Knock knock.
“Oh heavens, who’s bothering an old woman at this hour?”
“’Tis I, Death, the Incarnate of Darkness and Shadow, bearer of the soul’s next journey.”
“Well I didn’t order any Door Dash, dear. Off you go now.”
“Nay, good Mistress! I said Death! Death! The Harvester of Souls!”
“Mm‑hmm. Are you one of those scammers? My granddaughter warned me about you people.”
“I be the Immortal Night! The Bearer of the Final Breath! I come to carry the departed unto their purgatory.”
“Does it cost anything?”
“Nay. Death is most assuredly free.”
“Good. Just checking. Last fellow claimed to be a prince from Nairobi and wanted my credit card.”
“I am the All‑Knowing Darkness! Now open thy door!”
“I thought Death could walk through walls.”
“Aye, I can. But not with my scythe or dark steed. ’Tis unwieldy.”
“All right, all right, let me undo these chain locks. I’m old, not quick.”
“Pray tell, is any soul within this dwelling close to their earthly end?”
“Shouldn’t you know that? Honestly, this is sounding more like a scam every minute.”
“Alas, I have misplaced my Soul Ledger somewhere over the Atlantic, and my dark steed flatly refuseth to retrace our flight. Surely thou must sense if one beneath this roof stands near their departure. Thou art of advanced years. Art thou feeling poorly?”
“Mm‑hmm. Next thing you’ll want my social security number and bank account access.”
“I crave no mortal riches! Coins and accounts are but ash beneath my cloak. Merely tell me whose hourglass empties tonight.”
“How should I know? You’re the one who lost your silly list.”
“And thou art the one at home! ’Tis appropriate to inquire given my ledger is lost.”
“Well why don’t you check your pockets? You must have all sorts on that fancy robe of yours.”
“I have checked all seventeen pockets. Thoroughly. Twice.”
“Seventeen? Good gracious.”
“Dost thou imagine a host of eternal souls travel light?”
“Fair enough.”
“So then, nameth the soul destined for departure.”
“You truly don’t remember?”
“Mistress, I reap billions. Whole centuries pass like morning mist.”
“Oh goodness, well, I don’t know.”
“Speak, that I may fulfill my duty.”
“Oh, yes. I remember now. It’s Bubbles.”
“Bubbles?”
“The goldfish.”
“In yonder bowl?”
“That’s him, yes.”
“The same creature who hath circled these waters for three and a half years?”
“Persistent little thing, isn’t he?”
“Art thou certain?”
“Very.”
“He doth regard me with suspicion.”
“He does that. Judgmental little thing.”
“And thou sufferest no chest pains? No foreboding chills or ominous portends?”
“Besides Death showing up on my porch, dear? No others that weren’t already caused by taxes.”
“Hm.”
“Take the fish.”
“Very well. ’Tis plausible. Come hither, little soul.”
“Don’t give me that look, Bubbles. I saved our hides.”
“Aye. His tiny spirit passes in peace. Thou hast my thanks, good Mistress.”
“You’re welcome anytime, dearie. Here, take a cookie. Oh, and a cube of sugar for your cute little dark steed. Isn’t he a sweetheart. There we are. Out the door you go now.”
“Between us, Mistress, prithee set thy affairs in order.”
“Ah. Okay. I’ll be sure to get another goldfish.”
“Fare thee well!”
(The end).
Story Note: I put annotated thoughts and comments about this piece at my new Sub-Stack: https://open.substack.com/pub/draftsatdawn/p/writing-a-conversation-only-story?r=4s8gfb&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true
Image Credit: AI image from Midjourney. Getting Midjourney to design death looking at a gold fish was loads of fun.