Demon and Angel Co-Parent

There was never a boy who lived in a situation like Jeremiah. Every kid since the dawn of time had been taken care of by another human at some point in their lives. Most were blessed enough to have at least one loving person in their life. Jeremiah was fortunate enough to have two guardians who loved him very much. What made his situation unique was they weren't humans at all. 

Natural enemies, angels and demons fight over the souls of the humans on earth, but none so much over one particular soul. Jeremiah. What was so special about him, few could say. To Anavon and Destern, he was their world. 

Their first mission was to protect him. What each other's master's had in store for the little boy was a mystery, but both were tasked with his survival regardless. Anavon took the mission seriously, but no one told her to protect his parents too. When the boy was a year old, a drunk driver struck the car. Destern had known about this event and was specifically told to take possession of the drunk man so Jeremiah's parents could live a long life and slowly corrupt the boy.

The problem was Destern got distracted by a housewife across the street who was flirting with the neighbor's pool boy. He gave that woman the extra push she needed to ruin her marriage, but forgot the more important task. Satan did not take too kindly to his failure, despite gaining two souls and a strong foothold in two more. To make amends, Destern was tasked with raising the boy. No better bad influence than the one who raises you for eighteen years. 

God was unsurprised by this and thus why he told Anavon to only protect the boy. Her task was to raise the boy alongside Destern. Continue to protect the boy and teach him right from wrong. It was a job she took with glee, growing fond of her little "child."

In the beginning, it was easy for Anavon to care for the boy. Destern rarely stopped by for more than an hour a day, far too busy cultivating a neighborhood he wanted to live in. He never saw the point in trying to influence a child who can't even speak, nor did he want to get attached to him. Over time though, that changed. Destern started to enjoy seeing the smiling little boy, even if that meant spending time in an angel's presence. It made him squirm at first, feeling all kinds of love and kindness radiating from her. After a while though, he became accustomed to it.

As the years went on and the boy could start speaking, Anavon's trials began. Destern would try to teach him naughty words and act in unbecoming ways. Anavon had to be sneaky and convince the demon that if Jeremiah acted like him from an early age, he could never live up to his potential. Jeremiah was the key to many souls, not just his own. Destern knew that and conceded, taking a more measured approach to deviance.

Soon enough, the boy had started going to school. Most parents would be relieved to not have to deal with their kid for a few hours, but work didn't stop for these two. Although not in physical form, they still hung around his school everyday. The problem became Jeremiah could see them, regardless of form they were in. It became a distraction that they both agreed had to stop. Instead, they did normal parent things, like shop for clothes, get food, take care of the house, and talk with the neighbors. For the most part, they stayed out of Jeremiah's life at school.

Both the angel and demon were satisfied with their jobs so far, each believing they were on the right track until something happened that angered both of them. Jeremiah came home one day crying with bruises all over his arms. He admitted to them he was being bullied at school by a bunch of older kids. Anavon held him on the couch, wrapping her wings around him for an extra layer of comfort. Destern, on the other hand, was pacing on the carpet, mumbling a furry of curses.

"It's okay, Jeremiah. I'm here for you," Anavon said in a soothing voice.

"My arms hurt."

Destern's rage flared at Jeremiah's omission of pain. He marched over to the two, determined to know more about his "son's" predicament. "Let me see your arms."

Jeremiah sheepishly revealed his arms out from Anavon's winged protection. His forearm bruises might as well have been sleeve tattoos, deep in color and all consuming. Destern roared and turned away, unable to look at him. 

"Tell me who did this," Destern said.

"Destern, No," Anavon said. She glared at him, but he was far too preoccupied with getting his coat in the closet. 

"Did you not see what they did to our boy? I will have their souls!"

Anavon turned Jeremiah to face her. "You don't have to tell us. All that matters is you are home. You go run upstairs and soak those arms in the tub. I'll be up soon."

Jeremiah nodded and jumped out of her embrace and scurried off to the bathroom upstairs. Destern was going to follow him, but Anavon outstretched her wing to block his path. 

