Contrary to popular belief, killing people was not part of Death’s job description. In truth, he was more of a glorified chauffeur: a guide for the spirits of the dead on their journey to the next world. Once a soul became lost, whether sidetracked due to past regrets or a terrible sense of direction, Death would find them, armed with empty promises and a point in the right direction.

But every few years there would be a soul—a terribly stubborn soul—who’d refuse any suggestion to pass on. And not a single one of those souls had been half so frustrating as the Border collie from Boston.

It was the third time this month Death had come to the city to ferry the Border collie’s soul. His boss was beginning to lose patience. The big man Upstairs was strict and had no sympathy for late deliveries. Death was aware of how expendable he was, despite his many years of service. Should he do anything prove himself incapable, he’d be replaced as quick as his soul could be sent back to limbo. The very thought made him nauseous.

No. He was too good at his job to be sent back to that awful wasteland. He refused to be bested by some volatile canine.

The sun was blazing in the afternoon sky. It shone upon the gold-spotted leaves of autumn trees, which lined car-clustered roads. Death glared at the blue sky. With the sun came people, dawdling about and getting in his way. A sunny afternoon in Boston wasn’t an ideal setting for a forced capture, but Death would persevere.

He moved with the sharp efficiency that came with centuries of experience. Weaving through crowded sidewalks, he dodged sudden bouts of arm waving and fist shaking until he arrived at the glass doors of Dan’s Pizza Place.

The pizzeria must have been operating for decades, now. Its once bright red brick walls had browned through the years, and its sign above the entrance was chipped on the corners. The whole building itself looked tired and rundown compared to the rest of the street. Yet there must have been some hidden charm about the old pizzeria, because it was was the only place Death could find the Border collie.

The dog’s spirit was there again, and Death crept behind it along the shadows. By now, the dog had sensed something was following it. Good. Death would use its fear to his advantage. The dog quickened its pace and skittered behind the pizzeria.

Several school children ambled across the sidewalk, giggling and effectively blocking the entrance to the alley. Death swept behind the children to stand in their collective pool of shadows. He dissipated into nothingness. Then, in the safety of the alley and its darkness, his form emerged as if from dust.

A whine whistled in the air. Death turned his gaze to the Border collie, who dolefully scratched its paws against a chain-link fence, ears downturned. Death grinned. No fence or wall could trap a dead spirit, but if the dog didn’t realize it, all the better for him.

He lunged. The dog keeled back, freezing in alarm as Death wrapped his fingers into the scruff of its neck.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

Death flinched. He turned to the small voice before he could stop himself. In that brief second, the dog pulled itself out of its shock. It tugged free from Death’s hold, jumping up and over his shoulders, and Death fell face first into the pavement.

He pushed himself up from the ground just in time to see the dog sprinting out of the alley.

“No!” he shouted, stumbling to his feet. “For the love of—stop running!”

But the dog had already disappeared.

Death growled and whipped his head towards the voice. Beside a dumpster stood a young boy, whose large, dark eyes seemed at odds with his small face.

Death sighed. A large cloud moved across the sun, and the warmth that had once bathed the streets in autumn light vanished at once—a sure sign of the boss’s displeasure. As if the failed ferrying was really Death’s fault to begin with.

Rubbing his wrists, he ignored the kid’s stare as he left the alley, making a wide turn to avoid contact. The boy’s attention wasn’t completely unusual. Those who were nearing the end of their days could often see Death, and since he looked like a normal, mundane human being, there was usually no interaction and therefore no problem.

He pulled his schedule book from inside his jacket. Flipping it open, he looked through his upcoming appointments to squeeze in one more appointment with the blasted Border collie. While he penciled the adjustment, he realized the child’s footsteps were trailing him.

Nervousness bled into his gut. No mortal had ever tried to communicate with him, not since he had been hired. Then the overcast rolled past the sun, eliminating the shadows near Death, and everything became worse.

He was powerless.

“What are you doing?” the boy asked again, coming closer.

“Uh…” Death began, unused to conversing with humans. “I was…I was trying to catch a dog.”

The boy smiled. He was missing two bottom teeth. “Is it yours?”

“…No.”

“Oh. Are you a dog catcher or something?”

“No,” Death answered promptly. “I am not a dog catcher.”

Death stepped to the side and made to retreat into the shadows, but the boy stuck close to him like a toxic paste. It was too dangerous to try to dissipate with the boy so near.

“So if you’re not a dog catcher, why are you trying to catch a dog?” the boy continued, thumbs stuffed under the straps of his backpack.

Death sped up his steps, anxiously glancing between buildings for a chance to escape. Were humans always so chatty? “Because it is my job.” he replied.

“So you are a dog catcher.”

“No,” he repeated with frustration. “I am not a dog catcher.”

“Well then, what are you?”

Death thought for a moment. “I find lost things and…return them to where they belong.”

“Woah, that’s pretty cool. Do you have to go to a special school for that or something?”

“No,” he said, because what did that even mean? Death had to get out of there.

He glanced down at his watch. There was an old woman’s spirit roaming in Bangladesh that he needed to ferry in just twenty minutes.

Death faced the child square on. “I have an appointment.”

“Okay.”

Death thought that was a clear indication of their parting, but the boy was still standing there, smiling. “So now I must leave.”

“Aw, you gotta go now?”

Progress, at last. “Yes.”

“Okay, I’ll see you later then. You have to come back for the dog, right? Because you didn’t catch it yet.”

“I do.”

“When?”

“Thursday. 5 o’clock, EST.” Why was he still talking?

“I think that’s after school, so I can come help!” The boy grinned again.

Death started feeling nauseous again, but it had nothing to do with limbo.

“Oh, and I’m Colin. What’s your name?” the boy named Colin asked.

“That’s, uh, kind of private…” Death’s eyes shifted quickly, trying to find a suitable mortal name for a human male in Boston. “Martin…?” he murmured, reading off a nearby street sign.

“Your name’s Martin?” Colin inquired.

“Uh…yes, Martin it is, then.”

Martin. It didn’t have the same sweet ring to it as “Death”, but he supposed it was a suitable substitute. Death looked down at the strangely talkative boy and gave him a stiff nod before he sped off in search of the nearest shadow.

“Okay, bye Martin!” Colin shouted at his back.

Death didn’t know how to respond. Around the corner, he dove into the shadow of an ice cream stand.