Jeff Strand - The Sinister Mr. Corpse

"You'll do fine," said Veronica, placing a reassuring hand on Stanley's shoulder.

"I know."

"Just be eighty percent yourself and everyone will love you," she said with a wink, as she left to discuss something with Brant.

Stanley fidgeted with his tie. He wasn't in a three-piece suit this time, but rather a light blue dress shirt and dark blue slacks. He thought he looked pretty good in it, all things considered, but he just wasn't a tie man.

"Three minutes!" announced one of the stagehands.

Donald walked onto the stage and over to Stanley's chair. "Hey there, you're looking a lot better than when I saw you last!"

"Thanks."

"You've got some pretty good lungs for a dead guy. Anyway, just relax. The interview will be done before you know it."

The director ushered Donald aside, and so Stanley resumed his fidgeting. It had never really occurred to him before that this was his chance not to be a complete outcast in the world. He was, after all, a zombie. A dead guy. A freak. If the public didn't like him, he could end up in a circus, shouting "Booga-booga!" at people for fifty cents a head. Or living in the bunker forever, with nothing to look forward to except the next ghastly medical experiment performed upon him.

He had to make a good impression. Not for that creep Brant, but for himself. Hell, if he made enough money off of his newfound celebrity, he could pay for his own damn injections and live wherever he wanted.

Witty and charming…grateful to be alive…chuckle at Donald's crappy jokes…

Donald sat down in his own brown chair across from Stanley. "Everything okay?"

"Everything's great."

"Outstanding."

Stanley closed his eyes and visualized himself giving an amazing interview, one that professors would be teaching to students for centuries to come ("Now that, class, is how a zombie should give an interview!"). Then he visualized Veronica naked again, just because it was an enjoyable visual.

Brant hadn't felt this queasy since…well, since the resurrection. It was crucial that Stanley be likable; the project was controversial enough without the end product being disagreeable to the general public. There were plenty of "bad boy" celebrities, but they had some leeway from audiences in that they were usually physically attractive and had never been dead. If people were repulsed by Stanley's appearance and his personality, the money just wouldn't materialize.

Still, he wondered if it had been a bad idea to take such severe measures with Stanley so soon. He never wanted to be a cruel person, but it wasn't like he could simply run out and resurrect another, less annoying cadaver. He wasn't happy that it was Dabernath who met the conditions for resurrection, but he had to play the hand he was dealt. Unfortunately, he'd received a joker, and so he had to be heartless.

And if Dabernath botched the interview tonight, Brant could be much more heartless.

Some uncatchy theme music began to play, and Stanley watched on the large monitor as "THE AMAZING MR. CORPSE – THE LIVE INTERVIEW" appeared. Snazzy logo, using a skull in place of the letter "O." This was followed by "WITH DONALD MANDIGAN." Donald's "O" wasn't a skull.

Donald turned to the camera closest to him. "Hello, I'm Donald Mandigan. This week, a record number of households witnessed the live resurrection of Mr. Stanley Dabernath, the Amazing Mr. Corpse. When he first returned to the world of the living, he looked like this."

The image on the monitor switched to Stanley in his underwear, sitting up and shrieking. The bad words were bleeped out.

"Following that, The Amazing Mr. Corpse gave a press conference. I'm sure you know the results."

The image shifted to Stanley getting shot in the chest. Damn, thought Stanley. I look like a complete sissy.

The image switched back to Donald. "But now, Mr. Corpse is sitting right in front of me, and I have to say, he looks just fine. Welcome, Stanley."

"Thanks, Donald," said Stanley, a bit surprised by the squeak in his voice. "Glad to be here."

"Tell me about the underground bunker where you've been living since you started living again. How are your accommodations?"

"They're okay."

Be quotable, damn it! Quotable!

"This is our first time to actually get to sit down and talk. Tell me, when you look at the video of your resurrection, how does it make you feel?"

"It's kind of embarrassing, actually," Stanley admitted. "Now I know how celebrities feel when talk show hosts show really bad clips from early in their careers. I just want to say that I was not responsible for the choice of boxers."

Donald chuckled. Stanley relaxed.

"So how do you feel?"

"Alive." Crap, I can't start recycling material this early! "I have to admit, I don't feel all that much different than I did before. I look different, obviously, but I feel about the same."

"Really? So you're not in any pain?"

"None. And you'd think that my rot spots would itch, but they don't."

"Let's talk about your rot spots," said Donald, leaning forward in his chair. "Clearly, your body has undergone quite a bit of decomposition. Is that going to continue?"

"I'm told that it isn't. They could just be saying that to keep my morale up. Nobody wants to be around a disgruntled zombie."

"Let's talk about that word zombie. When I think zombie, I'm thinking about creatures that eat human flesh. What's the story with that?"

"Give me your hand and I'll show you."

Donald chuckled again, but it seemed a bit forced.

"No, actually, I have no interest in eating human flesh. I think the idea is every bit as gross now as I did before. Your arm would be perfectly safe if you waved it in front of my mouth."

"And that's very reassuring. What about the word zombie itself? Do you find it offensive?"

"Not at all. It's kind of badass."

"As I'm sure you know, a lot of people think that you're a fraud, that you're just some guy in a Halloween mask. In fact, that's the question you were asked at your press conference right before you were shot. I saw and touched your dead body, so I know that you're the real deal, but how do you convince people watching television who think it's all a scam?"

"I'm not sure. I guess you could have a bunch of designated representatives from around the world try to yank off my face."

"Could I host that TV special?"

"Anything for you, Donald."

They both chuckled.

"What's next for Project Second Chance? Are they cooking up a Mrs. Corpse?"

"I'm not sure. I'd hate to lose my bachelorhood this soon."

"Understood. So tell me, what's the best thing about being alive again?"

"Knowing that I'll get to see another sunset as soon as they let me out of the underground bunker for more than an interview. Knowing that the dew glistening on a leaf in the morning sun is within my reach. Donald, life is precious. Life is more precious than you can imagine. Life is filled with rainbows and puppies and babies and flowers and waterfalls and rivers and golden stalks of wheat and mountain ranges and corn and moonlit walks on the beach and kittens and ice cream and Valentine's Day and bubble baths and birds. Treat every moment as if it were your last."

Stanley looked into the camera. "Life is so very precious. Be grateful that you're on this beautiful earth. Dance. Sing. Turn off that television-not now, but around 9:00 Eastern Standard Time-and go out and live." He wiped a tear from his eye. "Live. If you ignore everything else I say tonight, just hear that one word: Live."

He turned back to Donald. "I'm sorry, I just get worked up when I think about this sweet gift that I've been given." He looked out past the set at Brant. "Richard Brant, my savior, I just want to say how much I deeply appreciate what you've done for me. I love you, man. Everyone in this room, everyone at home, let's give him a big round of applause, what do you say?"