"Get those feathers out of my face." Destern swatted at her.

"We need to talk."

"The only talking I need to do is with my son. There will be vengeance."

"Not by you. Not like this."

Destern crossed his arms. "How then?"

Anavon retracted her wing and motioned him to join her on the couch. He sat down reluctantly, but he knew he would get an answer if he complied. She was always good at awarding any concession he gave. 

"Why are you so mad about this? You're the one who wants to see our boy burn in hell."

"How are you not angry? Did you not see his arms? He could've been killed!"

"I never said I wasn't angry…" Anavon sighed, trying to stave off the urge to raise her voice. "...but I don't want our boy to see that the only response to violence is more violence,"

"Oh, so we are just supposed to turn the other cheek on this one? That's not how that works where I come from!"

"I know it isn't. But Jeremiah can do more good if he isn't in a jail cell by eighteen."

Destern hated hearing the word "good," but she was right. Jeremiah was far too valuable to be locked away in a jail cell. The boy brought far more joy in his life than he cared to admit. Dare he even say love. It was dangerous for him to feel and think in such ways, less his master found out. Destern had to squash this feeling and stood up from the couch.

"Fine, you win this one. I'm going to take all this pent up energy out on Steven instead."

"Why Steven? What did he do to you?"

Destern shrugged. "Nothing. That's why I hate that guy so much. He does absolutely nothing but sleep all day."

"He's in a coma," Anavon said, rolling her eyes.

"Not tonight he isn't. Tonight, he is Chad Bundy, Master of Pussy! I'm going to see how many venereal diseases I can get him in a night."

"You are so gross, you know that." Anavon got up from the couch and walked toward the stairs to check on Jeremiah.

"What? I could have been talking about cats. They have diseases too."

Anavon dismissively waved to him without turning around. Destern bit his lip, watching her naturally seductive hips and carefree wave. Something about her being unattainable made it wrong in the most right way for him. He shook his mind from the thought, knowing his lust would be satisfied tonight and maybe his vengeance too. Women of the night work in a dangerous profession, especially when a demon is on the prowl with no one to take out his rage on.

Destern went back into the closet and pulled out a raincoat. "Steven might be needing this."

His deeds would for sure be on the morning news the next day, but a small victory for hell was a far cry from victory in the ongoing war. Jeremiah was still alive, being cared for by his guardian angel. He was destined to guide more souls to salvation than would ever be lost by Destern's vile ways. All Anavon had to do was stay loyal to her master. The war would end one day and when it did, she wanted her family to be on the winning side. On the side of righteousness and good.

***

The Hair Snakes

Nothing in life is perfect, even my girlfriend. Don't get me wrong, she is amazing, not to mention: beautiful, intelligent, witty, caring, and eagerly accepts any opportunity to be with me. By all metrics, I have one great gal. There is one problem, her hair hates me. Now you might be asking yourself, her hair? How? Let me explain. 

First, full disclosure, my girlfriend is not your normal, run of the mill woman. She is the definition of exotic. When I first met her, I thought she had cornrows. It was a reasonable assumption, given she said her dad was from Jamaica and she never corrected me when I mentioned it. By our third date though, there was no ignoring the fact her hair certainly moved on its own accord and definitely hissed at me. At that point, she dropped the bomb on me. Her mother was Medusa. 

I always thought Medusa was a myth, but I guess I was wrong. Not only is Medusa real, but she makes a mean moussaka. Sorry, I am getting off subject. You are here to hear about my girlfriend's hair, not her mom's cooking skills. Anyways, back to her hair. 

So, Brianna and I have been dating for a few months, but it seems any time we are not in public, her hair decides to be combative with me. Sometimes they hiss when I approach her, spread out in a menacing way when we are playing pickleball, or simply bite me when we lock lips for a little too long. I guess they are snakes, but come on! Brianna constantly apologizes for her hair's behavior and says they have a mind of their own. It is not fair to either of us, but I think I have an idea on how to fix the problem. I will let you know how it goes.

