The Dead Game

A One-Act Comedy About Death and Technicalities

(This is not heaven, but by the same token, it’s not hell either. This is a waiting area, a place for undecided souls to be judged and contested. The stage is dark and empty except for a bench and a chair. From the wings, an air horn and loud thump are heard, and a hand flops out from underneath the curtain (if there is one). It raises to reveal a body lying center stage. A dim white spotlight fades in on WILL, a young man dressed in street clothes. Spotlights (white and red) fade in as MICHELLE and LOUIS enter from stage left and stage right, then fade out. New individual (colorless) spotlights cover them as they take their places behind WILL but in front of the bench. LOUIS and MICHELLE are wearing black and white business suits, respectively. Both carry briefcases, which they click open on the bench in unison, and from which both remove a clipboard and a pen.)

LOUIS: You ready?
MICHELLE (rolls her head, cracking a few vertebrae): As I’ll ever be.
LOUIS: Fair enough. (checks his wristwatch.) On my mark. 3… 2… (tries to fake her out) 1… Go!

(They begin scribbling furiously. After a few seconds, both stop writing as LOUIS calls out…)

BOTH: Done!
MICHELLE: How many?
LOUIS (grinning smugly): Thirty-five.
MICHELLE (surprised): How did you get thirty-five sins on– (she notices LOUIS is making “jerking off” motions) Oh. Yeah, that would do it.
LOUIS: You?
MICHELLE (looking down): The same.
LOUIS (very surprised): No shit. A tie. What’re the odds?
MICHELLE: Apparently pretty good.

(WILL, who has not moved yet, begins to twitch and groan.)

WILL: Ow.
LOUIS: He’s coming around. You think we should hide?
MICHELLE (looking sternly at LOUIS): You’re not going to sneak up on him with the horns, are you?
LOUIS (faux shocked): Never.

(Their lights dim as WILL, in full spotlight, regains consciousness.)

WILL: Hello? What’s going on? Is this a joke?

(WILL’s light fades. He stands up, and LOUIS and MICHELLE’S lights fade in again.)

LOUIS (with a box of popcorn): I’ll never get tired of this.
MICHELLE: You’re terrible, you know that? Look at him. He’s so lost. Someone needs to tell him he’s dead.
LOUIS: Be my guest, babe. I’m sure not going to do it. This is far too much fun.
MICHELLE: I hate this part of the job.

(All lights are extinguished except WILL’S. LOUIS takes a pair of light-up devil horns from his suit, turns them on, and begins to put them on his head before MICHELLE catches him.)

MICHELLE: Louis, take those off!
LOUIS: Why?

(Their lights rise dimly.)

MICHELLE: You’re going to scare him.
LOUIS: I’m going to scare him? You’re the one about to tell him he’s dead. I don’t get to have any fun with him?
MICHELLE: No, you don’t. Give me the horns.

(LOUIS crosses his arms and stamps his foot at MICHELLE, who yanks the horns from his head, turns them off, and tosses them offstage. She then steps toward WILL and the normal stage lights come up. LOUIS goes off stage right and returns with an easel and whiteboard.)

MICHELLE: William R. McKean. (quieter, almost to herself) I heard you needed deliverance.
WILL (very startled): What the hell?! (He falls backwards.) Who the hell? Where the hell did you come from?
MICHELLE: Don’t be afraid, Will. You have transcended to a new plane of existence.
WILL (still babbling hysterically): I swear to God, when I get out of here, I’m going to sue you for everything you’re worth!

(LOUIS walks over towards them, arrogantly.)

LOUIS (pushing MICHELLE aside): Not working, honey. (to Will now) How you doin’, sport?
WILL: Who are you?
LOUIS: The name’s Louis. (violently yanks WILL to his feet)
WILL: Where did you come from?

LOUIS (setting up the equipment): Let me break it down for you like such, homeslice. (LOUIS slides the chair into WILL, forcing him to sit. He pulls a marker from his coat.) This… is you. (LOUIS draws a stick figure.) And this… is a bus. (He draws a very primitive, pre-school-esque bus, which is little more than a rectangle with black circles and speed lines.) And this, in very simple terms, is what happened…

(He turns his back to the audience and pulls out a bottle of ketchup out of his briefcase. With a quick shake, he, nonchalantly, uncaps the bottle, whips around, and starts spraying ketchup all over the whiteboard and screaming at the top of his lungs. This frightens the hell out of poor WILL, who starts screaming too. The two of them continue to scream until, as abruptly as he started, LOUIS stops. WILL continues to scream until LOUIS walks over and backhands him. MICHELLE is shaking her head at this whole business, standing slightly apart, bemused.)

WILL (recovering): So that means I’m–
LOUIS: Dead? ‘Fraid so.
WILL (looking around): Is this heaven?
LOUIS: Nope, but it ain’t hell either. (He dissembles the whiteboard and moves it offstage.)
MICHELLE (stepping in): It’s more like a waiting area.
WILL: Waiting area? Why didn’t I just–
MICHELLE: You’re a unique case.
WILL: What do you mean, “unique case?”
MICHELLE (trying to avoid the issue): Can I get you anything? Coffee? Doughnut?
WILL (slightly annoyed): No, I want to know what you mean by unique case!
MICHELLE: Hey, Lou, could I speak with you for a minute?

