disclaimer: all characters, rights, etc., to nick and craig bartlett.


How to be Dead

Chapter 2 - At the Bottom


A bright light dazzled Arnold's eyes as he tried to open them. Slowly his eyes focused, and the light was eclipsed by a round shape. The shape had a golden ring around it, like a halo. Who else was in his room? Grandma? But it was yellow, not white...wait...

"Helga?" he asked. The figure moved.

"Well, you're alive."

He sat up. "What happened?"

She sat Indian style on his bed. "You woke up. I was here. You fainted," she paused, "like a little girl."

"So I'm a girl. Original, Helga." He went into his closet, changing and trying to figure out exactly what part of the conversation didn't make sense, besides the fact that he was supposedly talking to someone who was dead. "If you're dead, why can't you find anyone more interesting to bug?"

"I dunno. Maybe because I had so much fun tormenting you as a child."

"Ha." He came out, fully dressed. She had moved over to the window and was staring out into the city. "So, what happened?"

"You fainted."

"I mean, how did you die?"

She turned, her eyes narrowed. "That's a little rude to ask, isn't it?"

"And being in someone's bedroom uninvited isn't?"

"Touche." She turned back to the window. "I don't remember."

"Is that a cop-out, or the truth?"

"The truth. I really don't remember how I died...or much before that. The last thing I remember was being at an airport."

"Grasshopper! Breakfast!" his grandmother called.

"So, is your grandma still bat-shit crazy?"

Arnold walked over to meet her eyeline. "Look, you've gotten your jollies in bugging me. Ha ha. Now go haunt someone else."

"Listen to me, I don't know why I'm here. I don't know how I got here. And I don't know how this works. And trust me, you are the last person I would want to spend my afterlife haunting. When I figure out how to get away from you, Hair Boy, trust me, I'll be gone before you can say 'boo,' but in the mean time, it appears you're stuck with me."

He groaned, and headed downstairs. He could feel her following him, although she made no sounds. This had to be a bad dream. He was sleepwalking. How was she, she of all people, here? Dead? He had to be hallucinating... he did a quick inventory over the food he had ate recently. nothing seemed unusual, though he never did learn to completely trust his grandmother's cooking.

"Grasshopper!" Grandma shouted.

"Seriously, have you had her checked out for dementia...or something?"

He spun around. "Alright, here are the rules: if you are going to follow me like a dog, than shut up, or at least lay off my grandma."

She narrowed her eyes, but after a pause agreed. Arnold sighed and entered the dining room. Ernie, Oskar, and Mr. Hyunh were already sitting (Susie and baby Oskar had left the boarding house long ago) and talking loudly, arguing over something trivial as usual. A few other borders also sat at the table, far away from the three obnoxious men. Arnold took his usual seat beside Ernie, and Helga stood in a corner, watching the scene with wide eyes.

"Shortman!" Grandpa cried as he entered the room juggling plates of meat, eggs, and toast. He sat them down and rumpled Arnold's hair playfully.

"God, what died in here?" Helga asked. Arnold shot her a dirty look.

"Arnold, why are you glaring at the wall?" Mr. Hyunh asked.

"Yeah, what did the wall ever do to you?" Ernie asked.

"Uh, I thought I saw a spider. I hate those things."

"Yeah, I saw it too! Big, ugly thing, look like Ernie's face," Oskar laughed. "Seriously, I want a discount on my rent since I'm living in an arcade-infested house."

"It's arachnid, Kokoshka, and you haven't paid rent in three months!" Grandpa yelled.

"It's the horses...they don't agree with me!"

"Get a job!" everyone yelled.

"Eat up!" Grandma yelled.

"Good God, Arnold, are you serious? I mean, your grandpa's not half bad and your grandma's at least entertaining, but what's with those three stooges, Shorty, Fatty, and Stupid."

"Helga," he muttered.

"You say something, Arnold? Speak up, boy!" Grandpa said.

"Yeah, speak up, Arnold. The old man's hearing's gone, just like his memory. I paid my rent!"

"I can hear like a bat, and I'm in better shape than you, Oskar! And maybe my memory is going, because I think it's been four months since you last paid any rent!"