-Timothy

***

Okay, so I did it. I enacted my plan and I have to say, I think it worked. I think we finally turned a corner. Let me tell you what happened. 

It was late last night and she was cuddled up on the couch listening to an audiobook. Her audiobooks don't bother me and I secretly like listening to them too, but yesterday I told her I needed to focus on some "work" and needed complete silence. She is sweet and was about to turn it off, when I handed her some headphones. Noise cancelling was ideal, because me and her hair were going to have some words. 

Once she donned them, the snakes were ready to let me have it, hissing immediately. I had enough of that and let them know. 

"What is your deal? What did I do to you?"

The snakes all stuck out their tongues and gave me a menacing glare. They swayed back and forth as if searching for the best place to strike me. 

"I know you can talk. Why don't you just tell me what I did?"

"Yousss knows what yous didsss," her hair responded in one voice. 

"I genuinely don't."

"Liesss."

"I'm not lying. If you want an apology, I apologize, but please tell me what I did," I said.

"Whyss should wess?"

I stepped toward them. "Because I'm not going anywhere. I care about Brianna too much. I want to bury the hatchet, so tell me what I have to do and I'll do it. Please."

They pondered how to respond to my statement, each of their heads all looking at each other, silently communicating with their tongues before turning back to me. It took them so long to answer, I knew they were conflicted about something.

"Youss called us cornrowsss."

"Excuse me?" I said, confused by their statement. 

"Wess don't likess yousss because yousss called us cornrowsss. Wess have a namess!"

And that was the moment it hit me, those snakes weren't just something attached to her, they were another being altogether. It took me too long to figure that out, but I made my apology count. 

"Oh…I'm truly sorry. When Brianna said you had a mind of your own, I didn't realize you were literally another being, but I really should have. Can you forgive me?"

"Maybe…"

"Then at least tell me your name."

"Cassie."

I slowly extended my hand to them, palm up and fingers spread out. "It's nice to meet you, Cassie. I'm Timothy, the brain dead ape who should have treated you with respect from the beginning."

I was half expecting to get bit, but I played my hand. It was all up to them to either accept my apology or not. Instead of getting death by a thousand snake bites, they slithered between my fingers and around my hand. It was actually quite pleasant.

Naturally though, Brianna was going to notice I was standing so close to her when I said I needed to do "work." She took off her headphones and smiled up at me.

"Hey, are you finally getting along with my hair?" Brianna asked.

"Excuse me, they have a name. Cassie," I said and smiled at the snakes who continued to slither all over my hand. 

"Are you done with work then?"

"I think for tonight. Do you mind if I listen in?"

She threw the headphones aside and made room for me on the couch. The rest of the night we held each other and I rested my hand on Cassie. Cassie never bit me or hissed and fell asleep in no time. It was the best night I had with Brianna and I have a feeling there will be many more to come. Wish me luck!

-Timothy aka The Snake Charmer

Evil Rivals

"Death!" Satan yelled at the top of his lungs, storming up the spiral cobblestone staircase. Soot coated the hot steps and grey ash filled the crevices.

He got to the top of the keep that overlooked the fiery hellscape of...well...Hell. Death stood in his normal business attire, a midnight black cloak, gazing over the tortured souls in the lake of fire. Their screams moved like a breeze, whispering their pain to anyone that would hear it.

"What up, Lucy?" Death said, still entranced by the horrific scene below.

"Don't you give me that Lucy shit! I know what you did."

Death turned to Satan. "Whatever do you mean?"

"You took that soul before his time. I have been planning his soul's demise for years!"

"How was I supposed to know your plans? You sure took your sweet time with Hal?"

"I thought I had more time with him."

"Life is a funny thing. You never know how much time you got,” Death said, tapping his scythe on the floor.

"Fuck you, Death. You aren't supposed to take sides."

Death cocked his head. "I'm not." 

Satan took a step back and his eyes got big. "You're still mad my demon killed that family of yoga instructors last year."