(MICHELLE and LOUIS move away from WILL and speak conspiratorially under a spotlight. The stage lights dim.)

LOUIS (dripping with lechery): What’s cookin’, good lookin’?
MICHELLE (shoving off his advances): What are we supposed to do with him?
LOUIS: Well, if you don’t want him, I’ll take him off your hands.
MICHELLE (firm): I did not say that.
LOUIS: I’m just trying to–
MICHELLE (annoyed): I didn’t say that!
LOUIS: OK, OK. Don’t get flustered.
MICHELLE: I don’t know anymore. I’m all out of ideas.
LOUIS: Hmm. Might I suggest we go consult our respective bosses and see what their take is?
MICHELLE: You’re not completely useless after all.
LOUIS (tipping an imaginary hat to her): I try.

(LOUIS does an about face and the spotlight fades. He moves to exit stage right. As he approaches the wings the red spotlight that ushered him in appears there again, bright, and Carl Orff’s “O Fortuna” blares in the background. It fades as he exits. Meanwhile, the stage lights have come up and MICHELLE takes a Magic 8-Ball out of her briefcase. She heads over to WILL, handing him the toy.)

MICHELLE: I’ve got to go for a little while, but I promise to be right back.
WILL (confused): What’s this for?
MICHELLE (sweetly): Keeping you out of trouble while I’m gone.

(She ruffles his hair, then exits stage left to the Hallelujah choir, with the same spotlight trick as LOUIS had.)

WILL (in full spot, looking at the 8-Ball): God dammit! What am I doing here? (He shakes it.) “Future uncertain, ask again later.” Well, screw you too! (He throws the 8-Ball right.)

(The red spotlight and music come back on stage right as LOUIS stumbles out, dazed and covered in smoke, then fade into stage lights.)

LOUIS (catches the 8-Ball in surprise): Jesus H. Christ, I’d almost forgotten how hot it was down there. (He looks around for a moment, then puts the 8-Ball down, looking at WILL.) Where’s Michelle? Not back yet?
WILL: I thought she was with you.
LOUIS: Trust me, that’s the last place she’d be.
WILL: Are you really–
LOUIS (cutting him off): From hell? You betcha. Though it’s not nearly as bad as everyone makes it out to be. It’s always warm, even in the winter, so that’s a big plus. We’ve got a big screen TV in the main lounge and Satan throws the best Monday Night Football parties.
WILL: But what about–
LOUIS (again): Eternal damnation? See, it’s not really so much eternal damnation as it is eternal annoyance, sort of like being unable to decide where to eat for the duration of existence. Take the noises for example. There’s always this buzzing in the air and that gets on my nerves occasionally, but it’s leaps and bounds above what they got in heaven. I don’t know how the angels deal with it, I really don’t. I mean, think about it, all those fat babies (makes strumming motions) playing harps for all those other fat babies. It’s enough to drive one insane.

(The blinding white spotlight stage left comes up again and MICHELLE enters, calm and leisurely, then fades out.)

MICHELLE: Sorry I’m late. I miss anything?
LOUIS: Not really. I was just telling Billy here what hell was like.
MICHELLE (glaring at LOUIS, but speaking to WILL): Whatever he told you, he’s lying. Hell is not fun.
LOUIS: You are so full of shit! When we had our inter-dimensional block party last year, you loved it.
MICHELLE: Yeah, but… but that’s because you have a heated pool.
LOUIS: I rest my case. (He starts walking offstage.)
MICHELLE (annoyed): Louis, get over here.
LOUIS (over his shoulder to WILL): Can’t help but love her when she gets all feisty.
MICHELLE: I mean it, Louis!
LOUIS (dismissive wave): But I gotta pee!
MICHELLE (sighing): Make it quick.

(LOUIS heads off stage right. MICHELLE approaches WILL.)

MICHELLE: So, what did he tell you?
WILL: Louis?
MICHELLE: Uh-huh.
WILL (nervously, haltingly): We just talked about hell; the climate, the TV, what it’s like down there, fat babies in heaven.
MICHELLE: That’s good old Lou, always ranting about the fat babies. That always drove him nuts. What he doesn’t know is that shortly after he left, they formed a great death metal band. (She makes wild air guitar motions.)
WILL: He used to be an angel?
MICHELLE. All demons used to be angels… until they got cast out of paradise.
WILL: Oh. What’s heaven like?
MICHELLE: Heaven is beautiful, and the best thing about heaven is that it’s whatever you want it to be. For some people it’s like a harem (clasps her hands above her head, mimicking a belly-dancer), for others a tranquil wood (hands spread out like a tree), and still others, almost exactly like the life they left behind (wanking hand motion).
WILL: What’s my heaven like?
MICHELLE: You’re the only one that knows that, Will. And if you go with Louis, you’ll never get a chance to find out. You’re a good person, you just got caught in the middle of a very awkward situation.

