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.
Communicating with the living wasn’t technically against the rules. But Death had learned from previous employees that it was certainly frowned upon, and he didn’t need more trouble. So to avoid the boy, he rushed through every appointment on Thursday. But even at 4:30, Colin was waiting by the pizzeria, kicking his feet against the cement.
Death made an executive decision to reschedule the appointment for tomorrow, but as he made his escape, he felt a tug at his sleeve.
He whipped his arm out of Colin’s grasp. Prolonged contact between him and the living wouldn’t end well.
Colin grinned, undeterred. “Hi Martin! How come you’re early?”
Death sniffed down at him. He started towards the alley, since he had already been spotted. “I finished my previous engagements earlier than expected,” he replied. “You should not be here. You should be home, with family.” Because from the window of the boy’s soul, he could see that Colin did in fact have a family.
Colin hustled to catch up to Death. “My mom works a lot, and I have no brothers or sisters. And my dad…he’s a little sick.”
“Sick?”
“Yeah. Mom says he hears voices sometimes, and they won’t leave him alone. So he’s always sleeping. I’m not s’posed to go to his room.”
“Ah,” Death responded, a little put out. An issue of the mind then, outside his area of expertise.
Unlike the last time he was here, the air was cool. Dark clouds blanketed the sky, and what the streets lacked in crowds, they made up for in shadows—a perfect day for ferrying.
As the pair approached the chain link fence, the Border collie peered out from behind the dumpster.
“Where’s the dog?” Colin asked upon Death’s sudden stillness.
“You can’t see it.”
“How come?”
“Because it–it’s just that…it’s kind of a ghost.”
“You can see ghosts?” Colin’s eyes were wide.
“…Sometimes. But it’s a secret.”
“Woah, that’s so cool.”
It was cool. A sudden tingle of appreciation expanded in Death’s chest. At the very least, Colin had good taste.
Colin chattered on, and Death tuned him out. It was time to work. He focused, listening to the instinctive thrums that pulsed through his veins. He closed his eyes and the roaring life of Boston’s streets faded away. When he opened his eyes, he felt the fading footsteps of the Border collie tap-tap-tap by the pizzeria.
Death marched forwards, following the tracks, and the thrumming picked up speed. Each beat came faster than the last until he finally caught sight of his target. The Border collie was trotting happily along the sidewalk. Its tongue was out, and it was unsuspecting of its surroundings.
Unlike his last three attempts, Death didn’t make any sudden movements. He waited, and the dog continued to prowl aimlessly beside buildings. One of the dog’s legs stepped in a narrow shadow casted by a nearby streetlamp, and only then did Death move. His hand reached up and clenched into a choking fist. The dog’s body halted, looking down at its frozen legs. Releasing a high-pitched whine, the dog tried its best to shove its body forward. But it was too late.
The Border collie’s ear twitched and its head spun just in time Death rounding in. It quivered, and Death ran in anticipation. Just two more metres, and his job was secured.
“Hey Martin!” yelled Colin’s upset voice.
The activities of the living pooled back into his vision. Death blinked rapidly, confused.
Colin had jumped between him and the dog, eyes bright and brows scrunched. “I said how come you keep trying to leave me behind!”
Death realized belatedly that he was still at a near running. He was approaching Colin at a frightening speed and he twisted his body to the side to avoid crashing into the kid. He stumbled, and just barely caught himself with the help of a sign pole.
Colin ran up to Death in concern, evidently forgetting his previous ill feelings. “Oh geez, are you okay!?”
Death ignored him, eyes seeking his target. When he found the dog scurrying back towards the pizzeria, he pointed at it in haste. “There!” he shouted. “The dog is over there!”
Colin perked up. “Where?” he asked, running clumsily in the direction Death had pointed without a second thought.
“Forwards—to the front, to the front!”
Colin obeyed immediately. Though he couldn’t see the dog he was chasing, there was nothing but trust in his movements. He moved as fast as his little legs could carry him.
“Now turn left!” called Death.
The dog disappeared out of sight around the corner and Colin followed soon after. Death dissipated as quickly as he was able. He took form again at the alley’s entrance, only to freeze once again. In his long years as the ferryman for the dead, he had never quite witnessed a scene like the one before him.
