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Dead as a doornail	By : fundamellie Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Pet Shop Boys Views: 796 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the celebrity I am writing about. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Jeffery was dead to begin with. There was absolutely no doubt about that. The appropriate papers had been signed by the hospital he had died in, there had been a death notice in the local newspaper and his name had been carved into his grave stone in fine, winding letters. Jeffery was dead, as dead as a doornail.
Now I don't know why one says that, 'as dead as a doornail' but as proverbs go there must be some truth to it, so I repeat it to make my point clear that Jeffrey was indeed dead. As dead a doornail.
Did I know that Jeffery was dead when this story began? Yes, of course I did. I had been watching him slowly fade away in that hospital bed of his all those years ago. I had seen the coffin; I had even seen his dead body. I had been at his funeral, holding a speech full of words which were so much braver that I felt and I had gone home that day feeling hollow inside.
It is quite important that you believe that Jeffery really was dead because otherwise there is no point to this story I am going to unfold in front of you.
After all, if you didn't know from the start that Sir Simon was dead the whole of ‘The Canterville Ghost’ would sound foolish and would fail to move anybody's heart. An old man being a nuisance to his family, that is a every day tale and one you would make out of it if you did not know that Sir Simon was dead.

I never forgot Jeffery, even though he died so long ago. He was always present in the conversations my friends and I were having, in the memories of days gone by kept alive by faded photographs and sometimes even in the lines of a song. Still his memory faded during the years that passed and I changed as well. Sometimes I wondered if Jeffery would still be my friend if he were to appear in my room this very day. Would he still recognize me? Would he approve of all the choices I had made in his absence?
Until that fateful day these questions always filled me with uncertainty.

What kind of person had I become? I was successful, rich and well-known. I was at times self-centred, egoistic and cruel. I could be thoughtless, arrogant, stubborn, untruthful and wicked. I had been a double-crossing, lying bastard. I had abused not only drink and drugs but also the trust of people I loved, people who trusted me and depended on me in one way or another. In other words, I had committed terrible sins. You could say I had stopped walking the line long ago.
When this story starts I was lonely, bitter and reckless. I felt like I had abandoned all strings that bound me and that I should throw myself head over heels into the endless party that the showbiz could provide. And maybe even into the arms of countless faceless guys, trying to numb the pain and the emptiness that Stefan's departure had created. I had expected to be glad when he finally walked away, when this chaotic rollercoaster ride which we had called a relation had finally ended but the relief never came. Only loneliness and regret and bitterness. And the determination to never fall into that kind of trap again. I swore to myself that I would never fall in love again, that I would close my heart so that it would not be broken once more. I did not think of all the hearts that I had broken back then. I was disillusioned, disenchanted with life. Emotionally hardened and numb inside.

There had been that dreadful day when I had thrown Stefan out of my house and out of my life. Of all the days of the year this had to happen on Christmas Eve. It had been a cold, bleak day. The whole world seemed to consist of different shades of grey; the moor and the horizon merged in a blurry stretch of charcoal and the bitter wind chased dark, foreboding looking clouds across the sinister sky. Sleet and hail came down heavily and obscured the view from the windows. The driveway, which twisted its way up to the house, was partly covered with ice and the cold crept through every chink and gap and chilled the air even in the living room where the fire was blazing in the fireplace.
It was only three o'clock in the afternoon but it was almost completely dark outside, but then again it had not really been light that day.
I sat at the desk in the sitting room; PC switched on, mobile on standby and was going through some private paper work that was both important and extremely boring. I did not feel particularly merry even though it was only a few hours left to go until Christmas. Suddenly the doorbell rang and, getting up with a sigh I made my way downstairs and opened the door. Cold air wrapped itself around me but it was nothing compared to the chill I felt seeing Stefan, my ex-boyfriend standing a mere step away. I had not seen him for three months at most but it felt like half a lifetime. The boy looked dreadful, thinner than I remembered him and much, much paler. There were dark smudges underneath his eyes, which seemed haunted. His clothes which were much too thin to warm him against the biting cold were miss-matched and hung on him like on a scarecrow. There was snow in his hair and his lips were blue. He wore no scarf, no hat, and no gloves. He must have been frozen to the bone. He looked at me, his eyes wide, full of despair and hurt. Still I thought I saw the tiniest flicker of hope in them when his gaze fell on me.
His look was a silent plea for one more chance, for me to see reason and take him back. It was obvious that he had been crying.
