Fiction | Short Story

Living with the Dead in Placentia, CA

Oftentimes, the dead leave town. Olga thinks the dead leave because they find there is no place for them.

Olga had been on the waitlist for three years, and a resident for one year, when her dead husband showed up at her door. His chin was tucked to his chest. Was it nerves? Stringy hair ran thin at his crown. Nobody washed him? An oxygen tank hugged doglike to his leg, wheeled on a little chrome dolly, air tubes tethering to his nostril.

free to take it or leave it,

authorizes the following: video recording in designated areas, limited-term specimen banking ofLearned to hoard money from your side

Not safe,




Olga’s husband used to hit her sometimes, and she couldn’t talk about it.

It looked like him, like he did right before he died. And then it undid: it puddled on the floor, splashing her shoe.



come back?”