The two continued arguing, and Helga continued her color commentary over the meal, going around the table and listing each person's faults and shortcomings. Her comments ranged from minor scrapes to deep wounds, or at least that's what they would have caused had her subjects been able to hear her. Arnold listened uncomfortable until a particularly scathing remark about Oskar caused him to snap. He stood up and threw an apple at the spot where Helga stood, forgetting that objects went through her. The apple hit the wall with a dull thud and fell quietly to the floor, but the slight noise was heard by everyone. The conversation had stopped once the fruit made contact with the wall.

"Uh, Arnold, you alright?" Grandpa asked after a very long moment of silence.

"Uh, Spider," he muttered. "I'm gonna finish this upstairs."


And so began his horrible weekend. Helga bugged him incessantly, ranging from mildly irritating him by talking non-stop while he tried to study to aggravating him at work to the point where he told her to shut the hell up and called her an annoying idiot. Of course, as he was the only person who could see her, his boss thought Arnold was talking to him. It was not a good night.

He found no sanctuary; she was everywhere. At home. At work. At Gerald's. Even at school, which he thought would be his refuge. She hated school when she was younger, but she seemed to (correctly) think it would be the place to provoke him the most. She was at her most annoying in English, a subject Arnold one time enjoyed but now hated. His teacher, annoying to begin with, believed that Hamlet was the end-all, be-all of literature. They had spent two months on the play, and now they were nearing midterms. Under different circumstances, Arnold would have enjoyed the dark tale, but all he thought was that Hamlet was boring, Ophelia needy, and he thanked God most died in the end. Helga, however, seemed to love the play as much as his teacher, and talked about it constantly.

"You know, whenever I think of Hamlet I think of poor Yorick," she said one day during class. "You know, it's his skull, and that's when Hamlet holds the skull, not during the 'To be/not to be' soliloquy."

"Fascinating," he muttered.

"Yes, Arnold, it is fascinating!" his teacher cried. Arnold rolled his eyes and shot Helga a dirty look, which a classmate thought was intended for her. She returned with a death glare of her own. Arnold sighed, cursing Helga in his head.

"It also reminds me of a song."

"Really..." he lowered his whisper to a near inhuman register.

"In your head, in your head, zombie, zombie, zombie-eh-eh. What's in your head, in your head, zombie, zombie, zombie-eh-eh-eh, oh oh oh oh. In your head, in your head, zombie, zombie, zombie-eh-eh. What's in your head, in your head, zombie, zombie, zombie-eh-eh. In your head, in your head, zombie, zombie, zombie-eh-eh. What's in your head, in your head, zombie, zombie, zombie-eh-eh-eh, oh oh oh oh. In your head, in your head, zombie, zombie, zombie-eh-eh. What's in your head, in your head, zombie, zombie, zombie-eh-eh. In your head, in your head, zombie, zombie, zombie-eh-eh. What's in your head, in your head, zombie, zombie, zombie-eh-eh-eh, oh oh oh oh. In your head, in your head, zombie, zombie, zombie-eh-eh. What's in your head, in your head, zombie, zombie, zombie-eh-eh. In your head, in your head, zombie, zombie, zombie-eh-eh. What's in your head, in your head, zombie, zombie, zombie-eh-eh-eh, oh oh oh oh. In your head, in your head, zombie, zombie, zombie-eh-eh. What's in your head, in your head, zombie, zombie, zombie-eh-eh."

"STOP!"

Arnold's face burned like the sun as he felt every pair of eyes in his English class stare at him, including those belonging to his very surprised and livid teacher.

"Arnold, am I upsetting you in some way?" she asked.

"Um...no...sorry, I was....erm...Can I get a drink?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Sure, if that will prevent more rude outbursts."

"Yes, it will..."

He rushed out, and Helga, of course, followed close behind. he ducked into an empty supply closet. "Wow, you know, there are classes for anger management."

"I don't have anger issues except when it comes to you. Why are you still here?"

"For the last time, Hair Boy, I DON'T KNOW."

"Okay, well, maybe you can answer this: why are you making my life a personal hell?"

"Isn't that what ghosts do?" she asked.

"I don't care what ghosts do or don't do. Why are you doing all this to me?"

"So everything bad that has happened is my fault?"

"YES!"

She paused. "Well, maybe you made my life hell, and I'm just repaying the favor."

He groaned. "That's real mature, Helga."

