Death Debt

By Greg Ballinger

Dennis Firefox found himself sitting in a comfortable reclining chair behind a huge mahogany desk. The sun slanted through the blind on an enormous window and outside the city could be seen stretching out in all directions. Dennis looked around the office and a wave of panic washed over him as he tried to remember what he was doing there. The desk itself was sparsely furnished with a telephone, a clock gently ticking away and a calendar. Each day was crossed off up to the present date and Dennis could see an appointment was scheduled for ten o’clock with Mr Jones.

His eyes flicked to the clock just as it ticked to ten o’clock and promptly there was a knock at the door. Dennis coughed to try and clear his throat, “Who is it?” he finally managed to call out.

“Mr Jones, we’re scheduled for ten o’clock sharp,” announced a voice, through the door.

“Come in,” Dennis called back, and the door swung open and in stepped Mr Jones in a neat looking suit, carrying a briefcase. 

“May I?” Mr Jones gestured towards the chair on the other side of the desk and Dennis gave a solitary nod of his head, playing along with significant pantomime. “So,” Mr Jones began, looking at Dennis with two steely blue eyes and an expressionless face. “How are you keeping Mr Firefox?” 

“Fine,” Dennis decided, and one side of Mr Jones’s mouth twitched up into a smile.

“Mr Firefox, I represent a company that is in the business of recovering money and it is my job to collect any unpaid debts or make arrangements for them to be repaid.”

“What debt would that be?” Dennis inquired.

“Student loans,” Mr Jones grunted and then opened his briefcase. “It is my understanding that as of February the second 2035, you owed ten thousand and sixty-eight dollars, which has since been gathering interest at a rate of twenty six percent.” 

“Wait, I have an arrangement with the company I work for, to take out what is required each month when I get paid,” Dennis replied with a frown.

“They did, until February the second 2035.”

“What happened then?”

“You died,” Mr Jones told him and for a moment it was as if the air had been sucked from the room.

Dennis tried to process the information and then his eyes flicked to the calendar where the year clearly stated 2041. “This is a wind up,” Dennis smiled, standing up and walking to the door. He tried the handle but it was locked and turning to the window, he tried to find a latch but it was sealed shut. For a moment he watched the traffic below, moving around in a loop like toy cars. 

“Mr Firefox,” Mr Jones continued, unperturbed. “Student loan providers are now legally able to bring back debtors into half-life to organise and manage a way for the debts to be repaid as soon as possible.”

“This is ridiculous,” Dennis declared, tapping on the desk. “I just want to get out of here and go home.”

“You can’t go home; you died six years ago.”

Dennis picked up the phone and tried to dial some numbers but it was dead.

“It’s for incoming calls only Mr Firefox,” Mr Jones explained, and in a sudden flash of rage, Dennis threw the telephone at Mr Jones, but it went straight through him and instead of hitting the floor, it rematerialised back on the desk.

“You’re not real,” Dennis pointed out.

“I am real, but you only exist in this scenario that allows us to collect unpaid debts,” Mr Jones explained. “Every minute we spend discussing your current predicament, it’s costing you years in the workplace.”

“I refuse to do it,” Dennis huffed petulantly and Mr Jones watched as the humidity in the room increased to an unbearable level that only affected Dennis. He started to sweat profusely, crawling to the window and banging on the glass, “What are you trying to do, kill me?”

“We can’t kill you Mr Firefox, but we can make things a little uncomfortable.”

“Okay, enough already, what do you want me to do?” Suddenly the heat stopped and Dennis found he could breathe again. He stood up, dusted himself off and took the seat behind the desk.

“All we want you to do is answer the phone and sell some products, namely loans to students. When the phone rings you pick it up and run through the script provided,” Mr Jones told him, handing him a piece of paper. 

“How many calls do I have to do?”

“You’ll be working on half the minimum wage, but you’ll receive a small bonus for every sale you make, and one again if you don’t deviate from the script.”

“Do I get a break or what happens if I need to go to the bathroom?”

“You’re dead Mr Firefox, there is no need to take a break, you don’t need to eat or go to the bathroom.”

“How long is this going to take?”

“With your current debt and if you make no mistakes, it should take five and a half years, respectfully,” Mr Jones told him, bluntly.

“That’s outrageous.”

“I shouldn’t worry too much, you’ve already been dead six years,” Mr Jones smiled. “Time flies, don’t you think?”

“How come I’ve never heard of this before?”

“It’s new government legislation that allows companies to claw back what is owed. Dying is no longer an excuse to leave unpaid debts.”

“What happens when I’m done?”

“You’ll be allowed to rest-in-peace,” Mr Jones confirmed and Dennis breathed a sigh of relief. “However, I must inform you that legislation changes all the time and you will be kept on the system in case we need to call on you again in the future.”

Mr Jones smiled thinly and Dennis’s mouth opened but no words came out. The phone on the desk began to ring and Mr Jones pointed to it, “That’ll be for you.”

About the Author

Gregory Ballinger is an avid reader, writer and time traveller.

When Gregory is not reading or writing, he often travels back to the 1800’s in England where he likes to spend his time in country gardens as an ornamental hermit contemplating life in the cosmos.

Gregory also likes cats.