Free The Man Who Ivented Florida by Randy Wayne White Page A

Dracula!"
    Joseph stiffened. "Jesus Christ," he whispered, "Dracula?"
    But it wasn't the one he had imagined. This Dracula was a big black dog with pointed ears and skinny hips. It loped across the yard, then froze when it sensed Joseph.
    This will be a good test. If the dog barks, I'm alive. If it doesn't. . . well, I've got problems.
    Suddenly, the dog gave a low growl and charged right at him. Joseph grinned—he must still be alive, because that mean dog wanted to bite him! But then the animal banked sharply to the right and disappeared, howling, into the shrubbery. Joseph was thrown into such an instant state of emotional turmoil that he didn't even notice the cat streaking off ahead of the dog.
    "Can it be I'm really dead?" Joseph wailed—out loud, for he was certain that no one could hear him. "Am I really a goddamn ghost?"
    Then he heard a train whistle from the far distance. "Shit—now I've gone and missed the train to boot!"
    He felt wretched. He remembered all the things he had left undone in his life. He punished himself with myriad regrets and accused himself of a thousand stupidities. He groaned and moaned bitterly until the door of the house flew open again and a man stepped out. "Get outta this yard, you damn cat!" Then the man at the door watched in shock as a huge figure dressed in a cowboy hat and skeleton costume went moping across to the next lot, then out of sight.
    But soon Joseph Egret, who in his entire life had never allowed regrets to linger, began to recover from the shock of being dead. If he were a ghost, his new form might offer certain opportunities that his old living form had not. He studied the possibilities as he walked past more nice houses. He could steal money most probably. Take from the rich and give to his friends. That would be nice. And he might make a ghostly visit to the women's shower room at the local college. He had always dreamed of a chance to do that. Maybe being a ghost wouldn't be so bad, after all. He'd become a phantom Robin Hood—with hobbies.
    By now, Joseph was feeling better. Death would have its advantages—if he was left to his own devices. He didn't want heaven,- he just wanted to be left alone. He would visit his old friends and scare the hell out of them. And no adult better harm a child while he was around! Joseph grinned maliciously. Those fat nurses back at the rest home better be on their toes the next time they reached for a tampon. As for Tucker Gatrell's claims that he had found the living water . . . well, that just made no sense. But then, Tucker rarely did make sense.
    Joseph was on what seemed to be a vast rolling lawn now. Houses surrounded him. He walked up a hill and came to a patch of soft grass with a flag in the middle: Thus he knew he was on a golf course. Joseph had never been on a golf course before. It smelled good. Down the rolling fairway, beyond the tar-slick pond, he could see the clubhouse. It was lighted as if for a party. People mingled outside beneath Japanese lanterns and the swimming pool was Jell-O green. Joseph remembered that Marjorie had said something about a bake sale at the country club. That had been days ago, but maybe they had some food left over. Joseph loved rhubarb pie and he was fond of peach cobbler. He decided to have a look.
    As he got nearer, he could smell something cooking on a grill: steaks. Joseph liked steak even better than cobbler. He peeked through a bush and saw a chubby man in a chief's apron turning slabs of meat in a long row. The smell of the meat made Joseph's stomach growl, and he thought, If I'm a ghost, then I'm a hungry goddamn ghost. And if I'm not a ghost, I'll swipe a couple of them steaks, anyway.
    Joseph kept a high copse between himself and the party. He watched the people laughing, talking, carrying drinks around. People with money, he could tell that by their clothes. People who knew one another but who seemed tense about something, nervous. Joseph could sense that, too. Then some of