Stupid Deaths of BBC Ghosts

The Plaguers

Stupid Deaths, Stupid Deaths

They're funny 'cause they're true

Stupid Deaths, Stupid Deaths

Hope next time it's not you!

Death sat at his desk with his head in his hands. He was absolutely exhausted, and what he really wanted was a nice sleep, to emotionally recover from the day's Stupid Deaths. Unfortunately, we can't all get what we want, and he had one more to come through. 

"Next." He yawned, before watching in growing horror as a gaggle of people, of varying ages and genders, wandered into the room, chattering loudly. 

"No, Mic, you can't go at the front"

"But I'm in charge!"

"No you're not!!"

"When was that decided?" 

"I should be at the front!" 

"Hey, hey hey!!" Said Death interrupting the argument before it could escalate. The chattering slowly died down. "Who are you all? And why did you come in together?" 

"We wanted to..." Said Mic, unsure why there was any confusion. 

"But this is where it's decided if you pass on to the afterlife. It's a one at a time thing." Objected Death, staring at the 15 strong group crowding his room. 

"You get one of us, you get all of us. We come as a group." Shrugged one of the Ghosts. In their mind it was simple. 

Death sighed. It seemed he was fighting a losing battle. "Well, there's no point fighting to the Death over it, we're all already here." He joked, smiling to himself. 

"But you are Death...and we're all dead." Said Mic sounding, as usual, confused. 

"Yes Mic," sighed a long suffering plague victim, "That's why it's funny."

"Or at least that's why he thinks it is anyway." Muttered another. 

"So, how did you die?" Asked Death. 

The Ghosts looked around at each other for a second, laughing, until one of them spoke up. 

"Err...plague.." She said, all of the Ghosts looking meaningfully between Death and their many, very obvious, Plague wounds. 

"Right," Said Death, resigning himself to another normal, boring story. "And how did that happen then?"

The Ghosts descended into uproar at this, all shouting and arguing over each other. 

"It was Mic!" 

"He brought diseased furs from the city to our village." 

"No I didn't....well  I did....but I said I'm sorry."

"Sorry's not gonna cut it. You killed everyone here AND our families."

"I thought we'd moved on. Remember the politician guy?" 

"Yeah, he's right, Nigel. We accepted the apology." 

"Well I didn't" Muttered Nigel grudgingly, but reluctantly stopping the argument. 

"Do you lot ever stop nattering?" Asked Death, rubbing his head. "It's been a long day, and I've got a cracking headache. Could you just stop for a minute, please?"  

There was a general muttering, and the babbling stopped, as the group looked expectantly at Death. 

"What?" He asked, looking up at their faces all staring over him.