The yellow light flickered overhead making the diner even gloomier than it normally was otherwise. It was clearly on the verge of going out for good but that would be a change and this place never changed, that wasn’t what it was for. Another cup of coffee gone and he still wasn’t awake. Mornings were always rough for him what with his “job” and all. It hadn’t been a crazy morning, Tuesdays were always like that for some reason, go figure. Janet, the always-smiling single beacon of light in this dive, filled the cup right back up. She’d long stopped asking if he’d like a top-up, only so many times you can hear yes before you start presuming. Putting far too much sugar in the coffee, which at least now he could do without any nagging from the wife or the slightest guilt about his health, he swirled it with a spoon, hoping that the tiredness would dissolve just as easily as the sugar. God he was tired.

“Oh. Hello,” Janet sounded taken aback and he looked up. She was a few booths along by the door talking to someone, “First time here? Don’t recognise you Sugar!”

“Um yes mam,” he leaned round the corner. It was some baby-faced kid, a cop by the look of the blood-stained blue shirt and badge. Could have been a costume he supposed but it was a bit early for that unless he’d had a really, late one.

Janet was sad, this was the worst bit of her job, “Wondering where you are sugar?”

“Yes mam, I um, I’m not sure how I got here,” the kid was scared. Poor kid. This wasn’t easy on anyone.

Janet squeezed the kid’s shoulder, “I’m sorry to tell ya sugar but you’re dead.”

To the kid’s credit he didn’t freak out like so many of them did. Seemed to be stoic quiet type. Just stood there stunned. Janet kept squeezing the kid, some folk said a few supportive sentiments, just little meaningless thing like “Sorry”, “It’s not the end kid” that kind of thing. There was a generally supportive atmosphere. Then that asshole Rick came in with his posse…

“What’s this guy’s problem?” he pointed with a thumb that barely stuck out from the flabby, lumpen hand, “You broken or something?”

Janet had to hate Rick and his gang but he knew belief in the importance of good waitressing stopped her saying anything, “Poor kid just got here. He just found out, you know about being dead and all.”

“Well no need to dwell on it,” Rick shoved the kid out the way and his gang swaggered over to their usual booth. Over in the corner with the least flickering lights and the best view. When the human blob had wedged himself down he shouted over, “Some of us have worked up an appetite. Bit of service over here please Janet.”

Being torn between serving two conflicting customer needs was upsetting to Janet, he could see her struggle between the kid and keeping Rick fed and quiet. He got up and went over to the two of them. Kid was handsome, tall and lean, can’t have been over 25, what a shame.

“Hey son, why don’t you come sit with me and we can talk. Janet can sort out with some food after yeah.”

“Thanks Tony,” she whispered before putting on her biggest, happy service smile and heading over to the corner of doom. The kid mumbled agreement and with a bit of a guiding hand he managed to get him over back to the booth and sitting down.

“So, ain’t no easy way to say it kid but Janet’s not lying. You’re dead, I’m dead, she’s dead, we’re all dead. Welcome to limbo kid.”

The kid looked at him with sad blue eyes, “Oh. Guess I should probably have listened to granma and kept up the prayers.”

“Seen all sorts end up here kid, don’t think prayers are really gonna help. I’m Tony by the way,” he shook the kid’s hand, good firm handshake.

“I’m Justin, Justin Milne.”

“What’s that French?”

“Scottish. You?”

“Spettro, Italian.”

It was easier to start with smalltalk. Rather than dive into the infuriating ridiculous reality of their situation.

“You a cop then?”

“Yes sir, 41st precinct, city’s finest.”

“Where’s that?” “Out on the southwest, past the interstate.”

It was a rough neighbourhood, “Musta kept you pretty busy.”

“Yes sir, I suppose it does… I mean did.”

At that the kid looked down, the weight of realisation kicking in a bit. Smalltalk wasn’t going to help, he let the kid have a bit of time to think.

Janet came over, filling his cup right back up again, “You wanting some coffee Sugar?”

“Yes mam?” she filled a cup for him, he picked it up and thought

“Something to eat? Make you feel better.”

