His eyes snapped open. He shook his head and blinked his eyes. He looked around. To his surprise, he was standing beside his wife Laura Hardy and his teenage sons Frank and Joe Hardy. His sister Gertrude stood beside Joe. Laura was crying and Frank and Joe had eyes cast downwards, grief on their faces.
World-renown private detective Fenton Hardy looked around and discovered himself to be at a funeral.
"Oh no," he thought. "I fell asleep standing up at a funeral. How embarrassing!" They were outside. The casket had not been lowered yet.
Fenton looked around. No one had seemed to notice his momentary lapse of consciousness. No one was even looking in his direction. A bit relieved, he turned to his wife to put a comforting arm around her. As he moved, he tried to remember who it was who had died. But try as he did, he could not remember.
"I'm really going to have to see someone about this," he thought to himself as he wrapped an arm around his wife.
He nearly lost his balance. In horror, he realized that his arm had gone right through her body!
He stood frozen for a minute then reached out to touch her again, hoping that he had dreamt it. But no, he discovered in shock, his arm went right through her.
"I must be dreaming," he thought. "Hello! Laura? He said quietly, leaning sideways to his wife. Laura did not even acknowledge that he had spoken. He looked around. He hated to create a scene at a funeral, but he considered it necessary.
"Hello? Frank? Joe? Ezra? Sam? Gertrude? Anyone!" he shouted, but no one even looked up. They remained silent, looking down at the closed casket, grief written all over their faces.
Whose funeral was this?
"Daddy?"