, still barely moving her mouth. "Oh, sorry," I said, mimicking her.

I kept my mouth very still and then said, "Why are we talking like this? Was that in the PowerPoint? It was a great PowerPoint, but I sort of spaced out toward…" A bullet hole appeared in the second mailbox from the right. There was a little nameplate on it: James Lee Torrance. "What the heck?" I said and turned around to face the street.

"I haven't even gotten a letter yet, and someone has shot a hole in my mailbox. Move!" The young woman shouted as she dove and tackled me about the waist. Several bullets impacted the apartment house's front wall, and front door, and front windows. Basically, the front of the apartment house caught some lead. "Inside! Inside!" the young woman said, and managed to get the screen door open just enough to squeeze through into the apartment house's entranceway.

Not wanting to be rude and leave her holding the door open, I scurried after her on my hands and knees. Several bees went whizzing by my head, which was strange. Where'd the bees come from? Then I realized they weren't bees, they were more bullets. Which brought up the question of where the bullets came from. Bullets and bees, always showing up when you least want them to, right?

The young woman spun around on her butt and then leaped to her feet. She grabbed the front door and slammed it closed. I heard several more bees try to get in. The second she had the door closed, she smashed her hand on a red button and a huge metal plate dropped down to seal off the front door and the side windows. "That'll do the trick," I said, and got to my feet to offer the young woman my hand. "I'm JL. I know who you are," she said, and took a couple of deep breaths.

We were all informed you'd be coming. There was a whole orientation for us. Was there a PowerPoint? What? A PowerPoint? A slideshow? Was that part of the orientation about me? Um, yeah. So? Did Mr. Dorman make the PowerPoint? He's really talented. Wow. They weren't kidding. You're fucking nuts. If I had a nickel for every time someone said that to me, I sat and laughed. I'd have a lot of nickels. I bet you would, she said.

then saw that I still had my handout. She shook it. "Astrid von Clymer, I've heard that name before," I said, and put a finger to my chin. "Funny," she said and walked off. "I'll show you to your apartment." "No, no, I have heard your name before," I said, not following her. I had some thinking to do, and sometimes thinking is done best while you stand perfectly still with your finger on your chin. "Now, where would I have heard that name?"

"Von Clymer Hotels and Resorts," she said. "If you think you're being cute, you... No, no, that's not it." I responded, still trying to puzzle out where I'd heard her name before. "What are you doing?" She snapped. "Thinking?" I said, then frowned. "Lost my train of thought." I switched hands. "Maybe this finger on my chin will be better." "I butchered my whole family while they slept," she said inside. "I was 11. It was all over the papers." "Nope," I said and kept thinking.

Using my other finger wasn't helping any, so I shook my head. "It'll come to me. Can I show you your apartment now?" she asked, a little annoyed. "You bet," I said and smiled. "What's stopping you? Right now, I really wish you could kill others in your household," she said and started up the flight of stairs to the second floor. "But that would be too much chaos. Are we in the same household?" I asked. "I mean, if we have different apartments, then wouldn't each apartment be a household? Hmm, maybe."

We reached the second floor landing and she pointed at the door on the left. "This is me," she said. "2A." Then she pointed to the door on the right. "And you are 2B." Then she pulled a small pistol from her back pocket and aimed it right between my eyes. "If you're right, this could get very messy."

"If I'm right about what?" I asked as she pulled the trigger. "Oh crap, nope, wrong again." I was killed by the SUV, then shot by Astrid, before I ended up getting blown to bits on Mrs. Lowenstein's lawn. All the deaths are hard to keep track of, and it was my first day. "You didn't even get inside your apartment," Mr. Dorman said as he opened the door to the SUV and shoved me inside. "Are you even trying to stay alive? Aren't we all?"

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