Page 14 of Death is My BFF

Death growled, put up a gloved finger, then parted his thick cloak. I caught a glimpse of black leather pants. He slipped a cell phone out from his back pocket, read the screen, and snarled, “I’ll deal with you later.”

His body evaporated into a black mist.

I was alone.

Something shattered within me. I nearly fell to my knees, locking them before I did. My throat tightened. I choked back a sob and moved mindlessly toward another exit in the pool room, which led to the backyard. The more I thought abouthim, the more the line between reality and insanity blurred. Nothing felt real. How could it?The Grim Reaper is after me.Me!

My witch hat flew off into the dark abyss as I ran around the Gregory mansion following a stone path with shrubbery and walk-way lights on either side. The night air was cool, while my blood boiled with adrenaline. The wind and moonlight twisted the shadows of trees, transforming them into writhing creatures slinking closer.

Several dark figures appeared ahead. To my relief, they were actual people. Without warning, two of them stumbled into my path, one of them giggling.

“Marcy?” I asked incredulously.

I recognized her electric pink dress and the blond curls of the boy she was pressed against. Thomas Gregory.

“Oh no, here comes the witch,” Marcy slurred, staggering away from Thomas. “I thought you’d be home by now.”

“Long time no see, Faith,” Thomas said, noticeably more sober than Marcy. He was wearing his usual varsity jacket and designer jeans.He must be dressed up as a douchebag for Halloween. “Enjoying the par-tay?”

Ignoring him, I grabbed Marcy by the arm. “We have to go. We have to leave. Now!”

She was sober enough to catch the fear in my voice because, by some miracle, she didn’t argue. I rushed her to my car, poured her in, and peeled away as if the monster was still on my tail.

III

Death. He’d introduced himself as Death.

The Grim Reaper was a mythical being, not a nutjob I met at a Halloween party.

Yeah, a nutjob who knows my name. Knows my paintings. Mynightmares. How was any of this possible?

Marcy stared ahead in a stupor, leaning her head on the passenger window. Frantic, I reached over and shook her shoulder. “Hey, snap out of it. Did you tell anyone else about the paintings?”

She lifted her head lethargically, hair splaying over her smudged makeup. “Huh?”

Headlights flashed behind us. A car appeared in my rearview mirror right on our tail. It swerved back and forth, flashing its head-lights. Clearly, the driver wanted me to pull over.

“The cherry on top of my night.”

Suddenly, a deafening bang rang out from underneath my car, as if I ran over a speed bump and bottomed out, and I slammed on the brakes. Spoiler alert: they didn’t work.

Terror seized my heart and squeezed.

“Marcy, put your seat belt on! The brakes aren’t working!”

She sobered up. Marginally. “What? My seat belt is on!” She turned over her shoulder to peer out the back windshield. “Pull over!

Pull over!”

“I can’t! There’s no shoulder and no brakes!” Not to mention, my car was speeding up on its own. I chose not to disclosethatinformation to her.

“E brake! E brake!” Marcy attempted to yank up the emergency break and the handle came off. “It snapped off! It snapped off!”

“I canseethat!” I scanned the bushes on the side of the road, contemplating where to pull over and slow this car down. “I refuse to let us die in this stupid hunk of metal! Hold on to something!”

The car behind us had strangely backed off.

“Watch out!” Marcy cried.

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