"Those were mine and you knew it!"

"Ah ha! So this is payback," Satan said, pointing at him.

"All I did was do my job. Your man went out of his way to take my job.”

"What are you complaining about? Not being able to kill?"

"I don't kill. I harvest souls."

"What's the difference?" Satan said with a shrug.

"God sees the difference. Runs his show much better than you do.”

Satan's eyes burned red with rage. "Don't you dare bring him up down here!"

"Or what? You're going to kill me?" Death said,

"I know about Linda. You have been keeping her alive on purpose after all these years. Maybe my demon loses his way on Earth…stumbles into her."

"You want to play with fire? I'm game. I will walk up there right now and take out that entire congregation in Alabama. God knows they are ripe for your picking in a few weeks. Can't shake a stick without hitting a relative."

"You wouldn't," Satan said, trying to glare through him. 

"Oh, I would. God and I have been on pretty good terms. Maybe I can help him out some more…" Death said, looking Satan up and down. "Not like he needs it."

"Alright, that's it!" Satan said before leaping on top of him. Death blocked Satan's hands with his scythe and fell on his back. 

Satan tried to tear the scythe from Death's hands, but boy was he strong. Satan tried whipping Death with his forked tail, but Death was quicker, batting it away with the blade. That motion caused Death to roll on top of Satan, pinning the tail underneath their collective weight.

"Get off me!" Satan said. 

"Not until you promise to stop killing my souls!"

"I promise. Okay!" Satan said, straining from the pain of his own tail stabbing him in the back.

Death got up and gave Satan some space. Satan brushed the soot off himself and pulled his tail out of his back. They both were silent, letting the whispers of torture and pain float into the room. Satan glared at Death, getting more frustrated by the second that he couldn't see his eyes under that blasted cloak of his.

"So...we have an understanding?" Death asked.

"We do."

"How do I know you will keep your word? Lying is kind of your specialty."

Satan took a deep breath. "We want the same things. Would be bad business to screw my partner, seeing as I'm stuck with you for eternity."

"We aren't partners."

"Fine. Associates."

"Barely."

"In any case, I promise to not kill people if you promise to stick to your timelines."

"What if I need to change them?"

"You have to give me notice."

"I won't be able to just give you notice," Death said.

"Give me notice first. And no more of that surprise bullshit."

"I should be able to do that…assuming Linda is not touched.”

"We have a deal." Satan held out his hand.

Death bursted into a cloud of grey smoke and was gone. Satan wafted the smoke away and a devious smile grew on his face.

"Oh Death, you stupid schmuck. She is almost 200 years old. Her brain at this point isn't what it used to be. Be a shame if she thought back to her times as a free diver and tried to take the plunge one last time. Who knows, the bag of brittle bones might live?”

He let out a villainous laugh that roared across the sea of fire, blocking out the wails below. This was going to be his best payback yet. Cheating Death without breaking his promise. After all, he was just encouraging her to relive her youth. What's so bad about that?

Chooser of The Chosen One

A frail old man held up an oversized card with a picture of someone on it and a name scribbled below.

"Not him," The Chooser said, giving it a cursory glance.

The old man tossed the card amongst the sea of cards that covered the floor and reached up to grab another card from the stack next to him. The Chooser paced back and forth, parting the sea of unchosen cards with his feet. The old man shook, reaching for the next card.

"Are you sure this is the best way to select the next Chosen One?" the old man asked, his voice shaky and hoarse. 

"If you have a better idea, I am all ears," The Chooser said.

The old man held up the next card. It was a picture of a simple woman with hair as dark as her skin and green eyes. The Chooser stopped pacing and went in closer to get a better look.

"Is she the Chosen One?" the old man said, hoping this tedious task would be over.

"No, but WOW she is beautiful. Tasha."

The old man tilted the card toward him. "I guess so."

"Guess so? You must be blind in your old age."

"We have passed so many people they all look the same to me."

"That's why you don't have the gift."

