On a Wednesday, the sun came up to shine its light upon the world, but at Green Pine House, the future looked as dark as a night with no moon.
In room fourteen, the nurses, nurse assistants, and the doctor were doing their best to bring Mr. Santana back from the dead.
"If this old fart dies, we will all be unemployed within a month," reminded a nurse. She was exhausted. Doing CPR was a tiring exercise.
"Well, I think we better be finding another job," said the doctor.
He knew the man was dead, but his job at Green Pine House was easy. Most of the time, the only calls he got were about insignificant health issues, and if something was really bad, he just needed to call an ambulance and send the patient to the hospital. Getting a call at three in the morning was a weird event. This nursing home had a low density of patients; most of them used to be people with money, so the place had to have a good quality of life and enough personnel. Also, the pay was good; as a semi-private institution, the management was private, but the financing came from the government, so his pay check was juicy and always on time. The main reason for that was that Mr. Santana was the father of the manager. This was an excellent job position that he did not want to lose.
That was the reason why, although the old man was as dead as a door nail, the doctor and nurses desperately tried to restart his heart. It didn't matter if he ended up as a potato; the important thing was making that heart pump. However, they didn't make it. When the emergency service ambulance made it to the nursing home, and after a few extra rounds of failed CPR, Mr. Santana was declared dead.
The emergency services personnel left. The nursing home doctor called the family of the deceased and the funeral home; after that, he sat down to fulfill the defunct certificate.
The environment at the nursing home was somber and quiet. The workers and some of the patients who knew about the situation that might develop in the future were worried. Meanwhile, the ghosts that also roamed around the nursing home were scared out of their minds. The worst-case scenario, meaning the closing down of the institution, would condemn them all, and there was nothing they could really do about it.
"This is bad," said Martin.
"Bad is a hangover; this is terrible," Ramon added to the pessimism.
"Well, there is nothing we can do. We will have to wait and see." Shana said, walking towards room fourteen. There was a new ghost in the home, and she was about to do the welcoming once again.
"Hello, Mr. Santana." Shana greeted the old man, who was still a bit confused and shocked to see his own dead body being handled by the nursing home workers.
"Hello, and who are you?" The old man asked.
"I am Shana; nice to meet you. I'm like you, a ghost; we all are. Welcome to the afterlife."
After the usual introductions and some explaining, Mr. Santana came to partially accept that he was, in fact, dead. It wasn't so hard; he was old, and he knew it was a matter of time. He just didn't expect to live over one hundred years. Although the last six years didn't count, his dementia was too advanced for him to remember anything.
"We have some people you might know here." Shana signaled to the other ghost.
"Oh my god, Wilma? Martin?, Jesus, its been a long time; when did you guys die?" Asked Mr. Santana.
"Not too long ago, my old friend, you were just too insane to remember us," answered Martin with a smile.
"Good to see you, Josue." Greeted Wilma.
Slowly, Josue Santana was introduced to the reality of his new existence: the limitations of being a ghost, the deadly trap in which they were forced to stay, the munchers, how things worked—everything that needed to be known was explained to the newcomer.
"This is Elizabeth." Shana did the introductions.
"Oh, my darling, such a beautiful-looking lady, so young; how old are you, my dear?"
Contrary to John, Mr. Santana's words and gaze were those of an old, lovely grandfather who looked at his grandchildren with care and worry. In the case of Elizabeth, the old men felt it was a shame she died so young.
"I'm old, not as old as you, but quite old, but I was just sixteen when I died, if that is your question." Elizabeth answered with a smile.
"Oh, so sad, a whole life ahead of you, such a shame," said the old man.
Shana explained to Mr. Santana some details about Elizabeth and how helpful she was; after that, they moved to Willy's room.
"This is crying Willy."
Willy just lifted up his head for a few seconds, looked at the old man, and went back to his position without saying a word.
"Excuse him, he is not very friendly." Shana apologized. "Come; I will show you the pantry"
While they moved away, Mr. Santana was trying to organize his memories. The robed man, with his sad, about-to-cry face, called his attention for some reason. However, Shana's explanations about the pantry were more important, so he forgot about it quickly.
