By: Noeka Nimmervoll, Staff Coroner 

The following is a transcription of a voice recording from a mortician’s autopsy. 

Testing, testing. OK, time is 8:14 a.m. on Saturday, October 14, 2017. Name of deceased: Doug Graves. Location of death — uhh — the daughter, Abigail, said she realized something was wrong after her dad hadn’t left the bathroom for 9 hours. How did she not realize before? Well, anyway. Location: Their home at . . . let me see . . .  401 Fortuna Road. It was Friday the 13th on the day he died. Eerie, isn’t it? OK, and let me poke in his throat — AAHHHHHHHHH WHAT THE HELL??? A GHOST???

Hey, buddy. I am the spirit of the middle-aged white man. I have haunted this body for many years now — since Doug’s forty-sixth birthday, when he made his first dad joke that he genuinely thought was funny. I was waiting for a moment to exit this mortal form since it was getting stinky. Thank you for your service. 

I-I didn’t do anything — please don’t take over my soul! I respect the spirits, I work with the dead all the time, I can’t have a spirit possessing me — I’ve got business to attend to, I-I’ve got so much to live for —

Fear not, coroner. I see your hands. They are too soft and delicate to make big booming claps for when the movie you are watching ends or when your plane lands. Your face is too naturally friendly. You have smile lines down your round, warm cheeks. I need a host who can make the white person half-grimace-and-awkward-nod at strangers on the street. I will find another host. I am sure I will find an excellent specimen somewhere around here in the suburbs. 

Hey . . . wait a second, all right? Just ‘cause I’ve got a friendly face doesn’t mean I can’t do the white guy nod. I’ve perfected it over the years — look at this. 

Hmm. That is pretty good. My apologies. Ah, I am parched. I shall drink some good vibes from this “world’s best dad” cup. 

That’s OK. It’s a common misconception that people with an RBF can’t do it. But we can. I’m just curious, though, don’t you get bored haunting middle-aged white guys? Like, what’s in it for you? 

Ah, you wonder about my type. I see something in them you may not appreciate. I love how they cook. I don’t eat, as I am a spirit, but I love the aroma of underseasoned chicken and mac n’ cheese out of a box in the house. It’s my favourite thing. I’m riveted just thinking about it. 

Alright, well, OK, sure. Hey, I don’t want to kick you out, but I’ve got a bunch of work to do, and this guy isn’t getting any deader.

No problem, I’ll get out of your hair. I’ve got lots of prospects at the golf course that I want to take a look at later. For now, I might go to the local craft beer festival down by the water to see if I’ve got any good matches. Well then . . . see you later, alligator. Thanks for the poke. 

Yeah, nice to meet you, have a good one. Bye now. 

Alrighty, let me take a good look here. Ah — here we go. Cause of death: murder of crows. Seems the crows dropped a peanut over his car, and it landed right in his peppermint tea. He was damn allergic. Suffocated from anaphylaxis while drinking the tea later, while in the bathtub. Unlucky S.O.B..