Colin was laughing. He was running back and forth and in circles and accomplishing nothing while onlookers smiled to themselves at the child’s antics. But unbeknownst to Colin, the Border collie was running with him. It leapt and jumped around the boy, barking at him in its liveliness. It wasn’t trying to escape—it was playing.
Colin stopped when he saw Death. “Did we catch it?” he asked, panting and red-faced.
The dog ceased its playing, as well. It followed Colin’s gaze and, upon seeing Death, immediately bolted the other direction and disappeared across the road.
Thunder growled somewhere far into the distance. The boss was getting angry again at another failure, but Death paid it no heed. He was looking at Colin in a new light.
He felt a smile stretch a slow path across his face. “You have proven yourself to be surprisingly useful today, Colin.”
A look of awe came upon Colin’s face at the compliment. “I have?” he practically whispered.
“Oh certainly.” He pulled out his schedule book and took a quick peek into the next few days. “I would be very grateful if you came back to help me on…Monday. Yes, Monday afternoon. Same time.”
“You mean it?”
“I would not have said it otherwise. Will you come or not?”
“Oh y-yeah–I’ll come for sure!”
“Excellent.” Death penciled in his new appointment and put his schedule book back into his jacket. “I will see you then. Please don’t be late.”
“Yup, see you on Monday, Martin!” Colin chirped and waved at Death’s back as he walked off, mentally preparing himself for his next appointment.
Death couldn’t help himself from turning around to get a good look at the boy. He looked deep, right into his fate, where the strings were weaving themselves together in accordance with his future. Colin had just under a month to live.
A sudden pain twisted in Death’s gut, and he stumbled back, clutching his stomach. The sky darkened, thunder growling again, and he knew it wasn’t only Colin’s days that were numbered. He had to ferry that dog on Monday, no matter the cost.
“Hi Martin!” Colin greeted Death the following Monday, right on time.
“Colin,” Death acknowledged, checking his watch. “I’ve got the dog booked in for the rest of the hour. As long as we use our time efficiently, we should manage to finish the job today.”
Death and Colin set off, one trailing just behind the other. Death decided to locate the Border collie’s spirit without use of his shadows. It would be slower, but there was less chance of accidentally losing his shepherd, Colin.
The sky was gloomy with overcast and the winds were picking up, rustling the trees in an agitated manner. Anxiety crawled like ants through Death’s gut. He suppressed the urge to shiver.
Colin skipped up to walk alongside him. “So how was your day?”
Death stopped, taken aback by the unexpected question. “It was…it was fine. I did some other jobs today. They all went well enough.”
“That sounds like a good day, then.”
“I suppose it is.”
Death tried to reclaim his focus on his ghost dog search, but he realized Colin was still looking at him in a strange fashion. His smile hadn’t waned, but his eyebrows were raised in expectation. Death quickly went over their short conversation in his head. “And…how was your day?” he asked, voice faltering.
Colin’s eyes squinted with his grin, evidently satisfied. “Mine was good too! We had music class today, so that was pretty fun.”
He went along to tell him all about his day and the little details in between, and Death hummed here and there to prove he was listening.
Death spotted the Border collie sitting under the window sill of Dan’s Pizza Place, panting and watching people walk by.
“What is it?” Colin asked when Death stood still. “Did you find Charlie yet?”
“Charlie?” Death asked, bemused.
“Well yeah, every dog has to have a name. And Charlie is a great name!”
“Are you sure you would not rather name it something else?”
Colin looked offended at the very thought. “What? Why, what’s wrong with Charlie?”
“Nothing, it’s just…never mind. You may call the dog Charlie,” Death said and Colin beamed.
Was “Charlie” a suitable name for a female? He supposed it didn’t matter.
“The first thing I want you to do is to keep walking and don’t stop until you get near the windows at the pizzeria right over there,” Death instructed. “Turn back to face me and keep walking back and forth. Remember the little alleyway where you first saw me?”
Colin nodded eagerly. “Yes, where we met!”
“When I give the signal I want you to run right to the fence at the end. Can you do that?”
“No problem.” His brown eyes were bright with determination.
Death hid behind a light post while he watched Colin walk casually towards Dan’s Pizza Place, exactly as he had told him. His eyes flicked back occasionally to Death for the signal.
The Border collie’s ears perked up at the appearance of the boy. When Colin started walking back and forth, it stood up and wagged its tail.
Death snapped his fingers. Catching on, Colin turned and ran right into the alley, trying and failing to suppress his excited smile. The dog barked and trailed after him.
