As he lay sleeping, Björn began to dream; he dreamt he was dead. However, he was not at all nervous. On the contrary he thought it was relaxing to pretend to be dead for a few hours.

On the morning of Christmas Day he got up to brush his teeth, but he got a shock when he looked in the mirror. His face was whiter than the snow outside the house and his eyes had burst; it looked ghastly. Apparently, he died during the night. Death was certainly no dream now but a grim reality.

Björn didn't know what to do. Perhaps he should go back to bed, but he had no wish to do that. The whole family would come in and stare at his corpse and that was no fun. He would rather startle his sleeping offspring by staring at them when they woke early in the morning. They would probably be frightened to death and that wasn´t kind of him.



But one could have some fun at the expence of the living when one was dead. He thought it was only fair. He went to his sleeping son and daughter-in-law and touched them. His son woke first. "So Dad is dead," his son muttered with a drawn out yawn.

"Go to bed and rest, for God's sake. It isn't good for a dead person to run around."

"You should be a bit afraid of me," muttered Björn disappointed.

"Afraid of you? No, I am not afraid of you now, when you are dead."

Björn became so angry that he stooped over his son and strangled him.

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