Chapter 2: Melons, Mayhem, and Sam Walker

Today was supposed to be a routine management day in the Afterlife.

I’d hoped for a boring shift—maybe plow through some overdue paperwork, maybe sneak in last month’s budget review. Instead? Chaos, as usual. Me, Dylan, Judge Young, and the crew were parked in one of our so-called high-level meetings. Truth is, these are more like group therapy for the eternally overworked. We’re the back-office of the afterlife, lightyears from the Heavenly Court, running the dead with rules so loose you could drive a hearse through ‘em.

The conference room smelled faintly of burnt popcorn and stale coffee. Someone’s forgotten hoodie slumped over a chair. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, the Keurig in the corner wheezed like it was on life support, and every chair threatened to squeak you right out of your seat. We might be ghosts, but budgets are still tight. And if we didn’t let a few rowdy spirits slip out for fun, where would our performance numbers come from? No numbers, no funding. No funding? Well, good luck eating anything but spectral air.

King Dylan, as always, was chomping away—this time on a golden honeydew melon swiped from the breakroom fridge. He talked and chewed in the same breath:

“Boss, this melon’s unreal. I’ll bring some by your place later—sweet as summer.”

He wore that crooked grin, honeydew juice running down his arm, like nothing in the universe could stress him out. Dylan’s the type who’d run the grill at the block party, flipping burgers and handing out cold beers to everyone—mayor included.

Judge Young scowled, not missing a beat:

“Dylan, seriously? We’re in a meeting, not a drive-thru. Can you maybe wait five minutes before stuffing your face?”

He pointed at Dylan, but his eyes flicked to the melon, Adam’s apple bobbing as he pretended not to care.

He huffed and added, “What about your team? What about the thousands of little spirits counting on us? If you’ve got something good, maybe share it next time.”

His voice had that classic stern-dad energy, but I caught him sneaking glances at the fruit like he’d trade his gavel for a bite.

This old guy—always saying one thing and thinking another.

Honestly, that honeydew looked pretty tempting. I made a mental note to snag a couple myself after the meeting.

I put on my most serious face and nodded, playing it up:

“Judge is right. Only happy workers make for a happy office, right? Or so the motivational posters say. Dylan, maybe try sharing the wealth next time.”

I tossed out the ‘rising tide’ line, channeling my inner HR manager, but all I could think about was snagging a donut from the breakroom.

Dylan flashed a cheeky grin:

“You’re drooling too, huh? Fine, I’ll bring you some, boss.”

This guy doesn’t even try to hide it.

He had that look—the class clown who knows the teacher secretly likes his jokes.

I just shrugged and let it go.

That’s when Director Mike Lewis from the Office burst in, breathless, and leaned in close. Mike’s breath smelled like stress and cheap coffee as he whispered:

“Director, someone just came—Sam Walker’s political secretary. She’s asking about a spirit called the Old Corpse of Pine Hollow. This is getting attention both in the mortal world and the Heavenly Court. What do you think…?”

Mike’s voice was barely a hiss. His hands trembled like he was clutching a scratch-off ticket worth a million. The moment I heard ‘Sam Walker,’ I felt sweat prickle my ghostly skin.

That’s one scary customer.

Before he joined the Heavenly Court, he’d already made a mess of things here. Word is, he flipped the Heavenly Court upside down, nearly stormed the Grand Hall and came within inches of clocking the Chief Judge. Anyone else would’ve been locked up for eternity—and after death, their grave would get egged.

But Sam? Not a scratch. Even the Thirty-Six Thunder Generals wouldn’t touch him. He even made a pilgrimage to the Western Paradise and walked away with a diploma. Skills, connections—he’s the guy who shows up to the board meeting after getting banned from Twitter.

I didn’t care about the meeting anymore. I lowered my voice, shooting daggers at Mike:

“How are you doing your job?

Who the heck is this Old Corpse of Pine Hollow? How did he get mixed up with Sam Walker?

Do you even know what Sam Walker is capable of? If he blows up, we’re toast. If you can’t handle this, Mike, maybe you should update your LinkedIn.”

Director Mike Lewis looked ready to faint.

He practically tried to crawl inside his own suit. Everyone in this room is a big name in the Afterlife—pillars of the place. He’d heard stories about Sam Walker, but seeing our panic, he realized the real thing was worse than any rumor.

He stammered, “Lea… Leader, I’ll handle it right away!”

I paused, then snapped, “Write me a report first—I want the whole story.”

“Okay!”

Mike bolted. Awkward silence settled. Nobody spoke. Even the buzzing fluorescent lights seemed to hush up.

Dylan shot me a look, confused:

“What’s up? Why so jittery?”

Judge Young raised an eyebrow too.

“Something big’s up. This Sam Walker…”

But with both of them watching, I shut my mouth.

“Sam Walker? What’s up with him?” Dylan pressed.

Don’t let our friendly banter fool you. We share the good times, but when disaster hits, everyone’s ready to jump ship—sometimes using you as a life raft.

I slapped on a grin:

“Oh, Sam Walker just passed by the Afterlife. Thought he might stir up trouble again.”

Judge Young’s face twitched, then he forced a smile:

“Times have changed. Sam Walker’s with the Heavenly Court now, and he’s got ties to the Western Paradise. He’s not coming for us—why would he?”

Dylan piped up:

“Exactly! We’re a law-abiding bunch now—who’d dare make a scene? Maybe I’ll send some honeydews up to Walker Mountain too. You know, for poverty relief. Gotta put it into practice.”

The joke barely broke the tension. You could practically hear everyone’s heartbeat pounding under the table. “Good idea,” Judge Young agreed. “Send more, send a whole truckload…”