Death’s Door

Dusk had just fallen when Death arrived on Winslow Avenue. Clouds blotted out the stars, only parting to let the slightest sliver of moonlight filter down onto the steps of Fable Faremount’s front porch. Lightning slashed across the sky, briefly illuminating the hooded figure leaning against Mrs. Anderson’s coffee shop. 

Death glowered from across the street as the lights flickered on inside the house.  Thunder clapped in the distance. Strapped across Death’s back rested two blades, sharpened to a point and meticulously cleaned.  

The world darkened and a chill permeated the air as Death began to cross the street. Not a sound broke the silence of the night save for the wind that began to howl as Death took a step into the driveway. A shriveled leaf on the house’s front lawn fluttered slowly to the ground. 

Someone inside the house was humming. Death’s knuckles rapped once across the front door. Knock. The humming stopped. Knock. Footsteps tapped hesitantly towards the door. Knock. 

The lock turned. 

The door swung open. 

A woman’s face peeked out into the night. Her eyes widened. Her mouth fell open and then closed. 

Death’s voice, a sound like gravel, echoed an ominous tune through the air. “Hello.” 

The woman stared, her mouth agape. “Hello?” She said, unsure, and a little bit terrified. 

Death’s dark hood, still cloaked over his face, cast his eyes in shadow as his hands reached back towards his scythes. “I’m here to take you…” The woman began to tremble, understanding clouding her eyes. 

The woman screamed as Death’s hands slashed a deadly blow in front of him. A sharp gust of wind knocked back Death’s hood. The screaming stopped. The woman’s eyes trailed down to the gloved hands extended out in front of her. 

 “...On a date!” Death’s voice, still with a rasp more akin to a snake’s hiss than a man’s, rose slightly in pitch. The bouquet of flowers grasped delicately in his hands wilted down towards the ground, a depressing contrast to the happy little grin that donned Death’s face. 

The woman stared. And then she started to laugh a giggle akin to that of a jingling bell.  The sound of it lit the shimmer of Death’s eyes into a gentle dance in the porch light. 

“Careful. You’re flirting with Death, my dear.” 

“Connor!” She gasped out between laughs. She swore his puns would be the death of her. 

“It can’t be helped,” the man shrugged. 

“I thought I was dead!” But the woman’s laughing persisted as Connor, dressed in an astoundingly stupid costume of Death, took her into her arms and spun her around on the steps. 

“Happy Halloween, my love.”