"I think you are just being ridiculous, Arnold, and are trying to find an outlet for all your pain and misfortune by blaming someone else for your problems, when really they are all your own."

"That's ridic-" he stopped as the door opened. A scruffy janitor stared back at him, clearly realizing that Arnold had been talking to "himself."

"Er-is this not the bathroom?" Arnold asked lamely.

"No. And don't think I don't know what you kids do in here...either with someone or alone..."

Helga laughed hysterically, and Arnold rushed out, embarrassed beyond any other situation in his life.


Six days. Six days. with his own personal poltergeist, and he was cracking up. He'd quickly gotten used to others thinking he'd gone crazy, since he had spent a majority of the week talking to "himself" and doing other weird things, but he was beginning to believe it was true. The day before he had been called into the guidance office at school, where it was recommended that he see a shrink for his "unusual and disturbing behavior" over the past week. He sidestepped the issue by blaming stress over his English exam and the crushing weight of college, but in the back of his head a small voice whispered that it wouldn't be a bad idea. If not a shrink, a priest or something. His mind had reached its breaking point. Even in the moments she was gone he found no rest; he never knew when she would return. She was his pendulum. She was his madness. She was...

Here.

He didn't even need to look up anymore. He could sense her. His body filled with dread and anger, and he suddenly felt tired when she arrived. "Go away," he muttered, his words muffled by his arms as he sat with his head on his open English book.

"If only it were that simple," she remarked.

"Stop saying that. Just stop talking. If you have to be here, can't you just be quiet? God, I'm thinking that I'm the one who died and this is hell."

"Maybe. It's just as likely as any other explanation."

He pulled his head up and looked at her. She sat beside him on his desk and played with the ribbon tied on her wrist. "Why do you wear that?" he asked.

"I thought I wasn't allowed to talk."

He sighed. "I don't know anymore. I'm just so tired."

"So go to bed. It's 2 am on a Sunday. Why are you up?"

"I have test tomorrow in English, and I've been so worried about you all week that I haven't studied. And I can't find my damn study guide."

"So let me help. I'm kinda a bad-ass at English, especially Shakespeare."

"Thanks, but no thanks. Don't you think you've helped enough this week?" he turned back to his book.

"You know what, you're right. I'm bored with you anyways, and if I could leave, Football Head, I would. So just give me a damn book, and I'll stay out of your way."

He tossed a random book from his desk at her, and returned to his studies, turning up his copy of Hamlet on tape up as loud as it could go, ignoring the flashing battery light on his iPod. She sulked off into a corner, and he was barely aware of her...or that sleep crept up at him. Regardless, his the irritating buzzing of his alarm woke him up. Happy it was not the irritating buzzing of Helga's voice, he rose only to find that he had yet to study for his test. The test he needed to ace to keep his average, to get a good scholarship and go away to college.

"Helga?" he asked as he rushed into the closet. No answer; she didn't hide her presence from him, not when she could bug him. Something about last night bugged him, but he had more pressing issues to worry about.

The ride to school was a blur. He frantically looked over his notes, but they could have been written in Chinese for all he understood. Minutes ticked by like seconds, and he found himself panicking in English class, staring at a blank test as time kept slipping.

"You know, you could have just let me help."

Not now, he thought, hoping somehow she could read his mind. He looked up from his seat. Helga was sitting on his teacher's desk, watching her grade papers.

He looked up at her, glaring.

She shrugged, pushing a stack of papers onto the floor. His teacher looked at the vent, thinking a burst of air pushed the papers off the desk. She picked them up, but not before Helga maneuvered them, leaving a rather thick packet on top. "Huh, number one is A." She stood up and walked over to him. "Two is C. Three is also C. Four is B..."

"I'm not going to cheat," he muttered.

"You're right, you're too boring and noble to do that," she said.

Arnold returned to his test. Shut up, shut up, shut up!

She leaned toward him and whispered in his ear, "As you wish," she whispered, sending a shiver down his spine.

Okay, forget her...test...college...important! Pick two essay topics out of five...blah blah blah.... He looked over the five choices. He couldn't connect his brain to most of the questions, but two seemed to hit him over the head...Ophelia's love and suicide in Hamlet...he didn't know how, but he wrote like a fiend, providing detail after detail to support his answers. It was a tough ending, but he finished before the bell, with no time to spare and no Helga.