Death swooped across the street immediately. He finally reached the alley’s entrance and just as Colin made it to the chain link fence, he struck his arms forward, hands shaking with anticipation. Shadows crawled up from the ground and pinned the dog down from where it was running. The dog struggled and tried to wriggle its way out, but the shadows kept their hold tight.
Death grinned. He looked up, ready to congratulate Colin on his good work. But Colin’s smiling eyes were nowhere to be found.
Instead, Death was met with the abhorrent sight of Colin’s stiff, dead body. His skin seemed almost gray yet his eyes remained open, unblinking, kept wide for the world to see.
Death loosened his grasp on the shadows. As soon as the shadows grew slack, the dog sprung up from the ground and sprinted off, dashing past Death with its tail between its legs.
“Martin?” Colin asked, panting a little. “Did we catch Charlie yet?”
He blinked himself out of his stupor, focusing on Colin. They boy was still alive. He was okay. Still, Death felt uncharacteristically cold. His hands were shaking, and he wondered if what he felt was fear.
“No,” Death answered, and the clouds darkened. “We didn’t catch Charlie yet.” When Colin’s face fell, he added, “But that’s okay. It was my fault. You…you did very well.”
And just like that, Colin was smiling again. How could a creature be so easy to please?
“Okay, well do you want to try again?” suggested Colin. “We can just keep trying until we catch him!”
“No, that’s okay.”
Thunder roared in the distance. Colin jumped in surprise and looked up. Death ignored the sky.
“We still have some time left,” Death said instead to Colin as rain began to fall. “How about you…You can tell me more about your day? About music class?”
Colin brightened instantly. He started a senseless story at once, and Death led him out of the alley. Death smiled politely and discreetly pulled his sleeve to cover his left hand, which had slowly begun to disappear like an old memory. He had already accepted his fate. He should have accepted it long ago, really.
He was Death after all, and death didn’t get happy endings.
Colin’s death day was coming fast—Death could feel it. His fate strings tightened their weave with every passing day. Death could not yet see what was going to kill the innocent boy, but imagining possibilities made him sick in a way he couldn’t stop.
Death looked up from his spot by the telephone post. Colin was ten minutes late. Knowing the clinginess of that boy, he knew there had to be something holding him up. Without hesitation, Death stepped into the shadows of dusk and reformed in Colin’s living room. This was his second visit.
It was eerily silent, as Colin’s house often was. Death followed Colin’s pulse of life to a closet at the back of the house. A flickering light bulb shone on the ceiling, illuminating the piles of books, holiday decorations, and other bits of scattered rubbish. Colin poked his head out from underneath a growing pile of old toys.
“Colin,” Death said, “what are you doing?”
“Oh hey Martin! Did you let yourself in? I was just thinking about how we could get Charlie to like us and then I thought about bones and stuff and–duh–toys!”
“‘Toys’,” he repeated, trying very hard to ignore the mess the boy had made.
“Yeah, you know, balls and stuffies and things.”
“I see,” Death said, although he did not. “And why would we want the dog to like us?”
Colin rolled his eyes and resumed terrorizing the closet contents. “Because we want him to follow us. Hey Martin, can you go down the hall to my bedroom real quick and see if you can find any other old toys? There should be some under the bed…”
Death heaved a sigh and trudged over to the other side of the house. But before he made it to Colin’s room, a foul smell of something rotten and reeking caught his attention. Plugging his nose, Death realized the stench was coming from Colin’s father’s bedroom. His legs sped to the room, and he threw the door open at once.
It was the smell of slaughter.
Colin’s father was sleeping, as he normally did. The plain white walls added to the sterile feel of the room, allayed by only a small vase of flowers on the bedside table. Everything seemed normal, not a breath out of time.
But Death could see it. He saw it disturbingly clear. This man, overcome with the sickness in his mind, the voices in his head. And in his confusion, his bony finger would enclose around Colin’s throat. Colin, who would come to check on his father. Colin, whose once kicking body would soon crumple to the floor, eyes open and lifeless.
Before Death knew what was happening, his own fingers had snapped around the man’s throat, not unlike the way he had seen him do to his son. Death’s remaining hand squeezed with unadulterated malice. This man—this heathen—did not deserve to live. Not for another second. Rage roared within Death, and he let the darkest shadows of his power and immortality swallow the remaining vestiges of life.
