Death's Door
When Death’s Door opened, I felt the icy air but didn’t bother turning around.
“What do you want?”
I heard the slight creak of his jaw a few times before he finally spoke.
“I…I forgot something.”
Of course he did.
“A horse.”
I turned and beheld Death—skull gleaming beneath his hood, his silhouette a pool of ink in front of the colorful hodgepodge of doors that crowded my walls.
“If you lost Pallidus…”
My hand went to the sapphire talisman that hung at my neck.
Death held up his bony hands, as if that could stop my anger. “No, NO—he’s fine.”
I exhaled. “Then what?”
But before he could answer, I nodded at the door behind him: a black and red-flecked marble doorframe with thousands of human faces carved in different shades of agony. It gaped open, revealing an emptiness that nearly drained the color from the room.
“And shut the door. You’re letting in the Void.”
He listened—for once—and after the door thumped shut, he said, “It’s a chess piece.”
Death took a couple of steps forward, dropped to the floor, and peeked under the threadbare lion-footed couch that sat in the middle of the room. He’d said I should get rid of it, but that hadn’t stopped him from sleeping there. After all, it was the only place he could sleep.
“It’s not under there,” I muttered.
As Death got to his feet, his eye sockets suddenly knit in pain.
“Behind on today’s reaping?”
Silence.
“You know, I could cast a summoning. If you asked.”
He straightened. “I’m fine. And it probably just rolled under one of these…”
Death shuffled to the other side of the couch and opened a scorched turquoise door with a silver filigreed handle. Ashes and the smell of burning drifted into the room.
“That’s not a good idea.”
He glanced inside the doorway, then quickly shut the door.
“Why not?” he said over his angular shoulder. “I’ve watched you do it hundreds of times.”
He opened the glowing red door to its right, and from inside its gold-trimmed doorway, I heard the steady tinkling of children laughing.
He looked back at me and held my gaze—as much as eyeless sockets can—and I blushed.
“I mean it.”
Death shrugged, looked inside the doorway, then closed it.
“Fine.” He turned back to face the door he’d come through, but his hand strayed to a slanted iron handle set in something petrified and framed by a crumbling stone doorway whose proportions weren’t just off—they were wrong. Evil.
“Last one.”
“Death, do not—”
With a grunt, he tugged open the sinister door just a crack. But it was enough.
A thick, splotchy tentacle slid out and lashed wildly around the narrow opening, straining to pull forward whatever eldritch horror was attached.
Dammit, Death.
***
When Death’s Door opened, I felt the icy air but didn’t bother turning around.
“What do you want?”
I heard the slight creak of his jaw a few times before he finally spoke.
“I…I forgot something.”
Of course he did.
“A horse.”
I turned and beheld Death—skull gleaming beneath his hood, his silhouette a pool of ink in front of the colorful hodgepodge of doors that crowded my walls.
“If you lost Pallidus…”
My hand went to the sapphire talisman that hung at my neck.
Death held up his bony hands, as if that could stop my anger. “No, NO—he’s fine.”
I exhaled. “Then what?”
But before he could answer, I nodded at the door behind him: a black and red-flecked marble doorframe with thousands of human faces carved in different shades of agony. It gaped open, revealing an emptiness that nearly drained the color from the room.
“And shut the door. You’re letting in the Void.”
He listened—for once—and after the door thumped shut, he said, “It’s a chess piece.”
Death took a couple of steps forward, dropped to the floor, and peeked under the threadbare lion-footed couch that sat in the middle of the room. He’d said I should get rid of it, but that hadn’t stopped him from sleeping there. After all, it was the only place he could sleep.
“It’s not under there,” I muttered.
As Death got to his feet, his eye sockets suddenly knit in pain.
“Behind on today’s reaping?”
Silence.
“You know, I could cast a summoning. If you asked.”
He straightened. “I’m fine. And it probably just rolled under one of these…”
Death shuffled to the other side of the couch and opened a scorched turquoise door with a silver filigreed handle. Ashes and the smell of burning drifted into the room.
“That’s not a good idea.”
He glanced inside the doorway, then quickly shut the door.
“Why not?” he said over his angular shoulder. “I’ve watched you do it hundreds of times.”
He opened the glowing red door to its right, and from inside its gold-trimmed doorway, I heard the steady tinkling of children laughing.
He looked back at me and held my gaze—as much as eyeless sockets can—and I blushed.
“I mean it.”
Death shrugged, looked inside the doorway, then closed it.
“Fine.” He turned back to face the door he’d come through, but his hand strayed to a slanted iron handle set in something petrified and framed by a crumbling stone doorway whose proportions weren’t just off—they were wrong. Evil.
“Last one.”
“Death, do not—”
With a grunt, he tugged open the sinister door just a crack. But it was enough.
A thick, splotchy tentacle slid out and lashed wildly around the narrow opening, straining to pull forward whatever eldritch horror was attached.
Dammit, Death.
***