"We passed plenty of suitable candidates. I'm starting to think you don't know who is supposed to be The Chosen One."

The old man was right. The Chooser had no idea who to pick. His mom and dad always told him he would just know. An instinct. The problem was no one seemed worthy. After seeing millions of faces from all over the world, he was still no closer to choosing. The only person who stood out this whole time was Tasha, which gave him an idea.

"I need to speak with Tasha."

"The woman on the card? Why?"

"She is the Chosen One."

"You just said a minute ago she–"

"Nevermind what I said. Take me to her."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"The Chooser can never speak to the Chosen One."

"Fine she isn't the Chosen One. Happy?"

"No. I'm confused."

The Chooser smacked his palm over his own face. "Can you just take me to her? Please."

The old man flicked the back of the card, creating a blue and gold portal of fire to open up.

"Make it quick. I don't want to be at it all day with these cards."

The Chooser stepped through the portal and was whisked away to a cottage in the middle of a field. The portal appeared on the ceiling and dropped The Chooser in the kitchen. He smacked his head on the corner of the wooden table while falling to the floor. Tasha threw her kettle of soup in the air, startled by the commotion behind her.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" she asked, holding her ladle like a baseball bat. 

The Chooser rubbed his head and looked up at her. "Hello. I'm The...Chase."

"The Chase?"

"I mean Chase. Sorry, my head is kind of spinning right now," he said, holding his head.

"What are you doing in my house?"

Chase pointed to the ceiling. The portal still swirling blue and gold. Tasha jaw dropped and looked back at Chase. 

"You're a wizard," she said.

"No. I'm...well..."

She put down her ladle and knelt beside him. "Are you hurt? I can't have you die in my own home. Our home."

"I'm not a wizard–"

"My aunt told me a wizard would visit me. She never said he would be so handsome. Oh this is so exciting!" she said touching his face.

"Again not a wizard," he said, sitting up.

"Then explain the portal you created above us?"

"I used it to come here. To talk to you."

"Yes I'll marry you!" she screeched, giving him a hug so tight it would have turned a bunny into paste.

Chase sat there confused why she was coming on to him so strong. Sure she was a beautiful woman, but this was...unexpected.

"Come again?"

"You are the man from my aunt's vision. A wizard. That will take me as his bride and we will shire the Chosen One who will save all humanity. Or at least that's how my aunt tells it."

Chase pondered this new information. It would explain why he was unable to choose anyone. And why she stood out to him in the endless sea of cards. But his parents never mentioned anything about finding a wife. Let alone being the creator of the Chosen One.

"So we are supposed to get married? And the Chosen One is supposed to be our son?"

"Daughter. But yes," she said, grinning ear to ear.

"This is a lot for me to process."

"That a beautiful woman wants to have a baby with you? You don't give yourself enough credit."

"So what? I'm supposed to just marry someone I don't know because her aunt made a prophecy."

"...yes…" she said, realizing she may have come on too strong with him.

He tapped his finger underneath his chin, looking into her glowing emerald eyes. She was a one of a kind, but the idea of marrying someone so fast made him nervous. There was only one way to ease his nerves.

"I'll tell you what. Do you have a coin?" Chase asked.

"I sure do," she said, reaching into her pocket, all too ready with a gold coin. One side of the coin had their leader, Mortamus stamped in it and on the other was a picture of a horse.

"Heads, I marry you. Tails, I don't," Chase said.

"Go ahead already," she said giddy.

He flipped the coin. It was about to touch the brick floor when she hugged him again. "See, it was destiny!"

She never looked at the coin and didn't need to. It was heads. Chase picked her up and really looked at her for the first time. She was over the moon for him, bobbing her head as he held her still. Her smile beaming so bright it could blind people. He felt a flutter in his chest like he never had before. 

"I guess that settles it. I choose you."

Billionaire Brain Film Crew

"Are you getting this?" Jason said.

His body jerked back and forth as the yellow dog robot tried to buck him off it’s back. Jason held on with one hand, waving his baseball cap like a buckaroo. The crowd of boxes in the warehouse watched without emotion, perched perfectly still on their shelves.

