When you're dead, everything seems to slow way down. Not literally of course, 'cause that'd be impossible. But it slows down faster than it speeds up when you're growing old. And here I go spouting off lunacies that'd make Yogi Berra sound like a Zen master. Lemme back up a bit and explain.
See, my name's Jacob Pierce (don't bother shaking my hand. You're a lifer and I'm stretch-me-out-on-a-stone-slab-dead. It wouldn't work.) I used to work as a policeman. Now I'm looking for employment as a specter (Hey, it's a joke. Laugh a little.)
Ya see, once the lungs give out and the heart rattles its last drumbeat, most of us vanish. Sometimes, there's enough power in a spirit that it sticks around. Power, or whatever. None of us really know. But it keeps us here. Just not here an' breathing.
And that, my friend, is the problem. When we're alive, we've all got chemicals running through us, telling us to eat, dance, fall in love, whatever. When the body gives us up, we lose touch with the chemicals. Sure, we've got our memories. We can still feel emotions. But we just kinda lose interest with the world.
And that's why everything slows down. Somebody famous (I dunno who) once said that sad hours seem long. He should have tried bored hours. Ghosts have next to nothing to do. Sure, some of us haunt. Mess with mortal heads. But it takes a certain kinda personality for that. Most of us don't have it.
We can also cross over, but no one does that unless they're crazy. They decide they've had enough of this half-life and just fade away. I've never seen the other side, but I know no one comes back from it. That's reason enough for me to stay away. I'm content in this not-body.
'Least, I thought I was.