Tales From the Swollen Corpse by Sam Williams

a mother’s intentions of giving her son an advantage in life. Unfortunately his father, under impressed with the results compared to the price of tuition, pulled him after a year.
    Things didn’t look that different from when Bill attended. The kids had changed more than the room itself and most were at the age their parents still picked out their outfits so they didn’t look all that different either. The room itself was an open environment approach, without the rows of desks one would see in a normal classroom.
    Kids were scattered all around him. Some were reading, some playing and others sitting in groups working with the two teachers. None seemed to notice Bill except one little girl sitting on the floor. A little blond girl in pig tails with piercing pale blue eyes. The color of her skin and dress stuck out amongst the other children. She seemed to be a lighter hue than everyone else. She was like looking at superimposed image. She sat staring at Bill. When he moved to walk towards her, she stood shaking her head and gesturing for him to stop. Before he understood what she was trying to say, a boy ran by Bill barely striking him. The boy kept on as if Bill wasn’t there but Bill spun through the air as if he had been clipped by a car. He slammed into the shelf with bone breaking force. Nothing on the shelf moved.
    Standing back up, he was surprised there was no pain. Looking around, no one seemed to notice the incident except the little girl who was silently shaking her head. He looked at three little wooden blocks stacked on each other on the shelf, they hadn’t moved. He tried to push them over but they didn’t budge, not the slightest. He tried to pick up a book and got the same result as if it was nailed down. He could see a ring in the dust were something had been moved. He ran his finger through it and nothing; he could feel a little grit as his finger moved over the dust but he couldn’t even produce a smudge.
    “It’s not going to move.” The little girl’s soft voice floated in the air. She was standing beside him. For the first time it occurred to Bill that he was at eye level with her and all the other kids.
    “What’s going on?”
    “It’s an easy answer but you won’t like it.”
    Flashes of memories came to Bill. He remembered making coffee. He remembered going to the fridge to steal one of his wives frozen weight conscious entrées. He remembered loathing the idea but knew the meetings at work would stretch well past lunch. He remembered the pain in his chest and the metallic taste in his mouth. He remembered the floor coming quickly at his face before everything went black.
    “You’re dead.” Her voice pulled him back to the present.
    “I, that’s idiotic, I…” Bill looked at his hands, they were small. The skin on the back of them was tight, veins no longer bulged. The little bit of hair was a translucent fuzz. He pointed out at the class room of children.
    “Are they dead? Are we all ghosts?”
    “We are , they aren’t.”
    Bill cupped his mouth. He thought of his wife and grown son Alex, he turned back to the window. In it he paid attention to the reflection for the first time. It was his ten year old self looking back at him with tears in his eyes.
    “This is stupid. Ghosts don’t cry.”
    “What’s your name?” Her voice was soft and motherly and again it didn’t seem to come from her as much as resonate from the air around her.
    “Bill.”
    “Bill, trust me, you don’t know anything about ghosts.” She wiped a tear from his cheek.
    Bill turned around. He looked at one little boy drawing a picture with concentration beyond his years. He looked a little like Alex did at the same age, just a tad leaner. Thinking of Alex, Bill felt his eyes tearing up again; he turned to the girl and moved his thoughts back to his predicament.
    “I suppose they can’t see us?”
    “None in this year’s class can, but every few years there’s one that can tell we’re