Census of the Dead
What Happens When 30% of Your ‘Population’ Is Non-Breathing?
Civic strain, housing laws, voting-rights debates, and the escalating crisis of municipal necromancy.
Across the Commonwealth and its neighboring territories, a peculiar demographic shift has taken hold—one that statisticians describe as “unprecedented,” necromancers describe as “inevitable,” and city planners describe as “Please, gods, not again.”
The most recent governmental census reveals an astonishing figure:
Thirty percent of the population is dead.
Not figuratively.
Not emotionally.
Not “dead inside” from years of bureaucratic service.
No—genuinely, verifiably, bone-creakingly deceased.
And yet, these individuals remain present: walking, working (sometimes), loitering, voting (possibly), and contributing to the civic ecosystem in ways both meaningful and maddening.
This is not the first time the undead have entered the civic stage. But never before have they done so en masse, with such bureaucratic consequences.
Today, The Civic Report examines the logistical miracle—some would say disaster—of managing a society in which the living and the no-longer-living coexist with only occasional screaming.
Welcome to the Census of the Dead.
I. When the Dead Refuse to Stay in One Category
Traditionally, census categories include:
- Adult (18–65)
- Elder (65+)
- Child
- Traveler
- Temporarily Displaced Chicken Farmer
- And now, Undead
Simple, right?
No.
Because “undead” contains multitudes.
A skeleton is not the same as a zombie, who is not the same as a revenant, who is certainly—not even in the most charitable political climate—the same as a vampire aristocrat who owns far too much jewelry.
During the most recent count, the census office attempted to create sub-categories:
- Skeleton (Standard)
- Skeleton (Reassembled)
- Zombie (Low Awareness)
- Zombie (High Awareness)
- Revenant With Unfinished Business
- Revenant With Very Unfinished Business
- Lich (Registered)
- Lich (Unregistered—report immediately)
- Polite Ghost
- Rude Ghost
- Vampire (Compliant)
- Vampire (Non-Compliant, but Stylish)
Unfortunately, half the undead population declined to categorize themselves, either because they lacked hands to fill out the forms or because they believed categories were a construct of the living meant to marginalize the formerly alive.
The census bureau responded by creating a new category:
“Undetermined Undead Entity: please do not antagonize.”
II. Housing Laws Are Not Designed for People Who Do Not Sleep
Civic infrastructure assumes certain things about its residents:
- They breathe.
- They sleep.
- They do not molt, crumble, or drip fluids that dissolve floorboards.
The undead violate all three assumptions.
Consider the following issues:
1. Skeleton Scattering
Many skeletons—especially older models—have joints that loosen over time.
Apartment landlords report waking up to find:
- Femurs in stairwells
- Pelvises under couches
- Unclaimed skulls rolling down hallways like philosophical tumbleweeds
Local ordinances now require skeleton residents to use “Approved Housing Fasteners,” also known as “really tight belts.”
2. Zombie Mold
Zombies, through no fault of their own, have ambient humidity levels comparable to abandoned root cellars.
Condominium boards now enforce:
- Monthly dehumidifying inspections
- Prohibitions on “random oozing” in communal areas
- Mandatory tarp placement on beds, couches, and fainting chaises
Homeowners’ associations are still debating whether zombies count as “pets,” “people,” or “renovation hazards.”
3. Ghost Squatting
Ghosts do not technically occupy space, but they do occupy rooms.
A recent survey revealed:
- 74% of ghosts refuse to leave their homes after death
- 36% claim they “still pay taxes” (records disagree)
- 12% insist the new residents are legally tenants in their home
Eviction hearings have grown… complicated.
III. The Voting Rights Debate: Do the Dead Have a Voice?
Civic philosophers are split on this question.
Argument A: “They are still here; therefore they deserve representation.”
Spoken mostly by necromancers, undead rights activists, and the undead themselves.
Argument B: “They technically died; therefore their contract with democracy concluded.”
Spoken mostly by bureaucrats tired of explaining why half the ballots are damp.
Argument C: “It depends: did they vote when alive?”
Spoken by political strategists, who are transparent about their motives at least.
But practical issues abound:
- Skeletons often drop quills while signing ballots.
- Zombies have been observed eating ballots.
- Ghosts pass right through the ballot boxes.
- Vampires insist on voting at midnight, upsetting election workers.
Last year, one town reported a 117% voter turnout—later discovered to be the work of a well-intentioned revenant who voted for themselves three times, each time forgetting they had already done so due to “post-mortem clarity issues.”
The Electoral Commission ruled the votes invalid but praised the revenant’s enthusiasm.
IV. Infrastructure Strain: Roads, Sewers, and the Undead Footprint
Living populations stress infrastructure.
Undead populations… repurpose it.
Roads
Skeletons shed calcium dust that clogs drainage systems.
Zombies wander unpredictably, creating traffic hazards.
Ghosts cause horse panic; no amount of signage helps.
