Deadman’s Party
I'm all dressed up with nowhere to go,
Walking with a dead man over my shoulder,
Waiting for an invitation to arrive,
Going to a party where no one's still alive.
So you wish to know what happens at a deathday party? I would say it is pretty much the same as any living party: there’s food, music, those popular men that always crash (and get all the ladies’ attention), that one annoying guy that tries to talk to you no matter how uninterested you make yourself out to be.
Actually, not many people have a deathday party. Some of us are too miserable to come together and remember that once we actually had bodies and could breathe and sleep and gorge ourselves on food. In fact, unlike birthday parties, where you are only guaranteed to have so many in a lifetime, your deathday comes around year after year after year until suddenly centuries have gone by. I am not even sure what the purpose of a deathday party is--what are you celebrating? Oh, wow, you have made it another year through death; congratulations, you’re still dead. Is it an achievement, really, to have been dead for five centuries? Not that I would understand having been dead that long--I have only made it a quarter of a century. But I know that quite a few of the older ghosts don’t even venture out into the world, let alone attend a party.
At any rate, the only party ever worth going to is one where Sir Patrick shows up, and because he likes spontaneity, you never know when or where he will decide to make an appearance. So anyone with half an ethereal brain will attend every party in hopes they will see Sir Patrick.
Which is how I found myself attending Sir Nicholas’ five-hundredth deathday party, much to my dismay (and later, great joy).
I have often been asked by those who know about deathday parties why everything is gloomy and black. Let’s be honest here: we can’t even see color, and any kind of atmosphere is pretty much going to appear the same to us. Hence the really cheap black candles and rotting food and terrible orchestra--I mean, who is going to spend money for a bunch of dead people who can’t even appreciate all the different colors and decorations?
As for that orchestra…strangely enough, you don’t even notice what it sounds like. Without any nerves in our spiritual bodies, we can’t even really twinge at the noises coming from the instruments.
I can, however, still get a headache from pompous men like Sir Nick.
If you didn’t already know, Nicholas has been trying for the past five centuries to get accepted as part of the Headless Hunt, an organization of headless ghosts that do all sorts of interesting sports. I can’t for the death of me understand why he keeps trying. I mean, we all agree that he should give up--he is never going to be headless, no matter how hard he tries. Plus, it doesn’t even seem like his type of organization to get involved with. I think he belongs more with the Dead Poets’ Society than with the Headless Hunt, to be honest. The Wailing Widow of Kent tried to explain, though, that men often try to get what they can’t have. It has something to do with their ego complex. Which is all fine and dandy, but I still don’t understand why then he must complain about it to everybody and try to enlist them to help him out. He needs to lighten up and have more optimism like Sir Patrick.
I could tell that a party for Sir Nick was not going to be a cheer festival.
The orchestra began to play its first few notes to signify the party was starting, and I did my best to hide from Sir Nicholas while conversing with others excitedly on whether Sir Patrick would be arriving. All those I talked with were convinced he would show, because Nick had been denied, once more, access to the Headless Hunt Association.
–I wonder if he will have any new tricks to show us this time around,†Sir Alfred said. –I particularly enjoyed the bowling alley match three years ago.â€
–Perhaps we will be treated this year to a game of Headless Polo,†Ingeborg of Storslett mused, and the crowd around her nodded eagerly.
I myself was hoping to witness everything Sir Patrick could do with his head, and I was so engrossed with all the speculation that I let my guard down.
–Lady Beryl, it is a pleasure to see you here,†a deep voice commented behind me. Rats! He had found me.
–I’ll thank you to just call me Miss Edgewood, Sir Mimsy-Porpington,†I harshly replied. –I am no Lady, nor do I ever want to be.â€
–Would you care to dance?†he asked, his tone suggesting that everyone else was giving him a wide berth.
–I am waiting for Sir Patrick, thank you very much. Besides, you dance like a porcupine on steroids.â€
I glided right past him, laughing inside at the confusion written all over Nick’s face. I didn’t get to enjoy my victory for long, though--at that moment, Moaning Myrtle crossed my path, and suddenly I was bombarded with fuzzy peanuts.
–PEEVES!†I screeched, mentally making a note to never show up to a Hogwarts’ party again.
The poltergeist laughed nastily and blew me a raspberry before zooming off after Myrtle. Grumbling about the disrespect of some people, I decided to make my way to the food table. I wondered if maybe this time, I would actually be able to taste the hors d’oeuvres.
