Even when there's zero physical danger, having something unwanted follow you around—gradually consuming your time/energy/strength to such a degree that you relent and accept it—can be real life-wrecker. Maybe there's a very good reason for accepting it. Maybe you've got no other choice but to accept it. Maybe you're just exhausted. But the end result is the same—now you're stuck with a dead man.
What was your main inspiration to write “The Dead Man”? What sparked the initial idea?
A friend and I were looking at a series of LinkedIn-style headshots and came across one of a man who looked dead – pale skin, empty eyes, fresh from the funeral home. I told my friend “that man is dead – that man is NOT alive.” The concept of working with an embalmed dead man felt both funny and super unsettling – the smells, the glassy stares, the missed deadlines – and it got more uncomfortable with the added idea that out of all your coworkers, you’re the only one who’s bothered. Everyone has that one coworker they can’t handle, and this seemed like an insane extension of that.
When I first read your submission, your use of humor to tell the story is one of the reasons the piece stood out to me. Did you initially set out to write a story in this type of voice, or was it naturally informed by the subject matter? I really appreciated your delicate balance of humor and horror—how do you think you were able to strike that balance in a way that kept the horror in tact?
I’m so happy you enjoyed the humor! In this case, I think the subject matter absolutely informed the tone – I wanted it to be first-person conversational (like you’re listening to a friend at the office water cooler), and I tend to gravitate toward more “funny” moments writing in a voice like that. Also, in a general sense, I love a measured bit of humor in horror – just a sprinkle or two, enough to pull the reader back for a second – because I think it can make the serious/upsetting moments pack a harder punch. The balance can be tricky, but to my taste, I prefer when the scale tips firmly toward horror at the end, no matter what funny business came before. As a reader (and a writer!) I want to wrap things up and have trouble sleeping.
Was this piece inspired by any real-life experiences? Of course, it’s unlikely that you ever had a corpse co-worker (hopefully!), but was the corporate setting chosen out of familiarity or did it just happen to be thematically appropriate for the piece?
The setting was definitely chosen out of familiarity. And in terms of the events and characters in the story, I didn’t draw from any one person, or one moment – it’s more of a mash-up of experiences, seasoned by the feeling of total hopelessness that sometimes (or often) comes up in every job. Those times when you can’t get things done, or can’t make yourself heard/understood, and decide to throw up your hands and ride the wave of corporate ennui.
What do you hope readers take away from this piece?
Even when there’s zero physical danger, having something unwanted follow you around – gradually consuming your time/energy/strength to such a degree that you relent and accept it – can be real life-wrecker. Maybe there’s a very good reason for accepting it. Maybe you’ve got no other choice but to accept it. Maybe you’re just exhausted. But the end result is the same – now you’re stuck with a dead man.
A couple more questions just for fun! Do you have any particular writing rituals?
I don’t have any rituals per se – I do prefer to write on my back porch, and I almost always write at night. But in my heart of hearts, I want to be an early-morning writer, someone who reaches a few hundred words before leaving for work – maybe someday I’ll get myself organized enough to do that (this is a little lie I like to tell myself).
Lastly . . . what scares you?
TOO. MANY. THINGS. I am massive scaredy-cat. And even though I love being scared by horror writing/movies/shows, there are plenty of other spooky-for-me things that I don’t enjoy, such as:
Some of the these I’m trying to fight against (heights and public speaking), and others really don’t matter (I don’t encounter many elephant seals on a daily basis – or ever). But mirrors? And the dark? Mirrors and the dark combined? Downtown Nightmareville.
(Truthfully, what scares me the most is living in a red state in 2025, and the general condition of the world, but I’m doing my best to keep that fear from overwhelming me. A daily battle.)
Rachel Henderson (she/her) lives in New Orleans, where she spends her free time writing and playing bagpipes. Her stories have appeared in After Happy Hour, 100-Foot Crow, Take a Breath: A Collection of Claustrophobic Horror, Neither Fish Nor Foul, and elsewhere. In 2021, she won first place in the NYC Midnight Short Screenplay Competition. Find her at www.rlhendie.com.
