I first saw Death as a child. We were at my grandmother’s house and she was sick. I don’t remember much of my grandmother. I’m sure she did normal grandmother things like making cookies and knitting, but I have no memories of her doing those things.
I was in my grandmother’s room. My mother had left me there for a few moments to take a call. My father was at the store. Grandmother was asleep, raspy, rattling breaths filling the otherwise silent room. I had a toy truck and was playing with it on the floor when Death came in.
I didn’t hear the door open, but there was a man standing in the room now, so it must have opened. He was tall, with dark skin and a kind face. He wore a black sweater over a white collared shirt and black pants. On his finger was a gold ring. I had never seen the man before, but here he was, in Grandmother’s room.
“Are you a doctor?” I asked.
The man started, looking down at me. “Oh, hello,” he said.
“She’s sick,” I said, pointing at Grandmother. “Mom was calling a doctor. Are you a doctor?”
“I’m… not a doctor. I am here for your grandmother though.”
“Why?”
He paused for a moment, thinking, considering. “I’m going to take your grandmother away with me.”
“You should wait for the doctor,” I insisted. “Mom’s calling him right now.”
The man knelt down on the floor in front of me. “The doctor isn’t going to help. I have to take your grandmother now. She’s ready to go. Alright? I’m going to take her with me. Her body is still going to be here, but she won’t be in it.”
I frowned at him. “But Mom said-”
“Your mother was wrong this time,” he said. “It’ll be alright though. I’ll take care of your grandmother.”
I didn’t understand, still frowning, brows furrowed, trying to figure out what that meant. The man stood up and stood by the side of Grandmother’s bed. He reached over her and a glowing blue light appeared in his hands. He looked at me with a sad smile and said, “Your grandmother says she loves you.”
I don’t think he opened the door to leave. He was just gone. Grandmother’s rasping breaths had stopped. I hadn’t noticed until the man was gone, but the room was silent. She was gone. She was dead.
---
No one believed me about the man who took my grandmother. My parents assumed it was just my imagination, some way for a young brain to come to terms with the concept of death, with seeing it firsthand. As I grew up, I found myself believing them. It would make sense that a strange man hadn’t appeared in my grandmother’s room and taken her soul. It would make sense for him to have been some figment of my imagination.
I was in college when I got evidence to the contrary. I had a part time job waiting tables at a local restaurant. One day I noticed a woman sitting at a table. I hadn’t seen her come in, so I assumed I had just missed her. She was in my table section so I walked over to the table and asked if I could get her started with anything to drink. She ignored me.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Can I get you something to drink?”
She looked up at me, her face contorted in confusion. “You shouldn’t-” she started before pausing. “Oh. Interesting.”
“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked for the third time.
“No.”
“Are you ready to order then?”
“I’m not ordering.”
“I’ll have to ask you to leave then,” I said.
“I’ll be out in a moment.”
“Now,” I argued.
“In a moment,” she repeated, waving me off. “I have some business to finish.”
“I’m sure you can finish it elsewhere.”
She stood, ignoring my comment, and walked towards a table where a group of friends were eating. As she approached, one of them started choking. His friends tried to help him, but couldn’t figure out how. The woman reached a hand out to him and he slumped at the table. She turned away from the group, back towards me, with a glowing golden orb in her hands. Our eyes locked for a moment before she started towards the door.
“Wait!” I called, but she left the restaurant. I ran after her.
She stood outside on the sidewalk, looking as if she was waiting for me. “Yes?” she said.
“What- what was that?” I demanded.
“My job.”
“You killed that guy,” I accused.
She looked at the orb still in her hands. “I don’t kill,” she said. “He was going to die anyway. I’m guiding him.”
“You killed him,” I repeated. “I should- I should call the police or something.”
She looked up at me, smiling like I was a child telling her about how the moon was made of cheese. “You could do that, but they wouldn’t be able to do anything. They can’t see me until they’re like this,” she nodded to the orb. “And besides, there’s no foul play. He simply choked.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“He’s getting tired,” she said, looking at the orb gently. “I really should get him out of here.” She looked up again, nodding at me before turning to leave.
“Wait!”
She stopped, sighing. “Yes?”
“Who are you?”
She tilted her head, that same amused smile back on her lips. “They call me Death.”
---
Somehow, I knew the woman I met at the restaurant and the man from when Grandmother died were the same being. He hadn’t been an imaginative acceptance of death. He had been Death itself.
I kept my eyes peeled for anyone that other people couldn’t see. I didn’t know why I could see Death and no one else could. It filled my heart with dread any time I saw a person that others seemed to ignore. It would come for me. I knew too much. I must be high on its list.
I tried to ignore the looming presence of Death, tried to live my life. It felt like the best thing I could do to spite the specter, to prove I wasn’t afraid.