Unfortunately, I saw Sir Nick at the table, talking to some little kids, and I realized that I wasn’t hungry, and hadn’t actually been hungry for the past twenty-five years.
The orchestra abruptly stopped, and a hunting horn could be heard ringing throughout the dungeon. I clapped my hands excitedly, knowing at once that Sir Patrick had arrived.
The Headless Hunt rode in on beautiful silver horses, and at the very front was him, the very man of the hour. He leapt off his horse and held up his severed head high and proudly to survey the crowd. We all laughed and began to clamber together to get a better look. (Let it be known that, yes, we ghosts can and will push each other. I once was elbowed in the gut, and I still have the phantom marks to prove it. It doesn’t hurt…much.)
Sir Nicholas was very displeased as Patrick greeted him loudly. His expression only darkened when Sir Patrick put on a little show of astonishment at the children next to Nick, though we all could not help ourselves from howling hysterically when Patrick’s head fell to the floor.
Clearly aggravated, Sir Nicholas tried to regain the attention of the crowd by shouting something about a speech, but I couldn’t care less what he was saying. Sir Patrick and his group started up a game of Head Hockey, and I wanted to see who would win.
The orchestra whipped itself into a frenzy as the Headless Hunt knocked each other’s heads around. Sir Patrick’s went sailing through the air, and we all cheered as loudly as we could.
When the game began to wind down, we all began to shout suggestions of what we wanted to see, and Sir Patrick so modestly obliged to some of our whims: he juggled, did headstands, and even did a round of shot-put.
Amidst all the fun, Sir Nicholas found his way to my side once more, and tried to engage me in conversation. I wonder if maybe he thought that because I was a younger ghost, I would want to actually hear about his troubles.
–Lady Beryl--â€
–Miss Edgewood,†I corrected him, grinding my teeth.
–Lady--†he attempted again, before I cut him off.
–I’m not talking to you. Go away.â€
–But--â€
–Seriously, get away from me. I want to watch Sir Patrick’s amazing display of head abilities.â€
–Will you not even grant me such a request whilst looking me in the eye?†he said in frustration.
–No, I don’t think I ‘willst,’†I mocked back, all the while clapping as Sir Patrick threw his head in the air and had it land neatly on his shoulders.
–Lady Beryl!†he said, indignant. Hurriedly, I rushed away to the other side of the mosh-pit that was now surrounding Sir Patrick.
The orchestra changed its tune to dance music, and soon we were all dancing with one another, and somehow, Sir Nicholas ended up as my partner. I tried to compose myself, but I could tell that he was dying to tell me something, and I did not want to listen. I decided to cut him off before he had gathered enough steam for whatever was on his mind.
–Sir Nicholas, I congratulate you on your five-hundredth deathday, and I commiserate with the fact that you are not headless, but I think you must let it go. Find something else to obsess about. Do you really want to spend eternity wishing your head had been properly severed?â€
I guess no one had ever thought to say that to him, as he looked taken aback. Although it went against my grain to be overly kind, I decided for a compassionate approach as I continued.
–You aren’t Sir Patrick, so stop moping about it. Join something that is more up your alley. I saw that you liked talking with those live children. Why don’t you focus on that, rather than being cantankerous every time Sir Patrick shows up at a party and your denied registration for the Headless Hunt?â€
He did not respond, although his expression did darken a little again. When the song ended, he did not stay to dance, and I wondered if anything I had said struck him.
A few minutes later, Sir Nicholas was announcing the party was over, and without another word, he just left the room, hopefully to ponder my words. The rest of us all sat around as Sir Patrick began to tell a tale of one of his many hunts, and we spent the rest of the evening laughing at all his misfortunes and travels.
I, however, began to think that maybe we had all selfishly pushed Sir Nick out of his own party. Maybe that’s why parties don’t occur all that often.
You wished to know what our parties resembled? Yeah, there’s food, music, those popular men that always crash (and get all the ladies’ attention), that one annoying guy that tries to talk to you no matter how uninterested you make yourself out to be.
But I suppose we really haven’t learned our lesson from when we were alive. We may mourn life, but we are still egocentric. Our parties are much too like living parties.
We effectively leave our soul at the door wherever we go.
It's a dead man's party,
Who could ask for more?
Everybody's coming, leave your body at the door--
Leave your body and soul at the door.
Deadman's Party by Nagini Riddle
Story Notes:
Thank you, once more, to my wonderful Beta, Vicki/Oregon!
The story follows the deathday party that occurred in CoS.
Chapter Endnotes: One more week until Halloween!!!!