Spirit oil is cheaper than you’d think, but there are lots of dead people.
Proper rubs down the pneumatic screen-door closer with it; it works okay. Of course, the dead ask him for things whenever he goes out to the porch now.
“Remember my names,” they wheeze in tiny voices as he carries out a plate of steaks. “Curse my enemies! Regret as I regretted; live as I never lived!” Proper doesn’t mind. The screen door closes a lot easier.
He does try asking what their names were. They just mumble a lot, and get embarrassed when they can’t remember.