One person was far more baffled than the others in the group of people investigating the murder and that was of course Ernie himself who at the moment his body was rolled into a freezer in the morgue was hovering twenty feet in the air and staring through his bedroom window where he finally had the evidence he needed to have it out with his wife about her schlepping the local councillor. He took a moment to consider how typical it was that he was just about too late to do anything about it.
He reached out and rattled his knuckles against the bedroom window angrily, but they simply sank through the glass. It was an odd and relatively new sensation to Ernie, but one he was almost familiar with. It was similar to the feeling that he had dreamt of many times – sticking out a fist in a fight but having no strength at all, or the time he woke up and got out of bed to go for a wee only to realise both of his legs were still asleep and dancing oddly across the landing trying not to wet himself.
Sighing, he let his body sink down to the ground and walked through the back door of what was once his house, through the small kitchen and into the living room.
Bump, bump.
He sat in his chair and looked up at the patch of damp in the top corner of the room. He noted to himself that it seemed to be spreading and would need painting over again soon.
Bump, bump.
Not that it was his problem anymore.
Bump, bump, bumpbumpbump.
His train of thought was disrupted by the feral call of Councillor Tony Harris who exclaimed at the top of his lungs “Gross Domestic Product is the basic measure of country’s overall economic output!” signalling that he was entirely satisfied and ready for a glass of orange cordial.
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