Dead good.
I am dead. I am dead. I am dead. At the risk of getting a bit dark, that has quite a ring to it, doesn’t it? A lovely little get-out for those unwanted conversations, invitations and generally being approached by anyone at all. “What do you think of this political climate?” “I am dead.” “Oh, sorry mate. Didn’t realise. Never mind.” It’s a license to do nothing.
Unfortunately, the protagonist of I Am Dead – deceased museum curator Morris Lupton – isn’t even able to enjoy the void-like stillness of the cold, cold grave, instead seemingly doomed to walk the island of Shelmerston forever as a ghost while spying on peoples’ thoughts, slicing into their brains like a macabre psychic cross-section. Morris is tasked with this cerebral voyeurism by his dead dog, Sparky, who informs him that a formerly-dormant volcano is about to explode and destroy the island you’re haunting unless a new ghostly “Custodian” is found. So no pressure, then. They’ll put you to work even after you’re dead!
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