Elian screamed. It wasn't a cool, heroic shout. It was a high-pitched sound of pure, primal terror.
He scrambled backward, his socks slipping on the linoleum, until his back hit the wall. He grabbed a spatula from the counter, holding it out with shaking hands. "Stay back!" Elian yelled, his voice cracking. "How did you get in?! I locked the door! I bolted the windows!"
The girl ignored the spatula. She was too busy inspecting the expiration date on the milk carton. She sniffed it and wrinkled her nose. "Hmm? I told you," she said, placing the milk back in the fridge. "I know everything about you. Your address, your passcode, your allergies to peanuts... and apparently, your terrible taste in snacks."
She shut the fridge door with her hip and turned to him. Her eyes were dark and amused. "Why do you only have instant noodles? Are you trying to die of malnutrition before the 30 days are up?"
Elian's chest heaved. He looked at the locked front door. He looked at the girl. She wasn't wet from the rain outside. She had no reflection in the oven glass.
"This is a dream," Elian whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. "I passed out on the roof. That's it. I'm lying on the concrete right now, bleeding out."
"Hey!" A rush of cold air hit his face. "That's rude. I am very real."
"No!" Elian shouted, swinging the spatula blindly. "You are a manifestation of my stress! Begone, demon!"
He kept his eyes squeezed tight and blindly navigated his way out of the kitchen. He bumped into the doorframe, cursed, and stumbled toward the living room couch.
"I'm going to sleep," Elian announced to the empty air, his voice trembling. "And when I wake up, I'll be normal again."
He flopped onto the couch, pulling a throw blanket over his head like a shield, curling into a tight ball.
"Hey, don't ignore me!" the girl's voice drifted through the blanket. "How can you ignore the most beautiful Reaper in existence?"
Elian squeezed the pillow over his ears. It's a dream. It's a dream. It's a dream.
Eventually, exhaustion won. The adrenaline crash knocked him out, and he fell into a fitful sleep.
Wednesday Morning
Sunlight hit Elian's face. He groaned, squinting against the brightness. Dust motes danced in the air. Birds were chirping outside. It was a perfectly normal Wednesday morning.
Elian sat up, rubbing his stiff neck. He looked around the living room. It was empty. The kitchen was quiet. He let out a long, shaky breath. A nervous smile crept onto his face.
"I knew it," he mumbled, rubbing his face. "Just a weird, scary dream. God, I need to stop skipping meals. It makes me delusional."
"I am not a delusion."
Elian froze. The blood drained from his face. The voice came from above.
Slowly, terrifyingly, he looked up. The girl was floating near the ceiling, upside down, her black coat hanging like bat wings against gravity. In her hand was a small, worn book. His diary.
"I didn't know humans needed so much motivation just to wear clothes," the girl said, flipping a page.
"What?" Elian scrambled off the couch, backing away until he hit the TV stand.
She cleared her throat and read aloud in a dramatic voice: "Hey diary, today is gonna be a bad day, but I am ready. I have even worn my lucky boxers with the birth flower on them, so I know I will get through…"
"STOP!" Panic overrode fear. Elian lunged, snatching the diary from her hands. He realized a second too late what he had done. He had just mugged a Reaper. He stumbled back, clutching the book to his chest, waiting for her to strike him down with lightning. "Don't... don't you know privacy?!"
"I was bored!" the girl said, flipping upright and landing softly on the floor. "You slept for ten hours. Do you know how boring it is to watch a human sleep? You drool, by the way."
Elian clutched the diary to his chest. "If you really are a Reaper..."
"The Prettiest Grim Reaper," she corrected, posing slightly.
Elian retreated into the kitchen, keeping the island counter between them. He needed a weapon. Or coffee. Maybe both. "So why are you still here?" he asked, his voice shaking as he fumbled with the kettle. "Don't you have other souls to take? A war zone? A hospital?"
The girl drifted into the kitchen, hopping onto the counter. She sat there, looking at him like a cat watching a mouse. "Just like I said, you are my last job before the holidays. Unlike what you humans think, Reapers are assigned specific cases. You are assigned to me."
Elian's hands trembled as he poured the water. "Lucky me."
"Can I have some?"
Elian blinked, nearly dropping the mug. "What?"
"That brown sludge. I want to try it."
Elian hesitated. If I don't give it to her, will she kill me now? "Sure," he squeaked. "Take it."
He poured a cup of black coffee and slid it across the counter, keeping his distance. She took a sip. Her face scrunched up in disgust. She stuck her tongue out. "Blegh! It's bitter! Is this poison? Are you trying to kill Death?"
"It's... it's coffee," Elian stammered. "It's supposed to be bitter."
"Fix it," she commanded, pushing the cup back. "Make it sweet."
Elian didn't argue. He dumped three spoonfuls of sugar and a splash of milk into it with shaking hands and slid it back. She took a sip. Her eyes lit up. "Ooh. Okay. This is acceptable."
She sat on the counter, swinging her legs, drinking his coffee. Elian pressed his back against the fridge, trying to make himself as small as possible. It was a domestic scene, but Elian felt like a hostage.
"So," Elian whispered. "You're really here to take my soul? And you said... I was early?"
The girl nodded, a milk mustache on her lip. "Yup. You have exactly 30 days left. Oh wait..." She checked an invisible watch on her wrist. "29 days now."
The number hung in the air. 29 days.
"So... I'm going to die after that?" Elian asked.
"Yeah. You will."
"But why?"
"Hmm?" She tilted her head. "Don't you want to die anyway? You were standing on a ledge yesterday."
"I do... but..." Elian looked at his hands. "Why 29 days? Why not yesterday? And do you know how it happens?"
"I can't tell you the details," she said, wagging a finger. "It's against the rules."
"Rules," Elian repeated numbly. He looked at the empty milk carton she had finished yesterday. He looked at the coffee she was drinking now. A spark of indignation flared up through the fear. "You ate my food," Elian murmured.
"What?"
"You ate my last food yesterday," Elian said, his voice gaining a tiny bit of strength. "You drank my coffee today. I have no money for breakfast now. Don't you think I deserve to know something in exchange?"
The girl looked at the empty cup, then at Elian. She sighed, rolling her eyes. "Fine. You're emotionally blackmailing me. Humans are so manipulative."
She leaned in, whispering like it was a gossip secret. "It's going to be an accident."
"Accident?" Elian frowned. "Like... a car crash? But I don't even drive."
"I don't care how," she shrugged, bored. "I just catch the soul. Anyway, knowing this... aren't you going to suicide now?"
Elian blinked. "What?"
"The sooner you die, the sooner I get my holidays," she whined, giving him puppy-dog eyes. "Come on. Just jump off something high. Or eat something poisonous. Please? For me?"
Elian stared at her. The fear didn't vanish, but it shifted. She wasn't a terrifying monster. She was... a brat. She was asking for his death the way a child asks for a toy at the supermarket.
The absurdity of it snapped something in Elian's brain. He wasn't scared anymore. He was just baffled.
"Shut up," Elian said.
"Please?" she begged, floating upside down again. "I'll make it quick! I promise! I'll even catch you!"
"I said shut up!" Elian grabbed his bag and headed for the door. He needed to get out. He needed structure. He needed math class. "I'm going to college."
"College?" The girl groaned, floating after him. "Why? You're dying in a month! Who cares about algebra?"
Elian opened the door. The sun was shining. He had 29 days left. For the first time in years, he didn't feel invisible. He felt like a man running away from a headache.
"I'm going," Elian said, stepping out, "because if I have to listen to you whine for one more minute, I'll die of annoyance."
He slammed the door shut behind him.