He bounced from the room, glad to have that weight lifted off his shoulders. Gerald caught up with him. "So, how'd the test go? Finally ready to stop obsessing about it and be normal again?"

"Gerald, you know what it means..."

"Average, college, scholarship, blah blah blah. Arnold, you're fine, even if you slip a little on one test. Live a little, will ya?"

The weekend flew by. A few parties, work, and Arnold found himself having a great time after a week of hell. Helga, for whatever reason, has absent for the entire time, disappearing after her show in English. She didn't resurface for a few days, until Arnold received his English exam back. Excited about his score, he went home to boast to his grandparents, and there she was, waiting for him in his room, reading a very worn book. She sheepishly put it aside when he entered the room. "So, Hair Boy, what's shaking?"

He was too happy to remember that he was perpetually mad at her. "See for yourself." He tossed the test to her and flopped on the bed.

"Wow, a 97. 'Excellent essays.'" He could hear her flipping through the pages. "I'll say these are excellent essays."

"Thanks."

"I mean, they're mine, so they would be great."

He sat up. "What are you talking about?"

"These are my essays. These are my words." She throw the packet at him. "Does this sound like you wrote it? You're welcome, by the way."

He grabbed the test and read it quickly. She was right' it didn't sound like his words. The essays, though written in his hand, were composed of a flowing, almost poetic language that he would never be able to write. He saw words that he didn't even understand, analogies he could never imagine, and details that he could never remember.

This was not his work.

"How--this is your essay?"

"Pretty much. I mean, there are some lame and weak moments that are clearly yours, but yeah, it's mine."

"How? How could I have written an essay using your words? Did you possess me or something?"

"I don't think I can do that...Wanna try?"

"NO! Seriously, how did this happen? How did your words end up in my head?"

"You wouldn't let me help you, and you were freaking out so much. I just wanted to help."

"What did you do?"

"You threw your social studies book at me, and it had your study guide in it. I read over the questions, including the essays, and read out loud what I would write, hoping it would stick in your subconscious and help you." She shrugged. "I guess it worked."

He eyed her carefully, trying to remember that night. "But I was listening to my copy of the play...how could I hear you?"

"You battery died. By the by, it's really annoying when you listen to your iPod that loud when someone else was in the room. I could hear everything. Very rude."

"Shit. Oh God, this cannot be happening!"

She watched him pace the room. "What are you talking about? You just got an amazing grade on a test. Do you want to celebrate by watching me do stuff to people?"

"Helga, don't you realize the seriousness of this situation?"

"Fine, you can get a sundae or something lame. I'm telling you, it could be feh-un."

He stopped in front of her. "Helga, I just cheated on a test."

"You didn't cheat on a test, you just...got help."

"That's cheating."

"It would be cheating if another person helped you, but I clearly am not a person. Loophole."

"Helga, you realize I have to tell someone about this. I have to turn myself in, and that means I'll get a zero, which jeopardizes my chances at getting a good scholarship and going to a good college."

"All that from this? You're telling me that I ruined your future?"

"Yes."

She stared at him for a moment. "College is overrated."

"HELGA!"

"Arnold, you are the one getting in your way. You wouldn't let me help you. You are too noble to accept my help in a round-about way."

"Round-about, it's CHEATING!"

"So you are really going to turn yourself in? Of course you are," she answered her own question. She stared at him for a while, a strange look in her eye. He had always been terrible at reading her.

He sat down, feeling exhausted and defeated. "I'm sorry you find my morals and ethics so deplorable."

"I'm sorry you find me so vexatious."

He didn't answer her. He couldn't deny it.

"Now what?"

"Tomorrow I will turn myself in and face the consequences."

"Arnold, you didn't cheat. At least not on purpose."

"It's not right, Helga."

"Neither is this holier-than-thou martyr schtik you got going on. C'mon, Arnold, give yourself a break."

"My mind is made up."

"Then I'll leave you to your thoughts." She moved to the other side of the room, laying on her back and staring out the sunroof.

Sleep did not come easy that night, and Arnold found himself soon in English, explaining that he cheated on the test, although he glossed over the details. His teacher explained that he would receive a zero, leaving the best grade he could receive in the class at a C. He accepted this fate, but he was determined not to let Helga ruin anything else.