(LOUIS enters, his shirt tail poking out of his fly, which MICHELLE points out. He spins around, fixes it, and rejoins the group, looking quite refreshed.)

LOUIS (to no one in particular): Ah, much better.

(MICHELLE walks away from WILL and motions for LOUIS to join her under a spotlight, rolling her eyes.)

MICHELLE: OK, what’d yours say?
LOUIS: Something about me not meeting my soul quota this month and getting my ass kicked up and down the nine rings of hell. Yours?
MICHELLE: Pretty much the same.
LOUIS: Damn, God’s giving out the hard love nowadays.
MICHELLE: What would it be worth to you to let me have just this one?
LOUIS: Let me tell you what it’s not worth: it’s not worth a flogging from Big Red. (Louder.) So I say we figure out what to do with him right now, or I’m just going to take him.
WILL (overhearing, stage lights up). Why can’t you just send me back?
MICHELLE: Excuse me?
WILL: I said, “Why can’t you–”
LOUIS: She heard you the first time, chief. Can’t you see we’re having a “private” conversation? Not polite to interrupt.
MICHELLE (gesturing towards WILL): He brings up a good point.
LOUIS: No, he doesn’t. (to WILL) Look, “The Six Million Dollar Man” you ain’t. I can’t rebuild you, make you better, faster, stronger, and other such goodness. That bus liquefied you. You got spread over 35 feet of pavement as a fine red mist. It’s not like I can Krazy-Glue you back to OK. I’d be pasting together individual molecules, for Christ’s sake.
MICHELLE: Well, maybe you can’t, but I’m sure the Almighty–
LOUIS: Can’t do it either and you know it, so stop trying to make me look bad.
MICHELLE (hesitant): He did it with Jesus.
LOUIS (pointing to Will): Does he look like Jesus? He ain’t Jesus (crucifix gesture).
MICHELLE: True.
LOUIS: So I say we flip for him.
MICHELLE: You want to flip a coin for this man’s everlasting soul?
LOUIS: Sure. That’s what we did with Nixon.
MICHELLE: Yeah, but I’m pretty sure you cheated on that one.
LOUIS (mock horror): I never cheat! (He strikes a “Nixon” pose; arms up, fingers in the V-position, and does a bad impersonation.) “I’m not a crook!”

(WILL gets up from the chair and approaches them.)

WILL: Go for it.
MICHELLE (incredulous): What?!
WILL: Go for it! (LOUIS does a little victory dance.)
MICHELLE: You’re willing to risk paradise or eternal damnation on a heads or tails deal with Satan’s whipping bitch?
LOUIS (mock seriousness): Now, now, no need to get personal. (He fishes a coin out of his pocket.) Call it in the air. (He flips.)
MICHELLE (watching the coin intently): Tails.

(LOUIS catches the coin and immediately slaps it to the back of his other hand, then shiftily checks it.)

LOUIS (quickly, victoriously): Heads, you lose.
WILL: But that was a two headed coin!
LOUIS: What do you know?
WILL: I saw it when you flipped it!
LOUIS: It was not. (LOUIS gets up in WILL’s face.)
MICHELLE: Alright, let me see it, Lou. (She holds out a demanding hand into which LOUIS places the coin.)
LOUIS (to himself, storming off): Balls.

(She looks at it.)

MICHELLE: You cheating bastard!
LOUIS: Look, hell is really ugly after the fifth ring and the Devil’s got hooves. You ever get your ass kicked by someone with hooves?
MICHELLE (taking WILL by the hand): He comes with me.
LOUIS (grabbing WILL by the shoulder): The hell he does.
MICHELLE: Let him go, Louis.
LOUIS: No, he’s mine.

(MICHELLE walks over and knees LOUIS in the groin. He drops to the ground.)

MICHELLE: Sorry, but it’s in the rules. Cheating forfeits your claim to the soul.
LOUIS (worried): Don’t send me down there without him!
MICHELLE (leading WILL offstage left): Have a nice night, Lou.
WILL (over his shoulder to LOUIS, shit-eating grin on his face): I’ll tell the fat babies you said hi.

(The bright white spotlight admits them to Heaven as it did for MICHELLE earlier.)

LOUIS: God dammit!

(LOUIS staggers to his feet, despondent. The red spotlight burns brightly stage right. The basso voice of SATAN comes from offstage.)

SATAN: Where’s my soul, Louis?
LOUIS (petulant): Madam…
SATAN: You’re behind again this month, Louis.
LOUIS: But, madam…
SATAN: Who’s your mommy, Louis?
LOUIS (quickly, beaten): You are. (He collects his briefcase.)
SATAN: Who’s your eternal princess of the damned, Louis?
LOUIS: You are.

(LOUIS moves to exit stage right, and kicks the Magic 8-Ball like one would kick litter on the street.)

LOUIS: Aw shit. (Exits.)

(The stage lights fade out, and the spotlight fades. Curtain.)

© 2004