“I am pretty hungry,” kid thought a bit, “Can I get bacon, eggs and toast please…”

Overhearing that Rick and his gang began laughing, Janet and Tony winced, poor kid looked confused. He’d hoped to have put off the explanation for a bit longer, why couldn’t the kid have been on one of those god-damned no-carb diets?

“How about some grits instead of that toast hon?”

Kid was even more confused, nodded that was fine. Janet went off and the kid just had to ask, “Did I say something wrong about the toast?”

“It’s. It’s complicated kid…”

Rick and the gang hooted again, “Kid you’re talking to the genuine bona-fide Toast Ghost himself!”

When the laughter eventually died down the kid asked baffled, “You’re a toast ghost?”

“You die free and clear you don’t end up in limbo. That’s how it seems to work. Go out with baggage, go out suddenly , violently with a pile of unfinished business and you’ve a pretty good chance of waking up here,” kid nodded along. This was the easy bit, “Now it’s complicated but we all got a chance to make things right. Get that business back on Earth cleared up and you can move on out of here. Kid we don’t know if there’s a heaven or hell, we don’t know what’s next, or if there even is a next. Honestly after a few years you won’t care, you’ll happily sort that business out just to get shot of this,” he waved his hands around, hoping not to be too damning to the diner and offend Janet, “You with me so far?”

“I guess… So we can go back?”

“It’s, it’s not that easy kid. Everyone here has a shtick, a gimmick, their own unique way of showing up back on Earth. You don’t get to choose and you can’t control it. Maybe you’re stuck in the lamp in the room you died, any time someone turns the lamp on, boom you’re there. You’re the lamp, you can flicker out morse code or something, hope some boy scout or army man notices before they throw you in the trash. Some poor guy I knew, was into some kinky stuff with his wife, died choking on a dildo. She kept it afterwards, a memento, didn’t always stay in the drawer if you catch what I’m saying. Every time she was um using it, boom he was there, he was the dildo. Guy went crazy after a while, not much you can do as a dildo.”

“Jeez”

“I know right. Awful, awful thing. Kid there’s another way to get outta here. It ain’t pretty. Out there, outside you see that snow blowing about?”

“Yeah, how come it’s winter here? It was a sweltering hot morning back… back before…”

“That ain’t snow kid. That’s the dust of the ones who give up. You stop believing you can get outta here, you stop wanting to get outta here, you fall apart. You turn to dust, bye bye you.”

“That’s a lot of dust.”

“Yeah, don’t get disheartened kid, most folks don’t got the guts to stick at it or maybe they just got a rotten gimmick, no chance of sorting stuff out. Who can say? You see someone going that way… you try, you try to talk them round but once you see there ain’t no telling them, easier to let go. Move on, forget about em.”

This was a conversation he’d had a lot of practice at giving, odds weren’t good for the kid. You wake up here, things are pretty loaded against you. He hoped the kid got a good gimmick, something better than…

Screaming he awoke in agony, the fiery red glow of the cage electric wires burning and scorching him. As always the pain was fresh and excruciating. Not something he could ever get used to, no matter how many times this happened. Swearing breathlessly he waited for the inevitable. As he darkened and burnt the smoke began to rise off of him. Beeping in the distance, at least someone kept their alarm batteries checked. “Oh crap!” came a panicked voice and with a slam of the lever he was freed. Only the standard two slices so he had something reasonably approaching depth perception for his brief moment of freedom. Pretty old and rundown kitchen, very clean though. Tired looking 30 something year old man, maybe a shift-worker got back a bit late after taking the kids to school, needed to make something but got distracted with one of the thousands other things he had on in his life. Forgot the toaster jammed sometimes. Breakfast got ruined, but there was more bread in the cupboard, he’d start over. Just be a little bit late that’s all. Radio was on, Preacher Joe’s Prayer hour, not often much useful to him. He listened anyway and hit the jackpot, “now folks I’m hearing terrible news that one of our brave police officers has been killed today. Over in the southwest district so nothing’s been said but I think y’all know what the story’s going to be and exactly what kind of people are to blame for this awful, awful crime. We’ve got no more details at the moment but let’s all pray for the family and loved ones of yet another victim of this city’s liberal mayor and his crime-friendly attitudes…” at this the blackening process finalised as he cooled down and his awareness faded.

