Friendship never dies, literally in this case.

Jerry came back again. The man just won’t stay buried.

I’ve tried everything, too. Heavy stones on the coffin, burial facing upside-down, spring flowers, wooden stake, nothing works.

He always comes back, walking right in through the front door. No matter how well I lock it, it always swings wide open for him. He stands there, clods of dirt and little bits of rotten flesh dropping onto the carpet, the smell wafting through the room. I’ve lost my lunch several times in the past year, every time he comes to visit.

The worst part is the smile. The warm smile he has, that he’s always had. It’s the same smile I remember from college, when both of us were the best of friends. Before we met Olivia. Before we fought over her. Before I took a shovel to Jerry’s head for the first, and what I believed to be the last, time. He always stands and smiles and looks ever-so-pleased to see me.

“Robert!” He always says in what would be a warm tone if his vocal cords weren’t half gone.

The first time it happened, I threw up, panicked, and ran from the room. He tried to follow me around asking what was wrong, did I need anything. I finally hacked him into bloody bits with an axe in a fit of blind panic.

The next time he showed up, he was whole again, but not exactly all better. I hacked him up again. And again. And several more times.

Eventually, I learned not to panic whenever he shows up again. I invite him in, treat him to brandy and cigars (the brandy and the smoke running out through the holes in his chest. That’s when I really have to fight to keep myself from throwing up), and talk to him. While we talk, I think up a new way to kill him. I’m starting to run out of ideas now, at least ones that don’t involve some sort of ridiculous device to pull off.

I used to think Jerry showing up at the door again was the worst thing that could ever happen to me. After talking to him, I realized how wrong I was. Problem is, Jerry is always genuinely pleased to see me. He doesn’t even seem to realize he’s dead; he talks like he was just away on some long trip and come back to tell me what a wonderful time he had and how much he missed everyone. Then when I kill him, there’s always that look in his eyes. That same not-angry-but-betrayed expression; a look of shock and amazement. He’s always looked at me like that, ever since the very first time I killed him. And it always hurts every time I have to put him down again. Then he shows up looking worse and acting like nothing ever happened. He sits down, trusting his old friend implicitly. And I kill him.

Over and over.

I’m not sure just how much of this I can take. After the last time I killed him, I just stood and stared. Not at Jerry, but at the weapon in my hands. I stared for a long, long time. Maybe I can make it right. Maybe I can amend for my mistake.

And even if I can’t, I’m sure Jerry and I could spend a lot of quality time together.