Ed found a severed head in his toilet. It was bobbing in the water where he wanted to pee.  From the looks of the head, it had been cut off long before. No blood flowed from the neck. The head was squeezed from the pipes, like a bullet.

First, he zipped up his pants. Then he gingerly lifted the head by the hair.  That was black and long. It still felt like hair. The face was male; an old man, he guessed. No expression. Distorted. The eyes were open, brown. White skin but leathery, wrinkled. The mouth was open like the man wanted to scream. The teeth were perfect, maybe dentures. Ed had no idea who the dead man was or how the head had gotten into the toilet of his apartment.

He lowered the thing into the water and peed into his bathtub. The yellow he got rid of with the faucet water. He changed from his plaid pajamas to his blue jeans and yellow shirt, not tucked in. Ed had to be ready for the police.

“And you didn’t hear anything?” one of the officers asked. “A one-bedroom apartment with a small bathroom attached and you were probably ten feet from the toilet. Didn’t hear anything?”

“Nothing. I came home from work late last night, eleven or so, watched TV for a while, cable surfing, drank my usual glass of white box wine, then went to sleep. I took a pee before going to bed and the toilet was empty. I heard nothing.”

“You don’t seem upset. I’d be upset if I found a severed head in my toilet,” the second officer said. Ed knew they were deciding whether or not to arrest him. He wished they would. Instead of another dull day at the grocery store, restocking and the usual, he would have an exciting day in jail. Meet all sorts of low-lifes. Have fun.

“I’m not. I have no idea who that man is or how he got into my bathroom. I don’t know him, so I don’t care. What I do care about is finding out what happened, so if somebody broke in, tiptoed around, dumped the ‘evidence’ in my toilet and left, I want to know. Wouldn’t you?” Ed said. He spoke with a smile  Having fun.

“You have an alarm here. The keypad is by the front door. Did you set it?” Officer #1 asked.

“No. I set the alarm when I leave, not while I’m here. I probably should. I will in the future. I haven’t been doing that.”

“The front door doesn’t seem forced. Did you lock it?” said Officer #2.

“I usually do. Can’t swear I did last night. I was really tired,” Ed said. “Check.”

“We have,” said Officer #2, the fat, unfriendly one. “It’s not locked.”

“Sorry. Do mo’ bedda next time,” said Ed, laughing.

“You think this is funny?” said #2. Ed knew he was seriously starting not to like him.

“Yeah. Ugly head in the toilet. That’s damn funny,” Ed said.

“Who you calling ugly?”

Silence. Ed turned serious. The police looked at each other. When Ed looked at the head, the forehead was wrinkled in thought, as it hadn’t been.

“I said, who you calling ugly? I heard that. My brain, ears, eyes, and nose are still working. Will for a while longer. You want the real story, or are you three just flapping your gums for pleasure,” the head sneered.

“Uh, sure. Tell us the real story,” #1 said. He took out his cell phone, punched it with his fingers a few times, and began videoing. Nobody was going to believe this, even with two other witnesses.

“Hi, world,” the head said. Its voice was high-pitched for a man, and sarcastic. “My name is Robert Allen Murphy. I was a drug dealer. So sue me. I’ll be dead dead when you watch this. Deal went bad last night. They stabbed me to death, cut me into pieces, threw the leg parts and the arms parts and all the other parts into flowerpots, which they planted with geraniums. I’ll be fertilizer soon. The head they flushed in one of the other apartments here. Something wrong with the plumbing. I came up the pipe into this asshole’s toilet. Kind of exciting, really. Now I am fading away, but it will take a while. Men you want are Dale and Sam Carruthers, and Manuel Garcia. They deal in drugs; I delivered. Owed them money. They stabbed me and dismembered me. Put those shits into jail, and I will rest easy in death.”

Nobody interrupted the head. Ed looked at the officers, as if to confirm this was real. It was. #1 looked satisfied.

“How long you got?” he asked the head.

“Maybe a day, maybe two.”

“Then let’s take you down to headquarters where you can make another statement,” he said.

“Good deal. I think death will be like sleeping. Right now, I am wide awake. Probably all that coffee and opioids I’ve had. Still in my brain. Take me. It’s okay with me. I look forward to being dead. Being alive was miserable.”

The officers nodded at Ed.

“I’ve never experienced this before,” #2 told him.

“Who has? Nobody.”

“You’re a witness, so don’t go anywhere. Expect to make the news all over the world. Brace yourself.”

“I’m braced,” Ed said, happy. This was his lucky day. “See you later, Mr. Murphy.”

“Probably not, but thanks for calling the police.”

“No problem.”

They left, and Ed stood in the middle of his small living room. Processing, as they said on TV. He went to the bathroom and took a pee in the toilet. That way it would seem like a toilet again. He’d never go again, though, anywhere, in any toilet, without looking first for a head.