I stepped aside wordlessly and let him enter the hall. There he stood like a lost little puppy. When I closed the door and hesitantly turned around to face him, he flung himself at me. His arms wrapped around me, he clung to me as if his life depended on it.
He cried on my shoulder and his thin body shook with the sobs. He tried to speak, to place tiny kisses on my neck but I pushed him back and glared at him. I felt so weary of our endless fight; I just wanted this one to be over and done with.
"Get out of here," I said in an icy tone. "Get out of here and don't come back! Never come back, do you hear me?"
The boy was crying even harder now but he looked me directly in the eyes and begged.
"Please, can I just stay here? Only today. Please, it's Christmas and I have nobody else. Please, Neil, just today!"
I folded my arms against my chest, as much to look more authoritarian as to keep the cold from sucking the warmth out of me. I shook my head and regarded him coldly.
"I said it once and I’ll say it again: Get out of here and don't come back!"
"No!" Stefan wailed and stumbled over to me. I think he wanted to throw his arms around me once more but before he could make the move, I grabbed him by the arm and dragged him over to the door. I opened it and pushed him forward, over the threshold, back into the biting cold.
"Don't come back. Ever!" I said sternly in that deadly voice again and slammed the door shut right into his face. I stood there facing the polished wood for a long moment, then I hung my head and angrily blinked away tears I felt burning there. That idiot boy had made me miserable on Christmas Eve! Miserable and cold inside.
Something had uncoiled deep inside of me as I had closed my door for Stefan. And something else had died. Maybe that had been a bit of kindness or tenderness, I do not know but it died silently without protest.

"Did you really have to do that?" a gentle voice asked behind mw. It gave me quite a start and I spun around.
"That's none of your business,” I snapped and glared at my sister.
Susan stood at the feet of the stairs and looked horrified.
"Well, if you treat that boy like this when I'm present, it is my business. Besides, I like Stefan and I really think you are too hard on him this time. How could you just throw him out? It's Christmas after all!"
"Christmas!" I snorted. "And a Merry Christmas, too, huh? Such crap!"
"Since when do you call Christmas crap? Neil, that's not like you at all."
"Well, maybe since today. Or maybe ever since I discovered that this phoney religion is nothing but a bunch of lies! Why should I be merry? My ex-boyfriend and I just had a fight. What reason do you have to be merry? Your husband is working tomorrow, two of your grand-daughters are having the flu and your oven broke down yesterday. Those are strange reasons to feel merry at Christmas!" I spat back.
Susan regarded me calmly and even smiled softly to herself.
"What reason do you have to be so cross? It was your own choice to quit with him; he would have taken you back. Shouldn't you be in a splendid mood because you proofed your point?"
I could not think of any reply so I just said: "Crap!"
Susan sighed and closed the distance. "Come on, Neil, don't be so rude!”
“And why not?” I demanded. “Everywhere you go you hear about ‘Merry Christmas’ but in reality all anybody cares about is making more money at Christmas! It just commerce these days and everything else is platitudes. Where’s that bloody Christmas message gone to anyway? Does anybody remember that there used to be a reason to celebrate Christmas other than to buy presents and eat turkey? No, leave me alone, with ‘Merry Christmas’ this year!”
“Neil!” my sister scolded.
“Susan,” I said a bitter softer. “Go and celebrate your Christmas and let me celebrate mine. I’ll be coming over when all the kids are there on Boxing Day.”
“Celebrate it,” Susan repeated. “But you won’t celebrate, you will sit here brooding. One day it will be the end of you, you know.”
“Then just leave me alone, will you?” I asked. “As if we ever had a peaceful Christmas! See what good you get from going though the motions like every year.”
Susan smiled again, not unkindly.
“Oh, you can be such a beast! There’s so much good a celebration like this can give me, brother. Like the laughs I share with Mum in the kitchen or the kids screaming with laughter and all of you smiling and talking and just being there for once. So, I guess it will do me good and I think it would do you good, too.”
I said nothing and simply stood there, looking annoyed.
“Don’t be angry, Neil. Come with me; join us for dinner over there. And please come tomorrow. Phil and his wife will try to get here early.”
“No, I won’t come over with you. Not today and not tomorrow!” I refused her offer point blank.
“But why?” She sounded frustrated now. “Why?”
“Why did you get married?” I asked her instead of replying.
She blinked, irritated. “Because I fell in love.”
“Because you fell in love,” I sneered. “Now that’s almost as good as bloody ‘Merry Christmas’! Now leave me alone!”
“Neil, I don’t really see your point. You have never made such a fuss about Christmas before, so why start now?” Susan asked wearily.