It was a wild night, full of alcohol and music. Flashing lights and sweat. Getting in a car to go home.
I don’t remember the crash.
I woke up in the hospital. Everything hurt and my arm was in a cast, but I was alive. I had survived.
A figure in dark robes sat in one of the chairs.
Panic surged through me. I tried to sit up, to get away. The figure stood and in an echoey voice said, “Stop. You’ll hurt yourself.”
“You’re gonna kill me anyway!” I shouted back.
“I’m not here for you,” it said.
I paused. “Then- then why?”
“Why am I in a hospital?” There was humor in its tone, like it was making a joke. “I can’t imagine what I would be doing in a hospital.”
This was the most it had looked like what you would imagine a personification of death to look like. Its long dark robes obscured most of its figure. Skeletal hands were held out in an attempt to pacify me. I could not see a face.
“That’s not- why are you here?” I demanded, reminding myself to breathe.
“I was in the area,” it said. “I saw them bring you in. I was curious. You can still see me.”
“No shit,” I muttered.
It settled back in its chair now that I had stopped trying to throw myself from the hospital bed. “I’m glad you’re okay. That was a nasty crash.”
“I was… I was in a car crash,” I said, putting the pieces together.
It nodded.
“Is everyone else…” I started.
It nodded again. “Everyone involved is okay.”
I let out a sigh of relief. “So you’re not here to kill me.”
“I don’t kill,” it said, repeating that sentiment it had at the restaurant. “I guide.”
“Looks the same.”
“I assure you it isn’t.”
“Then what exactly is it you do? Because you sure look like you kill people right now.”
It looked down at itself, as if just now realizing what it looked like. “I guide souls to what is next. I suppose the last soul I guided had a rather traditional idea of what I would look like.” It tilted its head, examining its skeletal fingers. “I’ve never been sure how to feel about this look. It’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”
“Dying is scary,” I muttered. “You gotta look the part.”
It hummed. “I suppose. You know, everyone thinks of me a little differently. Even when I have the robes, I never look the same twice. Sometimes I have human hands. I had bird talons once.”
“What do you really look like?” I asked after a moment.
“Pardon?”
“If you look like what people think you should.”
“What do I really look like?”
“Yeah. When there’s no influence.”
It hummed again. “I… I don’t know.”
“What you look like?”
“No. I don’t know that I do look like anything.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but it stood, speaking again. “I have to go now.” As it spoke, it changed, morphing from the robe-clad grim reaper into an angel with big white wings. “Until next time.”
---
I was meant to stay with my parents for Christmas. I arrived in the middle of the night, taking the spare key from under the doormat and letting myself in. I slipped my shoes off by the door, closing it behind me. I was in the middle of hanging up my coat when I saw my grandmother.
She stood in the hallway, reaching out for my parents' bedroom door. It wasn’t my grandmother, I knew. It must have been Death. Slowly, she pushed the door open.
“Wait!” I hissed.
She froze, looking over her shoulder. “Oh. Oh no.”
“Don’t,” I whispered. “Don’t do it.”
“I didn’t know you would be here,” she whispered back. She continued forward. I rushed after her.
“You can’t-” I started.
She shushed me. “Let’s not wake them,” she said, reaching for my mother. “I not only can, but I must.”
“You can leave her,” I hissed, watching my mother turn in her sleep.
“She will die either way,” Death said, reaching into my mother's chest. Her breathing stopped. “It’s not good for souls to wander the world alone.” Death stepped away, holding a blue orb in her hands, like she did when she took my grandmother. She looked up at me. “Your mother loves you,” she said. “She hid her Christmas gifts in the pantry, under the bag of beans. She still wants you both to have them.”
I stared in shock. “Please,” I tried to say.
Death smiled sadly with my grandmother’s face. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Your mother has a good soul.”
She left without another word.
It was a bleak Christmas.
---
I knocked on the door, even though it wasn’t necessary, just habit. I let myself in. I had the key to Mr. Morris’ house. It was my job. He was old and couldn’t take care of himself anymore, so as an in-home personal caregiver.
I liked Mr. Morris, an old man in a wheelchair I had been caring for. I had worked with him for a few years at this point. He was sweet. He was a lovely man.
“Heya, Slick!” Mr. Morris called, using the nickname he had given me a while ago. “I’m in the kitchen.”
“What are you doing in the kitchen?” I asked, heading to the room.
“Cooking,” he said. He was indeed cooking, poking chicken in a pan.
“Let me help,” I insisted.
“I’ve got it.”
I hesitated before stepping over to help him. I passed him the spices he was reaching for. “What made you decide to cook?” I asked. It wasn’t often he did something as involved as that.