Sewers
Necromancers often dispose of failed experiments by flushing them.
This practice has resulted in:
- Sewer slimes learning Common
- Rats developing ethical philosophies
- A single skeleton who claims to be “Homeowner of the Underpipes”
Public Transportation
Ghosts don’t need it.
Zombies move slower than most transit systems and thus disrupt schedules.
Skeletons take up very little space but rattle noisily, creating commuter panic.
Vampires only ride night trams and often refuse to pay fares.
Transit planners now include the “Undead Variability Clause,” which predicts service delays with a ±400% accuracy range.
V. Workforce Challenges: Zombies Don’t Need Lunch Breaks, But They Do Bite
An undead workforce presents intriguing efficiencies and alarming liabilities.
Advantages
- No mandated rest periods
- No salary (depending on ethics)
- Extremely high endurance
- Skeleton crews (literal) reduce overhead
- Ghosts excel at surveillance and inventory verification
Disadvantages
- Zombie bite insurance premiums
- Skeletons prone to workplace scattering
- Ghosts frighten customers into unconsciousness
- Revenants pursue personal vendettas during work hours
- Vampires demand blood as compensation—unacceptable in most industries except the niche restaurant sector
One bakery in Ridgelow hired a skeleton as a night watchman. The skeleton performed admirably until a dog ran off with its left arm.
The bakery has since installed bone-resistant fencing.
VI. Municipal Necromancy: The Oversight Nightmare
Necromancy, long a fringe specialization practiced in subterranean libraries, has entered mainstream civic life. As undead populations rise, cities increasingly require:
- Necromantic Consultants
- Reanimation Compliance Officers
- Bone Registry Clerks
- Post-Mortem Mediators
- “No You Cannot Raise That” Enforcement Squads
But oversight is flimsy.
The Bone Permit Fiasco
To raise a skeleton legally, residents must obtain:
- A Bone Acquisition Permit
- An Ethical Reanimation Certificate
- A Noise-Level Compliance Form
- A “Declaration of Intent: This Skeleton Will Not Start an Uprising”
Most necromancers fill out exactly none of these.
In one notorious case, a mayor commissioned an undead army to clean city streets. It worked beautifully until the skeletons interpreted “remove all debris” to include benches, lampposts, and three beloved bronze statues.
The mayor insists this was a “semantic misunderstanding.”
VII. Cultural Integration: Festivals, Schools, and Public Spaces
Communities strive for harmony, but cultural habits differ.
Festivals
Ghost choirs are popular but difficult to hear over wind.
Zombies perform poorly in dance competitions.
Vampire lantern festivals are lovely but drain the lighting budget.
Schools
Skeleton children are rare but cherished.
Zombie children attend class but often attempt to eat textbooks.
Ghost children float through walls to avoid homework.
One lich child was expelled for absorbing the curriculum too quickly and then judging everyone else.
Public Spaces
Parks must remove signage such as:
- “No Littering”
- “No Climbing”
- “Please Do Not Bury Yourself Here”
And replace them with:
- “Do Not Leave Bones Unattended”
- “No Grave Sharing Except in Approved Plots”
- “Soft Voices After Midnight; the Dead Are Resting or Trying To”
VIII. The Ethical Question: Are We Building a City for the Living or for Everyone?
At its core, this is the debate gripping councils and civic boards:
Does a city exist for the living alone?
Or for all who dwell within its boundaries, regardless of pulse?
Necromancers argue for full integration—equal rights, equal services, equal access.
Some civic leaders fear this will encourage further growth of the undead demographic, especially in places with generous reanimation policies.
One council member objected:
“My grandmother died last year. I loved her dearly. But if she shows up at city hall demanding to vote, I’ll need guidance.”
A skeleton in the room raised its hand but dropped it on the floor before contributing.
IX. Can Cities Adapt?
Yes—but only with uncomfortable structural changes:
1. Dead-Ready Housing
Moisture-sealant floors, bone-secure shelving, and ghost-compatible privacy screens.
2. Revised Legal Codes
New definitions of life, death, residence, tenancy, and noise violations.
3. Specialized Public Services
- Anti-haunting teams
- Recomposition crews
- Zombie-safe crossings
- Skeleton assembly stations
4. Civic Rituals
Annual remembrance festivals that avoid excluding undead citizens who are, inconveniently, already here.
X. Closing Thoughts from the Reporter
Societies evolve. Demographics shift. And occasionally—against all logic and the instincts of the living—those demographics include residents who are supposed to stay politely underground.
But perhaps the undead are not a burden.
Perhaps they are simply another chapter in the ongoing experiment known as civilization.
If cities adapt—boldly, carefully, and with far more paperwork than anyone wants—then the living and the unliving may yet form a coherent whole.
Until then, census workers will continue knocking politely on doors, asking the same delicate question again and again:
“Are you alive, undead, or… should we come back later?”
Filed for The Civic Report.
May your data be accurate, your skeletons cooperative, and your undead population registered.