“I fell in love too often,” I replied in a bitter voice. “And where has it got me? Nowhere! I’ll be alone on Christmas. Now thank you very much, but leave me alone!”
“How can you be so stubborn?” Susan shook her head in disbelief. “Well, you know, the offer is always standing, should you change your mind. Good night.”
She gave me one last look and then walked past me to the door. To the very same door through which I had pushed Stefan only moments before. It now felt like a whole lifetime ago. While she walked she called out: “Merry Christmas, Neil!”
“Leave me alone!” I snapped.
“And a Happy New Year as well, in case you won’t come to see us at all.”
“Leave me alone,” I repeated.
As Susan walked out of the door, another wave of cold air came rushing in and then the door felt shut with a thud. I was alone. Precisely what I had asked for.
I went back up the stairs and tore down all the branches of mistletoe and holly I could reach on the way.

Upstairs I stood in the sitting room for a while, gazing out of the window. It was so dark and foggy now that even the cars parked down there in yard had disappeared from view. Nevertheless I could hear children’s voices from somewhere below. Some of my nieces and nephews were skating on the thin ice coving the cobble stones. I switched the radio on but as soon as I heard the lines of ‘Do they know it’s Christmas time at all?’, I hit the off button again.
I continued going through my papers for some hours and when I was finally finished I was cold and stiff. I stifled a yawn and got up, again taking in the scenery outside. One could not see his outstretched hand out there in the dark. I pushed the thought from my mind that Stefan might be still out there, maybe at the train station waiting for a train that would come tomorrow morning. It must have gotten even colder, because little icy flowers had started to bloom on the window pane. When I breathed against the glass, it frosted over immediately. I went downstairs and fixed myself some dinner. It was rather gloomy, eating alone in the big kitchen with only silence as company. I read some newspapers, switched through the channels and finally extinguished the fire in the fireplace, switched all the lights off and went upstairs. It was so dark on the staircase that even though I knew the place by heart I had to feel my way up the landing. The air got chillier with every step I climbed and I wondered if I had forgotten to close a window somewhere. I made my way to my bedroom but when I reached out my hand to push the handle, dropped dead in my track.
Now you must know that there really isn’t anything unusual about the carving in the thick wood of the door. It is pretty large and not particularly handsome but it had been nicely done and showed a lion’s head made in great detail. You must also know that I had seen this carving countless of times, could have drawn a sketch of it from memory and was not drunk or even tipsy that night. Let me also assure you that I had not thought about Jeffrey since my friend Daniel had mentioned him briefly on the phone that morning.
So please explain to me how it was possible that when I put my hand down on the door handle I did not see the wooden lion’s head but Jeffery’s face?
Jeffery’s face! It was not hidden in the inky shadows that everything else seemed to be lost in but seemed to glow from within with a faint light similar to that of a night light. The face did not look angry or accusing, it looked almost exactly like it had always looked. Apart from the fact that it was now transparent and eerily still. I could not help but stare at my former friend’s ghostly face and suddenly and without warning all I was seeing was the wooden carving.
I was startled to say the least and my pulse had quickened but I took a deep breath and pushed the handle down resolutely. I did stop after I had closed the door behind me; I even turned the largely unused key to lock myself in which I had never done before. Then, after a moment of irresolution, I switched the lights on and went over to the windows to draw the curtains. I looked at the door again, half expecting to see the ghostly back of Jeffrey’s head sticking out of it but there was nothing but smooth wood.
I frowned, irritated with myself. Nevertheless I checked my bedroom and the adjoining bathroom thoroughly before I even considered undressing. The image of Jeffery’s face was still too fresh in my mind to do anything else.
Okay, bedroom, then the bathroom. All was as it should have been. There was nobody underneath the desk, nobody underneath the bed and the heater had been turned on and glowed quite reassuringly. There was the half empty bottle of water on the bedside table and a fresh glass next to it. There was the book I had been reading. My pyjama lay neatly folded on top of the pillow.
There was nobody in the bathtub, nobody behind the door or in the shower. The window was shut, it was pleasantly warm and my dressing gown hung from a hanger at the back of the door and looked a little like an empty straw puppet. When I was convinced that indeed all was as it should have been I went back into the bedchamber and started to undress. I put on my pyjama and then the dressing gown. I planned on sitting up for a little while reading and as my favourite chair stood right next to the window I wanted to be braced against the cold. I settled down comfortably and soon felt myself getting drowsy. I stared at the sentences and the letters blurred and shifted in front of my eyes. After a while I thought I could see Jeffery’s face in the patters of the words.