“Thought I’d make us a nice meal,” he said, putting paprika on the chicken.
Neither of us said much as the chicken finished cooking. I grabbed a few things off of the shelves, but Mr. Morris was the one to really do the cooking. He hummed a song to himself, watching sauce simmer on a burner.
“You’re a good kid, Slick,” he said out of nowhere. “I’m glad I got to meet you.”
I wheeled him over to the table when the food was done and gave him his food. He insisted I take some too, so I did, and I ate with him. As we both finished up, he slid an envelope to me. I took it and inside was a thick stack of dollar bills.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“A bonus. I’m not gonna be around much longer.”
I tried to slide the money back to him. “What do you-” I started, when I saw it. Standing behind Mr. Morris, hands on the back of his wheelchair, stood Death. He looked like something you would see in the stained-glass windows of a cathedral, flat and blocky, with clear lines all over him. He had a gray beard and wore a blue robe with something orange overtop and had a solid yellow halo around his head, like some kind of saint you may see at a church.
“Hello again,” Death said.
“My body is giving out,” Mr. Morris explained, sliding the money back to me. “More than it has been,” he added with a chuckle. “The doctors said I could wait it out, spend my last few days with tubes all down my throat, or they could give me a pill to take me out now, painlessly. I don’t want tubes down my throat, Slick. I gotta have some sort of cool last words.”
I looked between Death and Mr. Morris. “That’s crazy,” I started, not sure who I was talking to. “You can’t just...” I stopped, words stuck in my throat. “That’s not fair.”
Mr. Morris shrugged. “Death comes for us all in the end. It’ll be better this way. I’ve got Saint Peter up there,” he gestured vaguely at the ceiling, “waiting to let me in. Besides, I don’t have much down here anyway. I lost Danny a decade ago. No kids. Parents are gone. It’s my turn now.”
And I knew that. I knew all that because we had spoken at length about all of it. About Danny, about how the two of them had lived together as “roommates” until they came out and could legally get married. About how they always wanted to adopt, but never got the chance to. About the parents who had passed when he was young.
“I-I don’t,” I started. “Why would you take it now? You still have time.”
“To do what?” he asked, no hint of sarcasm or contempt. He asked it as a genuine question. “I can’t do anything. I can barely move by myself. It’ll only get worse. I wanna go out while I still have the ability to wipe my own ass.”
“I’m gonna miss you.”
“You too, Slick.” He smiled at me. “I never had kids, but if I did, I’d hope they’d turn out something like you.” He looked over my shoulder. “The sun’s setting.”
I looked over my own shoulder, turning my back on Death, still standing behind him. “It is,” I said. I took a breath. “Do you want to watch it?”
“I do,” Mr. Morris said.
Death stepped out of the way as I took Mr. Morris’ chair and wheeled him to the window. We both watched as the sky painted itself in bright colors, more vivid than any painting in a museum. He looked at peace, watching the sky turn orange and pink, before turning purple and eventually black.
Death loomed as I helped Mr. Morris to bed. I sat in the room as he fell asleep and watched Death reach for his soul. It was a pale green orb, glowing contently in the dark room. I didn’t say anything, didn’t try to stop Death as he took it. Once it was in his hands I said, “Take care of him.”
“I will,” Death promised.
“He was a good person.” I stared at the soul Death held gently.
“Remember him,” Death suggested. “Tell his story.”
“I will,” I promised.
---
Death was not one person this time. They flickered through different forms, never settling on one as they stepped towards me. I was the only one in the house. I had been for years. I inherited it when my father passed and now it was finally my turn. I found myself calm at the thought. It was nothing like the fear and panic I felt seeing them in my younger years, but more like sitting with Mr. Morris and the peace he had as the stars came out that night
“Hello,” I said.
“Hello,” they replied in countless voices. “I suppose you can guess the reason for my visit.”
“I can,” I said. “Let me see the sun set?”
“Of course.
The sky was pink like bubble gum. Cotton candy clouds covered the sun, turning the sky from orange to navy. My back was to Death when I felt myself separate from my body. It was painless and instant. I could see my body in front of me, like a dream where you see yourself in the third person.
“Oh,” Death said. The countless echoing voices were gone, replaced by one single one. I turned to look at them. They had changed. I saw a young person in front of me. If I had to guess, they were no older than fifteen. They held a shepherd’s crook in one hand. Nothing like how I would imagine Death. “Oh, that explains a lot.”
“What does?” I asked.
They smiled. “You’re like me. I’m not guiding you on.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’re meant to guide souls too,” they said. “Like me. There’s two of us now.”
“I don’t know if I can do that,” I admitted.
“I’ll be here to help,” they promised. “It’ll be easier together.” There was a buzzing in my head. They took my hand with their free one. “We can start now.”