Claudéric had a funny feeling that he’d died and yet everything was the same. He mentioned it to Marion his wife, and she said it was a funny thing but she felt the same way.
“Surely we can’t both be dead and still living in the same house in the same way,” she said.
“Well,” said Claudéric, “I mow the lawn and weed the garden every week without fail. You do many of the same household tasks such as cooking and laundry. And yet it seems exceedingly strange but I get a very clear feeling that we’re both dead, and have been so for several months.”
“Surely it can’t be true,” said Marion. “We would know one way or another if we had died. Either we would have ceased to exist and wouldn’t know anything at all, or we would be in heaven. And since we’re unaware of either condition I can only conclude that we haven’t died after all.”
“Let’s get on with life then. What a silly and unrealistic thing this has been,” said Claudéric. “Dead indeed! Goodness me!”
There was a knock at the door. “Anyone home?” shouted the policeman. “The neighbours have complained that the place is unkempt and the lawns haven’t been mowed for several months.”