“What crap!” I mumbled and shook myself up and walked across the room. After crossing it several times I sat back down and absent-mindedly stared at the stereo system which stood on top of a small wooden table. While I watched the LEDs suddenly came to life and glowed faintly red and green. I was astonished first but that feeling quickly morphed into dread as I saw the volume control going up and then the room was filled with strange, disharmonious music. Every other stereo system in the house seemed to play the very same tune; the sound was quite defeating. The din might have lasted a minute or two but it seemed to me that it had gone on forever. Then, as suddenly as the noise had begun, it died again. All of the stereos fell quiet at once. Silence stretched on only for a heartbeat or two; then a clanking noise which seemed to come from downstairs, maybe even the cellar could be heard. It sounded as if somebody was dragging something made of metal behind him, some thick chain perhaps.
Didn’t the ghosts in the stories from my childhood carry chains as punishment, I asked myself distractedly.
A door flew open with a loud bang and that awful noise got louder and louder until I had the impression that it was coming right up the stairs, down that corridor and up to this door.
“What crap,” I muttered again. “This can not be!”
The colour had gone from my face despite of my brave words. The noise did not stop and whatever was causing it came right through the bedroom door and stepped into the room before my very eyes. The light bulb flickered as if it wanted to say: ‘I know who you are! Jeffrey’s ghost!’ and then went out.
There stood the man, the very same, I had known in my younger years. Black hair neatly cut, the shirt too big for his thin shoulders, the kind smile now sad. He really had been dragging a long, thick chain behind him and it was partly wrapped around his hips.
It seemed to be made of steel and I saw that there were strange objects attached to it.
I could make out packages of cigarettes and condoms and even letters and empty bottles. A guitar was carelessly slung around his shoulder, half caught up in his chains. Just like the face in the door, his whole body was transparent and I could see the ghostly outline of his ribs underneath Jeffery’s shirt.
I still could not believe this was happening; I could not trust my eyes. I stared at this… phantom in front of me; I looked right through it and still I did not believe what I saw.
“What do you want from me?” I asked defiantly.
“A lot,” came the cryptic answer. And yes, it was Jeffery’s voice, there was no mistaking it. Still I heard myself asking the next question: “Who are you?”
“Ask me who I was.”
“Okay, who were you then?” I asked; feeling slightly annoyed being lectured by a ghost.
“In my life I was your friend, Neil Francis Tennant.”
“Can you sit down?” I asked.
“Of course I can.”
“Please, take a seat then,” I offered. I guess I asked this rather stupid question to buy some time, to get my brain to work again and to pretend this was all perfectly normal.
Jeffery’s ghost sat down in the chair opposite to the one I had been sitting in earlier and I sank back down into it gratefully. My knees felt suspiciously weak.
“You don’t believe it’s me,” the ghost observed.
“No, I don’t,” I admitted.
“And why don’t you, after you saw me with your own two eyes and heard me speak with your own two ears? What proof do you need apart from the fact that every single one of your senses tells you it’s really me?” the ghost asked.
“I… I don’t know.” I stuttered. “I don’t believe in ghosts. Maybe I have simply gone mad. I have taken enough pills and had enough drinks to do some damage to my brain. Maybe that thing with Stefan has pushed me over the edge,” I said sarcastically. I was musing in order to keep my mind busy, to keep me from being totally terrified by that ghostly and yet familiar voice.
“Oh fuck,” I cursed. “I can’t believe this! I’m most likely talking to an empty chair! Such crap”
Jeffery laughed and the sound raised the hairs on my arms and neck and I felt fear knocking the air out of my lungs.
The ghost started to howl and shook its chain so forcefully that it made such a loud and dreadful noise that I covered my ears with me hands and bowed my head.
“Please, stop it. It’s horrible,” I pleaded.
“Do you believe it’s me after all, you stubborn idiot?”
“Yes, I do. I have no other choice, haven’t I?” I answered.
The ghost laughed again and made a quick motion with his hand and the chains and the strange objects attached to it vanished. Only the guitar remained. It laughed again when it saw my confused face expression.
“Well, Neil, I’m not Marley’s ghost and you are not Scrooge,” Jeffery explained.
Was I mistaken or was there a hint of amusement in that voice?
“I’m not chained to Earth for all eternity for some terrible crime I committed while I was still alive. I do not walk the city streets, mourning deeds I should have done. And I am not haunting you. Apart from tonight.”
