Page 12 of Death is My BFF

The pool house. I was in thepoolhouse. Great, I was exactly the type of person I despised in horror movies. I blindly patted the wall for a light switch with a shaking hand. Lights flicked on row by row, revealing the crystal blue water of the indoor pool.

A cold sensation spread through me, licking up my spine. I clutched my stomach against the sharp sting of a phantom wound, which spread like a coverlet over my skin.

And that’s when I saw him.

A cloaked man stood at the other end of the pool, leaning against the ladder of the high diving board. In his right gloved hand, he flicked a lighter on and off. And in his left, he held a scythe with a blade at least the size of my body. It almost looked real too.

No, thank you.

It was time to hide elsewhere. Spinning around, I strained to open the pool door, but the lock wouldn’t budge.

The lights dimmed with a hiss. Cursing, I peeked over my shoulder. The guy in the Grim Reaper costume was gone.

“Of course,” I muttered under my breath.

I tried the door again and slammed my open palm against it.

A sweet aroma hovered in the air, mixed with a trace of leather and cologne. Goose bumps pebbled my arms. Every muscle stiffened.

The heat of another body radiated behind me.

“Boo.”

“Jesus Christ!”

I craned my neck up to meet the shadowed face of the cloaked man. My jaw slackened. He was massive, easily two heads taller than me, and his silhouette rippled with menacing muscle.

“Wrong.”

I was at a loss for words. Partially because of his size, but also because of his hypnotic voice. Deep and husky, yet velvety smooth.

“Grim Reaper, right?”

“What gave it away? The cloak or the scythe?”

There was a lilt to his words, an accent I couldn’t pinpoint. It was enchanting, magnetic, and maybe that was why I was fighting the urge to lean into him.

A timorous laugh escaped my mouth.

“The costume is great, I’ll give you that.” I moved around him, my eyes sliding down the blade of the enormous scythe. He didn’t turn around, as if he were allowing me to view him. “Your scythe looks legit.”

He remained silent, unnerving me further. His cloak moved slightly at the hem, as if there was a draft. There wasn’t one.

“It’s not a costume,” he seethed. “I’m here to collect.”

With each word he spoke, he carried a confidence that he was in full control of this conversation, and it was intimidating, to say the least.

“Collect what?” I asked, playing along. This had to be a prank. I was thoroughly impressed with the joke too. “Who are you?”

“You don’t remember. Try harder, Faith.”

He knew my name.

Marcy must have put everyone up to this. Yeah, that had to be it. But my body wasn’t so convinced. My chest felt so tight, I could only muster enough breath to say, “Okay, I’m leaving now. Good luck with your reaping.”

I turned to desperately try the door one more time, but it had disappeared. My eyes widened at the glass wall now in its place.

“Where’d the door go?”

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