As his life was sucked away, Colin’s father was too consumed with confusion to make a noise.
“Martin?”
Death dropped the body and whirled around.
Colin stood at the doorway, staring wide-eyed at the body of his father. “What did you do?” he whispered, voice cracking.
Death felt his heart break at the sound.
Colin ran past Death and leaped onto the bed. He put his small hands on his father’s shoulders and face. “Dad? Dad!?” He turned his watery eyes to Death. “What did you do!?”
“Colin, I—You don’t understand—”
“He’s not breathing…Why would you do this!?”
Death opened his mouth to answer, but the words had stopped forming in his head. All he could do was watch helplessly as Colin cried into the chest of his once-to-be-murderer. He watched as Colin’s fate strings, which were once so tight, unravel and reweave themselves quickly, expanding into days, months, years. And Death knew then that, at the absolute least, Colin would live.
Colin’s hysterical sobs echoed through the room. Finally, he stood up, shakily wiping his eyes as he staggered out of the room towards the kitchen.
Death trailed after him and watched him pick up the telephone and shakily try to relay that his father had died. When Colin hung up, he looked around the room, his eyebrows furrowed together.
Death rushed forward and said, “Colin, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But you have to believe me, he—”
“He left me.”
Death stopped in his hand-wringing..
Betrayal and sadness reflected in Colin’s reddened eyes. “He just…left me.”
Death’s mouth zipped shut. Colin could no longer see him. And according to his fate, he wouldn’t be able to see or hear him until he was well into his eighties. Death was suddenly struck with the overwhelming urge to hold the boy or be able to do something. But his hand was already filthy enough with death, and it remained limply still by his side.
He watched over Colin as he sat in his shaking sobs, seemingly alone. He stayed even after the police arrived and put yellow tape around the house. He stood next to Colin when his mother sprinted through the door and threw her arms around him, and he stayed when the boy was grilled again and again over what happened by cold, unfeeling men in white. Death stayed through it all. Only when Colin finally fell asleep in his mother’s arms in the early hours of the morning did he leave.
Death walked aimlessly through the quiet streets of Boston. They were uncharacteristically empty, and Death absentmindedly thought that the emptiness suited him well. He finally fell back against the brick wall of the Dan’s Pizza Place, where he and Colin first met. One of his arms came up and his hand pressed into the bricks to trace the grooves. As he stared back at the ground, something pricked behind his eyes. He swiped his eyes and realized he was crying.
He didn’t know he was capable of such a thing.
He looked down into his hand. In it was one of the worn, stuffed animals Colin had scavenged from his closet—a little white rabbit. Death had been unable to stop himself from taking it before he left. He hugged the toy tightly to himself, and remorse overflowed the gaping cavity in his chest. More tears spilled past his eyelids.
But he’s alive, he told himself. He’s alive he’s alive he’s alive.
A faint, whistling whine made Death stiffen. He looked up to see Charlie sitting just a few feet from him, staring at him intently.
Slowly, Death unfolded his arms and held out the rabbit. His trembling hands waved it back and forth until Charlie obediently padded over and took it with her jaw.
She plopped down between Death’s legs, propping her head on top of his left foot. Uncertainly, Death reached out his hand and stroked her fur once, twice, then again and again. She was so soft. A tingle rushed through his left arm and he looked down to find his limb had reappeared. Once he could flex his fingers, Death wrapped both arms around the Border collie. He remained that way for a long time, idly petting Charlie until it became easier to breathe.
Eventually, he managed to pull himself up. Charlie stood up with him too, tail wagging, and Death took in a deep, shuddering breath. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his schedule book, grimacing at all the missed appointments. There was a young woman’s spirit in Barcelona who he had been meaning to ferry for a while now. Death conjured up the shadows at the end of the pizzeria, scribbling away.
He wouldn’t be able to see Colin again. All he could do was accept it. Because he was Death, and when did death ever get happy endings?
Charlie ran and joined Death in the shadows, panting happily as the dark masses overtook her, as well. But then again, wasn’t Martin allowed some happiness?
Death bent down and rubbed Charlie’s head in the most affectionate way he knew how. “I think you’ll like Spain.”
Samantha Balliet lives in Vancouver, where she has easy access to sushi and rainy days. She has a bachelor’s of psychology from the University of British Columbia, which she finds very helpful with writing her characters.