When he said that, Jeffery grinned and it was that particular expression on his transparent face – the way his lips curved and the fine wrinkles around his eyes deepened – that made me believe him.
“Jeffery!” I could only whisper his name for fear I would start crying if I said it aloud, the way I used to say it so casually each and every day in what seemed to be a different life.
“Yes,” he confirmed and his smile turned sad again.
“I’m sorry if I frightened you; that wasn’t part of the plan. But you know how much I loved ‘The Christmas Carol’ and I simply couldn’t resist the opportunity.”
He regarded me for a while but as I said nothing, he continued in a quiet voice.
“I’m here to give you a warning. Please listen to what I have to say and don’t take it lightly. This is no joke. Even ghosts do not have any time to waste.”
I only nodded; my mouth had gone so dry that I could not speak.
“You have messed up and if you don’t make up for it, something bad will happen. You will be responsible for a lot of hurt. But it is not too late yet, Neil, you can change the path you’ve taken. Think about what is really important for you, what is dear to you. Treat it with respect. Be kind. You were such a good friend, don’t lose that. Think about the choices you have made. Are there any you regret? Don’t sit here and be bitter about it, you’ve got time to make up for it. Do it, old friend, do it for your own peace of mind.
I will leave you now and I hope I have fulfilled my mission but if I failed you will be haunted by three spirits which will come to you when you least expect them to. The first one will appear at the stroke of one on the very day you truly have convinced yourself that this conversation never occurred. The second one will come to you the night after that at the same time and the third the night after that when the last stroke of twelve had faded.”
I nodded gravely and tried to reach out for him but my hand went right through his. Again he smiled sadly and got up slowly.
“Don’t expect to see me again, I must be going. And from where I will go there is no returning. Take care of yourself and don’t forget what I have told you!”
Jeffery walked over to the window and the closer he got, the more the window opened up. The bitter wind made the curtains flap and send shivers down my spine. I watched him as he sort of floated upwards and out of the window. He did not turn and soon had faded completely into the darkness. I thought I heard an echo of a song Jeffery had once played on the same battered guitar which he had carried with him tonight. Thought I heard him sing the words ‘I find it very, very easy to be true, I find myself alone when each day is through, because you’re mine I walk the line’ and they repeated themselves over and over in my mind.
The window crashed down with a bang but the glass was not damaged by the force. I went over to the window and put my forehead against the cold glass. I felt tiered and slightly feverish and only then realized then that I was trembling. The yard below was dark and deserted. There was no sound to be heard.
I continued to stare into the pitch blackness of this freezing night and the harder I stared the more I was convinced that I saw more transparent people gliding through the mist but then the moon was covered by a huge cloud and the little light that had illuminated the yard died. I could see nothing anymore, not even phantoms. I drew the curtain and then checked the door. It was still locked and the key was still in the keyhole.
I almost muttered: “Crap!” under my breath but caught myself just in time. By then I felt so exhausted that I went straight to bed. I did not bother to remove the dressing gown or my socks. I drew the covers tight around me and fell asleep immediately.

I was woken up the monotone beeping of my alarm clock. It was late morning, 9 o'clock to be precise, on Christmas Day. There had been no further disturbances during the night; I had not even been troubled by bad dreams. In the light of day, however bleak it was, everything that had happened yesterday before I went to sleep seemed totally unreal. I shook my head, trying to figure out if I had been dreaming or not and whenever I thought I had made my mind up one way or the other, I found a new argument and started my silent debate again. I got out of bed and shivered. The heating had gone down during the night and as the temperature had not risen much after sunrise, it was quite chilly in my room and possibly even more chilly outside than it had been during the previous day. I thought and thought and it irritated the hell out of me that I could not figure out this riddle. Had I only been dreaming or had all of it been real? Jeffery, eternally young and handsome but transparent and saddened by things I had done.
Was my conscience coming up with such strange measures to tell me that something was amiss or did I really have a supernatural visitor? My guts told me that it had been real; my heart desperately wanted it to be real, if only to be able to treasure one more memory of Jeffery. My mind rebelled against this notion and insisted that indeed it was crap to even entertain the thought that it might be real.
This paradox did not leave me all day and for many days and weeks and months to follow.
I did not change my mind about not celebrating Christmas, though. I spent it alone in my house, with only my dog for company. I went over to see my sister and the rest of our family on Boxing Day as I had promised but could not get into the spirit of things. I was irritable and absent-minded and avoided wishing people a Merry Christmas as much as I could.
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Dead as a doornail