That Sunday, Karuru overslept, but the family arranged for his burial. The next day,  he sneaked out of the grave and opened a case against his family at the Living Police Station.  Unfortunately,  the tearstained policewoman had watched the funeral, which was streamed live on all platforms. Strangely,  the funeral coincided with his birthday,  and it attracted 1 million likes on his account.

Later,  kids crossing Spooky Avenue at the graveyard’s T-junction spotted him carrying black shopping bags. That Friday, Karuru kidnapped a boy smoking at ‘Erf 0000. Afterwards,  the boy quit smoking after noticing his tobacco-stained teeth. “I’m camping here because of my papery lungs,” Karuru said, coughing through his crinkled lungs. “Don’t tell the police you’ve seen me,” he warned. The next day, Karuru sneaked into his old shop, and stole packets of cigarettes. He ran into the road without looking right or left, and a driver bumped the skeletal man along Dead Street. 

The tyres screeched for 2 kilometres before he turned back. The bang drained the booze from the driver’s body. Soon, he draped his golden cross around Karuru’s disfigured neck. “Second death is painful,” whispered Karuru. The driver chuckled while checking his pulses.  Then he pulled an iPhone from his pocket.  “Don’t call the police,” Karuru cried. In a blink, blue and orange lights were flashing at the scene, and the road was blocked with steel ropes. “Your next of kin?” said a police officer. Karuru remembered the hearty words from his sobbing wife, who read his obituary. 

“Where do you stay?” asked a paramedic, rubbing his bony wrists.  “Erf 0000” Karuru said. The officer dialled the receiver box. “Erf 0000 is the cemetery,” an automated voice answered, playing a funeral hymn. The driver wiped his tears for killing a dead man.  “Don’t worry, it’s my second death,” Karuru said. The officer unrolled a map and pointed a baton at Erf 0000. “It’s a spirit,” he said, cocking his pistol. “I told you not to call the police,” Karuru scolded the driver. The police brought a black bag from a van.

“I’ll not go back to that freezer,” said Karuru,  waving a finger. “Where’s the mortuary?” the officer quizzed.  “Erf 1111,” said Karuru. The officers hung their jaws and cupped their mouths. “You’re innocent,” Karuru said, pressing his expired licence into the unlicensed driver’s hands. Finally, the sun blinked and Karuru disappeared. Afterwards,  the police sprayed live bullets at his grave.