WATTYS 2023 SHORTLIST
Cara, a troubled college dropout, finds herself slowly falling for a handsome stranger - who turns out to be Death incarnate. But the arrival of a mysterious being puts Death's home for lost souls and his very existence at risk...
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When I finally bid goodnight to Death and return to my room, I enjoy the best night of sleep that I can ever remember having. My dreams are full of him: his eyes, his smile, those fingers that brush so close to my skin that I can almost pretend that I feel them. Sometimes I do wake to feel them roving over my skin, only to realize that they are my own.
And when I rise with the blinding sun I realize that, as promised, Sarah had left me alone all night. She must have noticed the things that I'd brought home from Gary's.
Gary.
The light, well-rested feeling slips away from me like an invisible thread as I remember everything that had happened before my intimate moment with Death. I remember his true form – his Reaper form, as I've taken to calling it. And the fact that Gary is dead. Gone. Unlike the people in this house, he's moved on to an unknowable place.
When I'd called out, when his form flickered in midair, I could have endangered that process. I could have lured him into the woods, towards the house – towards life – where he would have been forced to live here as a lost soul for god knows how long.
Maybe that would have been a better alternative, my mind whispers. But I can't think that way. Death's very existence is dictated by a single rule: move spirits from this world to the next. Who am I to upset that tenuous balance?
"Psst." I hear a hiss through the wall and nearly jump out of my pajamas before I realize that it's Lisa. "Are you awake?"
"I am now," I reply, pressing a hand to my chest. "What is it?" She walks through the wall of our adjoining rooms, simple as stepping through a doorway, and I silently thank the heavens that I sleep fully dressed.
"You stayed!" Even with bedhead and her rumpled pink shirt, she radiates joy, beaming like it's Christmas morning. My heart softens once again as I behold the sweet child, and I think of Death's portrait of me. I never realized that everyone else might see me differently than I see myself; that I could be anything other than a screw-up. "I knew Death was wrong."
"Well, he can't be right about everything." I wink and start to make up my bed. "You know, I could actually use your help today. I want to clean the sitting room and start painting the walls."
Her head tilts. "You want me to do chores?"
"Fun chores." I spread my hands and give her a winning smile, which is apparently enough to chase away all of her doubt. She jumps up and down, her bare feet slapping soundlessly against the weathered floor.
"I wanna help!"
I ask her for some privacy while I dress into a throwaway pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt, then we head downstairs together. As always, the air is swimming with the scent of breakfast: sizzling bacon, frying eggs, and buttery toast. My mouth waters, and I think to myself that I could definitely get used to this.