She followed him out of the room, having listened to the entire conversation. "Wow, Arnold, just when I think you can't get any less normal, you do something like this. You should be studied: boy who lacks the teenager gene."

"Buzz off, Helga."

"Manly. So, that's settled. Now what?"

"What do you mean, now what?" He was getting good at talking out of the side of his mouth.

"What should we do now? I'm still up for watching me throw stuff at people. You know, it's strange that I can touch inanimate objects, but not people. And anything you throw at me doesn't hit me."

"Helga, I can't think of anything I care about less than the physics of your ghostliness."

"Arnold, it was a mistake. I shouldn't have done that, I'm sorry."

"Too late, Helga."

"Arnold--"

"ARNOLD!"

Helga and Arnold both turned to the speaker. "Lila?" they both asked, her with utter disbelief.

"Arnold, I just heard that you cheated on your English test? Is it true?"

"Pry much?" Helga muttered.

"Yeah, I did. But I just turned myself in."

"Oh, Arnold, that's ever so disappointing, although I'm glad to hear that you did the right thing. What happens now?"

"I don't know."

She put a hand on his shoulder. "I'll be thinking about you, Arnold. Let me know if there is anything I can do to help."

"Thanks." She left, and Arnold could feel his cheeks redden. He forgot about his audience.

"Lila?! Lila's still around? And you still like her? Jesus Christ! And I thought you were pathetic before."

"I'm not pathetic, Helga. And she's just a friend who cares about me. Unlike some people."

"If that's a shot at me, it's a pretty weak one."

"Right, because you're a cold-hearted witch."

"And what's Lila? A freakin' Care Bear?"

"She's just a friend, Helga. Let it go, though on second thought, why do you care so much?"

"I don't care about you, she bothers me. Always did."

"And I never understood why, and now I really don't care. I'm late for class."

She followed him, but he hardly noticed her. She was there, lurking in the corners in his classes, but she was deep in thought and ignored him. It was the first moment of peace he had had for a few days.

He went to lunch, happier than he had been in days, despite the whole English debacle. He felt light. For whatever reason, he had shut up the ghost, and he planned to figure out what upset her so much.

He walked with his tray full food: water, soup, and a sandwich, toward his normal table. Lila moved in his direction, smiling. He smiled back and thought about what a good person she was, especially in comparison to the girl he had been dealing with.

Wait, Helga...

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her beside him. He turned to check and see what she was doing, but suddenly he was on the ground; someone else's lunch had fallen from the table beside him and crashed to the ground. He and Lila slipped, and his tray flew forward.

Lila was on the ground, her white t-shirt now see-through and her skirt above her hips, exposing her underwear. Arnold looked away quickly, but he knew he was the only one. The rest of the cafeteria stared and laughed at her. Friends rushed to her aid, pushing him away as he tried to apologize like a bumbling idiot. They told him he had already done enough, and they helped a sobbing and red-faced Lila from the floor.

He bolted as he watched Lila disappear into a bathroom. He didn't care. He had to get away. He rushed out of the cafeteria, out of the school, and into the busy street outside. He knew she was following him. She was always following him when he wished she would disappear.

"You're cutting school? Are you sure that's wise, given your recent cheating episode?"

"I have to get away from here; actually, get you away from other people."

"It's no big deal, Old Sport."

"Do big deal? You humiliated her! And what did she do to you? Why did you do that, Helga?"

"It was an accident, Arnold!"

"That was no accident, and we both know that."

"What do you want me to say, Arnold? I'm sorry that you are clumsy and tripped on cafeteria food? What can I do to get you to stop looking at me like I'm Frankenstein's monster?"

"Just go away, Helga. You ruined my childhood, can't I have my teenage years in peace? God, I used to think that there was more to you than a bully, that you were just insecure, but I see that's wrong. You're vindictive, mean, and destructive. Why couldn't you have just died? You've done enough damage haunting. Go to hell, literally."

He stepped backwards into the street, trying to get away from her. Her eyes widened as he moved, and she began waving her arms at him. Everything slowed down. He could hear Helga shouting hysterically. The tires screeching. His legs couldn't work. He watched the car come near him. He thought of his life. Of his grandparents...his parents...Gerald...his childhood at PS 118...playing baseball...high school...his first kiss...his crushes...everything he wanted yet to do.

So this is how it ends...


Disclaimer #2: all rights to the cranberries for "zombie."