John Dies at the End by David Wong

imagine, or you will face something even stranger that you also can’t possibly imagine. On an actual day in the future, you will be in the unimaginable, Arnie. Set your mind on that.”
    Silence, for a few seconds. Arnie nodded a little.
    “Okay.”
    “Now, without turning your head, look at the box.”
    Arnie did, recoiled, yelped, stumbled and finally fell on his ass.
    “Oh, shit!” he gasped. “Shit!! What the shit is that? Sh-shit! Shit!”
    I threw the sheet back over the box and closed up the Bronco. Arnie scrambled to his feet and backed up ten steps, halfway to the door of the restaurant.
    “How did you do that? And what the fuck was that thing? What the fuck?”
    “I don’t know what it’s called. Pretty freaky, isn’t it?”
    “You—you made me see something. Something out of my own head. You freaked me out so I would see something.”
    “No, it’s really there. I’m surprised you saw it so easy. You must have an open mind. Most people don’t see it that fast unless they’re stoned or drunk.”
    Arnie kept stepping back, muttering.
    “I was in the Navy. Diver. I saw some shit, deep-sea shit that didn’t look like anything that belonged on this world. But that was nothin’, nothin’ like that . . . that thing.”
    “I want to tell the rest of the story, Arnie. I need to. I need to get it out. But you need to take it for what it is. The truth. Are you ready to do that?”
    Arnie looked at me with uncertainty, then nodded. “Okay. Until I figure it out for real, okay.”
    “Eh, that’ll have to do.”
    After a moment we walked back toward the restaurant. As we passed through the swinging doors (still painted with the slogan HOLA AMIGOS!!) I picked up my story.
    “Anyway, so the cop comes in and tells me John is dead . . .”

    I WAS OUT of my chair before I knew it, halfway to the door.
    “Wha—How??!”
    The cop stopped me cold with a stiff arm to the chest.
    “Now calm down,” Morgan said, not looking at all calm himself. “He went into a convulsion or somethin’ and his pulse stopped but—now listen to me here—we got ambulances, they’ll be here in thirty seconds. We got Vinny doin’ CPR on him. Vinny’s a lifeguard in his off-hours. That boy’s in the hands of people who know what they’re doin’. That don’t include you, so you got no business fartin’ around out there, gettin’ all hysterical and whatnot.”
    I knocked his hand away from my chest. The white cop dropped his arms and came toward us, though looking a little less shocked than what I would have expected, having had somebody just drop dead in their police station. Apparently he wouldn’t have to fill out the paperwork.
    Morgan’s lips peeled back slightly to reveal gritted teeth. He started to say something, stopped himself.
    Oh, shit. This guy’s on the jagged edge . . .
    “Here’s what you’re gonna do, son.”
    He breathed.
    “You’re gonna wait here. I’ll be back in five minutes and you are gonna start telling me the truth. I am gonna get to the bottom of this and if you obstruct me you will live the rest of your days wishing you had not.”
    He stepped back, made sure I wasn’t going to rush the door, then turned out of the room. What chilled me wasn’t the cop’s threats. It was the single, dark thought I could read pulsing through his head:
    The dead are getting off lucky in this deal.
    That didn’t seem like a normal cop thought to me.
    I stood there, lost, listening to the confusion of shouts and controlled panic outside. I heard sirens out front. Ambulance.
    My cell phone chirped. On any other day I would have shut the thing off, but that seemed unwise somehow. I looked toward Officer Liddy, now standing placidly in the middle of the room, and I gestured toward my pocket as if to ask if he minded. He said nothing, I answered my phone.
    “Yeah.”
    “Dave? This is John.”
    “What? Are you—”
    Alive?
    “—in an ambulance or something?”
    “Yes and no. Are you still at