Proper Registration

Originally posted on Tales of the Parodyverse by Manga Shoggoth.

Parodyverse characters copyright (c) 2011 to their creators. The use of characters and situations reminiscent of other popular works do not constitute a challenge to the copyrights or trademarks of those works.

There is not much difference between being "bored at work" and "bored in a Regestry Office"...

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The sign on the door read "Registrar of Births and Deaths". The said door was down the end of a covered pathway flanked with trees and pebbles, giving the effect of a slightly overweight Zen garden.

Inside was a large hallway in the Edwardian style. Next to the entrance was an ornate desk housing a receptionist who was exploring the mystery of how to pronounce names. The surface of her desk was littered with notices, timetables and brochures, presided over by a stern notice.

WARNING ANY PERSON WHO KNOWINGLY AND WILLFULLY GIVES FALSE INFORMATION TO A REGISTRAR FOR INSERTION IN A BIRTH, DEATH, MARIRIAGE OR CIVIL PARTNERSHIP REGISTER, OR MAKES A FALSE DECLARATION FOR THE PURPOSE OF REGISTRATION OF A BIRTH OR DEATH, OR TO PROCURE A MARRIAGE OF CIVIL PARTNERSHIP, IS LIABLE TO PROSECUTION FOR PERJURY

The hallway was bathed in the warm glow that can only come from sunlight on lovingly varnished oak panelling. The hall rang with the sound of parents reading to children (siblings of those to be registered), the occasional screaming child, odd couples holding hands and talking in hushed tones and one or two stoic figures, sitting in glum silence.

* * *

Downstairs, in the basement, all was quiet. In the cool darkness was laid a figure, looking for all the world as if it were asleep. The body, shrouded in a light gown, lay ramrod-straight, the head tilted slightly back and the mouth open as if in a silent, continuous snore. Only an overactive (or highly emotional) imagination would have seen a flicker of the eyelids.

* * *

Above, in a side room, a Registrar was involved in an unpleasant task.

"The problem, sir", she explained, "is the certificate."

She turned exhibit A round so the informer could read it.

"Now, we have four sections to the Cause of Death..."

Indeed, there were. In finest official-speak:

• I a) Disease or condition directly leading to death
  
• I b) Other disease or condition, if any, leading to I a
  
• I c) Other disease or condition, if any, leading to I b
  
• II) Other significant conditions CONTRIBUTING TO THE DEATH but not related to the disease or condition causing it

The registrar indicated I a, where in defiance of long medical tradition, the doctor had clearly printed "OLD AGE", legibly, for all to see.

"The problem is that Old Age is not acceptable as a sole cause of death unless the deceased is older than eighty years. Now, If there was a secondary cause of death we could accept it, but unfortunately..." - the registrar indicated II - "The doctor has put this under II instead of I b."

This was in fact the case. The words "ADVANCED ALZHEIMERS" appeared unrepentantly in the wrong section.

"I'm sorry. The coroner's office is very strict about this sort of thing.

The informer sighed. It looked like he was sitting at the start of a long, kafkaesque process.

"I'm afraid you will have to go back to the issuing doctor and get him to ... What the hell is going on outside?"

The registrar stepped up to the door and flung it open.

* * *

The hallway was still noisy, but now the sound was that of adults and children screaming and huddling against the far wall. The receptionist stood across the entrance to the hall, holding what appeared to be a bottle of spring water, except that "Eau du Pope" was probably not a well-known brand.

And in the middle of the hallway stood a stiff, gaunt figure, its eyes closed and its mouth open in a silent scream. An overactive imagination would have heard a low moan.

A less overactive mind would have heard a sigh from the registrar as she strode back to her desk, yanked open the lower drawer and pulled a long, thin item from its oilcloth wrapping. As the figure lurched into the doorway, she let it have it with both barrels.

The figure fell backwards, stiff as a board. No blood flowed from the wound, but it was surrounded by a certain crystalline glittering that slowly disappeared, leaving a black-flecked patch that smelled strongly of gunpowder and burned pepper.

The registrar returned to her desk and slipped the rifle back in the bottom drawer. She reclaimed the medical certificate and scrawled "ZOMBIFICATION, PROPERLY CORRECTED" with a green pen in I b, stamped and signed the form and smiled at the shaken informant.

"Everything seems to be in order. How many copies of the death certificate will you require?"

---

Notes:

The person registering a death certificate really is called the informant.

I would like to make it quite clear that Langtons, my local registry office, has no mortuary underneath, and the staff seldom suffer from zombies (although some of the residents of Essex come close...). They were, however, extremely helpful while I spent two days trying to register Mum's death. The doctor? Less so.

Or not.

Glad to see a story from you! Hope we get more?

Al B.