"This is the only place that might be safe at the moment. I hope we don't have a muncher attack anytime soon, but if we do, this is your best chance until Elizabeth can work with her new host." Shana was done with the introductions and explanations.
After they were done explaining the ins and outs of this new form of existing, Martin, Wilma, Ramon, and Shana introduced Josue to the news of what might happen in the future.
"Those little blood-sucking parasites," Josue cursed.
It wasn't anything new; he knew that of all his three sons and his daughter, only Adrian was smart and would not destroy his legacy or his small fortune. That was the reason why he left him to manage all of his business when he was too old and his mind was still sharp enough to make decisions by himself. However, he never thought that his son's greed would haunt him and put him in danger even after his death.
By the time Josue was updated about the situation and possible outcomes of his demise, it was already dark. At ten o'clock, the lights were flickering, the noises started, and some low-pitched wailing came from the walls. Josue, John, Wilma, and a few others took refuge in the pantry.
"How long do you think it will take for Mr. Santana's sons to come by?" Asked a nurse.
"By the way they acted and moved when he was hospitalized the last time, I am willing to bet they are on their way right now." A male nurse assistant said.
"Do you really think they are going to close down the place?" Asked a female nurse assistant.
"I am ninety-nine percent sure they will. Those guys were just waiting for the old man to die to take a bite of his fortune. But I am sure Adrian isn't just going to step aside and let them take whatever they want." The male assistant answered.
Josue was there, listening to the chitchat and the gossip. Later that night, while the personnel tried to rest the best they could, the ghosts talked among themselves. All projected their own view of what might happen and discussed the possible outcome. The sentiment wasn't positive in the group.
With the sunrise came a little bit of commotion. Like the workers discussed the night before, Mr. Santana's sons came with their lawyers in tow, supposedly to inspect the installation and ask about the residents of the nursing home.
The truth was, they wanted to make an estimation of the income of the institution and explore the value of the property. However, they were not a unified front; some badmouthing and guilt-tripping were used to try to make the others back off from claiming this property.
The nursing home was a good business; it didn't require too much attention, and the contract was linked to the government. Everyone knows the government never runs out of money, so it was a safe bet. Everyone wanted a piece of the old man cake, and the nursing home was the one with the cherry on top.
"Dear sister, how low of you to come here now that the old man is dead; you never worried about his health or visited when he was alive." One of Josue's sons said.
"Neither did you, little tramp," yelled Josue, although he knew the living could not hear him.
"Oh, Kelvin, go try your cheap psychological tricks with someone else. Everyone knows you never came to see the old man; cut the bullshit. By the way, are you still trying to find a job with that useless degree of yours? Don't worry; once I own this place, I might help you out and give you a job as a nurse assistant or something. You should at least be capable of washing an ass." The workers of the nursing home that heard the comment looked at the woman with spite.
"Oh Clara, please, a monkey would be a better manager than you. How many businesses have you already bankrupted? Four? Six? A business and a husband are two things you just can't keep in your hands." Kelvin's words clearly had some effect, as Clara was about to jump on him when her lawyer stopped her.
The third son present at the moment and his lawyer just kept themselves away from the quarreling brothers and watched the show.
The bickering came to an abrupt end when Adrian himself passed through the door. The way in which the brothers, lawyers, and everyone else present looked at him signaled who was really in control of the situation. That made old Josue proud. After all this internal fighting was over, whatever part of his fortune ended up in Adrian's hands would be well managed. His legacy wouldn't go to waste.
Before anyone could say anything, Adrian lifted up his hand.
"This matter should be discussed in private. Follow me"
He didn't wait for an answer and walked straight to the pantry. His brothers, sister, and their lawyers walked behind him, while Josue and a bunch of ghosts followed. Josue didn't like that many people were getting their noses into his family business, but he was dead; there was nothing he could do to stop them, and whatever happened in this room would seal their fate and their future.