Finding himself once more in human form, standing again outside the door he stepped in quickly. The usual suspects laughed and jeered but he ignored them and walked back over to join Justin, who looked up at him from his food even more curious.

“You went back?”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re like a ghost who haunts toast?” kid was not nearly as incredulous at this as anyone he’d ever talked to before. Good open-minded kid, musta been brought up well. Poor parents were going to be devastated.

“That’s the gist of it.”

Kid ate a spoonful of eggs and grits, he could see the gears grinding in his brain as he chewed, “So when someone makes toast, you end up haunting it?”

“It’s a bit more specific kid. I’m not a ghost of any toast. You take some bread, toast it nice and eat it. Not my problem. Now you burn that toast, you cremate it past the point of edibility, yeah then I’m there. Mornings are pretty rough for me.”

“Uh huh,” kid had another mouthful, thinking over it, “Morning everywhere though right?”

He shook his head, “Seems to be restricted in range, furthest I ever appeared, I think maybe fifteen, twenty miles away from when I died. I don’t know why that is. I don’t know the why of any of it.”

“So what can you do? You know, when you’re toast?”

“Not much. I can see and I can hear what’s going on around me. It hurts like hell, I feel the burn every time, hard to focus sometimes. Still when I can, always a lot of newspapers lying about or radios on in kitchens, I keep pretty up to date with what’s going on,” kid went to ask but he knew what was coming, “They were only just starting to talk about you on the radio. I don’t know more than you got shot. You know that yeah?”

“I figured, what with the blood and all,” kid pointed down his front, “I don’t remember anything. I mean about dying.”

“You’re gonna find a whole bunch of blank patches. They’ll come back to you. Every time you go back to earth for, stuff’s going to come back.”

“How do I get back?”

“Like I say, it’s different for everyone kid, we won’t know until it happens. Could be something crazy common, could be any minute now or it could be a while.”

“Does everyone get to go back?”

He couldn’t lie to the kid, guy seemed to inspire honesty, must have made a great cop. He shook his head, “Not everyone makes it back before they give up hope.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah it’s rough. Tough as the toast thing is, least I get to go back often.”

“How long have you been here Tony?”

“Too long, too long… Twenty-two years…,” twenty-two long years of being burned to death a dozen times a day on a good day.

He hadn’t been a bad person when he was alive, he’d just made some bad choices that led to knowing of a lot of bad people. This in turn had led to him being in the position to make a really bad choice about what happened to really rather a lot of coke. As he’d been making celebration breakfast and drinking the dregs of the left over celebration whisky some very upset and angry men had come in. He’d been shot a few times and as he bled out, slumped over the kitchen table, the last thing he thought about was the smell of burning toast.

“Good on you for staying on track,” the kid smiled a broad cheesy grin, he’d normally be a bit cynical but there was something about the kid that made it all feel genuine.

“Cheers kid.”

“SAY IT. SAY THE MOTTO!” Rick and his asshole crew shouted over. One time, the one time he’d let himself relax and joke around those guys back before their assholery became apparent… One stupid drunken sentence that nobody, nobody was ever going to let

“The motto?” the kid seemed excited to hear. There was something about the kid where embarrassing as it was he felt compelled to answer.

In an attempt to defuse any suggestion this had ever been said seriously, he put on a jokey, ironic facial expression and slathered sarcasm over the words, “You gotta live life like you’re gonna land butter-side up.”

Rick and the crew hollered as did a lot of the other regulars. He felt his cheeks redden and start to burn. Justin looked amused.

“It’s a good motto Tony,” either the kid was the world’s worst at being sarcastic or he was genuine. It really seemed like he was being sincere.

“Cheers kid, I really hope it’ll all work out for you.”

“You too Tony, maybe we work together, maybe whatever my power turns out to be it’s really handy having a friend who’s a toast ghost?”

Having reached peak shame and embarrassment he may as well fully own it, “Kid, I’m not a toast ghost, I’m THE Toast Ghost.”

Before the kid could laugh, he was surely going to laugh at that, he disappeared. Leaving Tony to wonder in what guise the kid was trapped, hoping it was something useful, something that could help the kid and himself free themselves. That’d be nice, it’d be nice to go to sleep and not wake up burning in agony one morning…