Three in the Morning and Late for Your Own Funeral

Someone was knocking at the door. I opened my eyes and looked at the alarm clock: it was only three in the morning.

"This had better be really important," I hissed through my teeth; the visitor continued to announce their presence. "I'm coming!"

I stood and went down the hallway for the front door, shaking my head to clear the grogginess. I put my eye to the peephole. There wasn't anybody there.

"Damn kids," I muttered and turned to go back to bed.

As I moved away the knocking began again. I put my eye back to the peephole to see if I could catch which neighborhood juvenile delinquent was playing games, but again there wasn't anybody there. I backed slowly away from the door and was thinking of calling the police when I heard a loud knock coming from the back sliding-glass door. I ran as quickly as I could and ripped the blinds open. This time I caught a glimpse of someone dressed in black running away.

I threw the door open and gave pursuit. I knew it wasn't smart, but this guy had picked the wrong person to mess with. I rounded the corner of my house and slammed into a wall that shouldn't have been there. I must have passed out, because I woke with a jolt and I was again in my bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed and someone was knocking at the door. Maybe I had been dreaming. I again went to the door and looked through the peephole. My father was standing outside.

"Jesus kid," he said in his low, gruff voice when I opened the door, "I've been pounding for nearly ten minutes. Where were you?"

"In bed," I replied.

Why was my father hear standing in front of me at my doorstep?

"What are you doing in bed at this hour?" dad asked.

"This hour? Dad, it's only three in the morning. What are you doing here?" I asked.

My father looked confused.

"Only three in the morning? Son, it's three in the afternoon," he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

I looked past my father and sure enough the sun was shining and the neighborhood was buzzing with activity. I could have sworn that my alarm clock had said three in the morning.

"Dad, what are you doing here?" I asked again. "Is everything alright?"

"I'm here to get you, remember? We had plans today," he replied. "John, are you alright? You don't look so well."

"What?" I asked with irritation. "I feel fine. Dad, what the hell is going on here?"

My father didn't say a word, but grabbed me by my shirt and led me to the hallway mirror.

"You can't go looking like this, it just doesn't seem like you," he said to me.

I stood looking at myself in the mirror. My face was extremely gaunt and pale and I had swollen bruises under my eyes. My hair was parted in a way I would never have worn it and there was a light powdering of some kind of make-up on my face. Strangest of all I was dressed in a black, double-breasted suit with a black dress-shirt and a crimson colored neck-tie.

"Why am I dressed like this?" I barely whispered to myself, but I must have still spoken pretty loudly, because my father shushed me.

"Try and keep it down, you'll upset the mourners," my father said.

When my father said "mourners" I whipped around and saw that I was in a small chapel, lit only by candle-light, and filled with people. My mother was sitting and crying in the front row. My father stood next to me and put his hand on my shoulder gently.

"She's all alone now," dad whispered.

"No she's not. Dad, what are you doing here?" I asked again. "You're dead."

He nodded. "So are you."

"What?" his answer startled me. "That's absurd. When did I die?"

"About three the other morning. Strangled by some guy who got in your house. Cops found him and shot him. He's dead too," my father replied.

"I'm not dead," I said.

I moved toward casket and looked in. I reeled back as I looked at the face of the deceased. It was mine. I fell back into a chair and suddenly the room was dark and empty. The only light was a spotlight focused right on me. Beyond the periphery of the light I saw the outline of figure running away from me, so I jumped and gave pursuit.

I opened my eyes and looked at the alarm clock. Someone was knocking at the door.