Free At Witt's End by Beth Solheim

freak you out.” Tim rose to his knees and faced his friend. “It's freaky that I'm dead and at the same time I'm talking to you. But what's freakier is you can see me. You don't realize what that means.” Bouncing on his knees toward his friend, Tim added, “Man, are you in for a shock."
    "You already said that. Nothing can shock more than a dead person talking to me. So what's the big deal?"
    "Don't you think it's weird you're talking to a dead person?"
    "Yaaahhh.” Aanders rolled his eyes. Tim was his best friend, but he had a way of going on and on without ever getting to the point. “It's weird all right.” His gaze shot toward his friend as he gasped, “Don't tell me I'm dead, too!"
    "I never thought of that,” Tim said. He took Aanders hand and ran his fingers over it. “Nope. You're not dead. Your hand is warm."
    Belly snorted to remind the boys he was in attendance. He rolled onto his back. His left leg twitched as he wriggled back and forth, trying to find a comfortable spot on the tile floor.
    Aanders pulled the dog near and rubbed his cheek over Belly's head. “You were trying to tell me he was down here, weren't you?” Tears brimmed in Aanders’ eyes as he looked at his friend. “What am I supposed to do now?"
    "Because I'm a crosser or because you're a death coach?"
    "Because you're my friend and now you're dead. Who am I going to do things with? I don't want a new best friend. I want you to be my friend."
    Tim and Aanders had become fast friends when they sat next to one another in kindergarten. Tim's Mom had been supportive of the friendship and encouraged Tim to include Aanders in their family outings after Aanders’ father had abandoned his responsibilities. Other mothers had not been as supportive. They discouraged their sons from forming a relationship with the son of a mortician. Their whispered reasons included the mortuary being an improper place to entertain friends, or the fact that it was unnatural for a woman to ask her son to help with funeral preparations. Aanders childhood inched along a steep incline.
    Tim leaned his head against the wall and looked at Aanders. “That probably won't matter once you hear what death coaches do."
    "You keep saying that. What's a death coach?"
    Aanders scowled as Tim finished explaining what he had learned during Sadie's round table sessions. “How do you know all this stuff?"
    "I told you. I learned it from Sadie. She explains it after we come back."
    "Come back from where?"
    "The nursing home or the hospital. She takes us there in the morning and picks us up before supper. We're supposed to seek out the dying so we can cross back over with them. But first we have to make a death decision."
    "You believed her?” Aanders said. “Everyone knows she's crazy. At least that's what they say.” He paused. “Everyone except Mom. She thinks Sadie's a nice old lady."
    "I knew you wouldn't believe me.” Tim hugged his knees and rested his chin on one knee. “It's so freaky I didn't believe it at first, either. If you come to Cabin 14, you'll see all the crossers. There are five of us living there."
    "Five dead people?” Aanders said with a gasp.
    "Yes. There's a man in a suit who has a briefcase he won't let anyone touch. And there's a mom and a boy there too. The mom sits and cries all the time. She gets on everyone's nerves."
    "What about the fifth dead person,” Aanders said.
    "That's Rodney. He's mean. I'm afraid of him, but I don't think the guy in the suit is. The guy in the suit talks funny."
    "Like how?"
    "I don't know how to explain it. He sounds kinda like the President when he's talking about important stuff on TV. You know. He uses big words."
    "Does Rodney punch the other dead people?"
    "Sadie won't let him,” Tim answered.
    Aanders struggled to grasp the information Tim had shared. “Can Mom see the crossers?"
    "No. She's not a death coach. Sadie told us only death coaches can see crossers."
    "That makes Sadie a babysitter for dead