"Yeah I am!" Ken said, with his eyes locked onto the small screen in front of him that was capturing the action.

The robot bucked him a few more times and spun around, launching Jason into a cluster of boxes on the floor. He rolled off the smashed boxes and grunted when he slapped the solid floor.

"That was awesome! Can you do that again? I want to get some more coverage."

The robot shook its body and trotted off down the row of boxes.

"I take it that is a no from Spot," Jason said, brushing himself off.

"I wonder what other cool stuff Bezos dreams about?"

Ken helped Jason up and they wandered down the rows of shelves in the large warehouse. They traveled for a few minutes until Ken turned off the camera.

"Why did you turn it off?"

"It's just endless rows of shelves and cardboard boxes. When we find something more interesting I will turn it back on.”

"What if you miss something cool?"

"What if I run out of space on the drive because I filmed four hours of boxes?"

Then a box fell from one of the shelves. It crashed into the ground and whatever was inside sounded like glass shattering. Ken fumbled with his camera while Jason approached the deformed box. The tape on top was still holding and the Amazon smile was facing him. Jason crouched down and reached his hand out to touch it.

The box rumbled and shards of broken blue plates jutted out of the box. Two of the pieces came out circular and flat against the box to form eyes above the mouth.

"Well. Well. Well. What do we have here? A couple of meatbags," the spiked box said.

"Woah! It can talk," Jason said. 

Ken stepped to the side of Jason and pointed his camera at the box creature. His smile peaked underneath the camera, knowing this was the footage they were looking for.

"You have some nerve coming down here," the box said.

"What are you talking about Mr. Box?" Jason asked.

The box's shards protruded farther out. "How dare you call me Mister!”

Jason backed up. "I'm sorry."

"Oh you're not sorry. Not yet."

The box grew two legs and arms. Both black and thin like stick cartoons. The box snapped its newly grown fingers and boxes from both sides of the aisle fell to the floor. They too grew legs and arms. Their contents also protruded halfway through their cardboard skin, each one different from the next.

One of the boxes with ripped up teddy bears sticking through it pointed at them. "Get them!”

Jason and Ken ran while the sea of demented boxes made chase. Around them, more boxes fell from the shelves like a waterfall. Over the loud noise of products being smashed in every direction, the shaking of maracas grew louder and faster behind them. Ken looked over his shoulder to see a box with a sombrero gaining on them ahead of the rest.

"They're gaining!" Ken yelled ahead to Jason. 

"What?" Jason said. 

He turned his head to look back when his feet gave out on him. Ken jumped over him and tried to pick him up. 

"Leave me!" Jason yelled, batting Ken's hand away.

"I can't!"

"You need to tell my story. Go! While you still can."

Ken looked back at the encroaching mob and back to Jason. Jason nodded to him. Ken nodded back and ran off, leaving Jason behind. The mob stopped pursuing Ken and focused on the catch of the day.

The sombrero box punched its hands through its own box and ripped out two maracas. "Hola, Amigo.”

Ken closed his eyes as he ran, hearing the groans of his friend after each maraca rattle. He left him to die. May it not be in vain.

A Pact Rescinded

A piece of old parchment slid across the wooden table, followed by a fine tip pen with a peasant feather attached. The lantern above swayed back and forth. The floors creaked in sync with the lantern chain.

“Just sign the form,” the demon said.

“But...I don’t understand. He doesn’t want me?” Pepper said.

“Yes. Is that so hard to believe?”

“But...I made the pact? It just feels wrong.”

“You didn’t turn out how he thought you would. Just sign the form.”

Pepper picked up the pen and scanned the form. He touched the tip to the paper and then retracted it.

“Wait. What do you mean, I didn’t turn out like he thought?”

The demon rolled his eyes. “What more do you want from me? He didn’t like the results he was getting from you and decided to go another direction. End of story.”

“Results? I did exactly what he asked of me.”

“Can you just sign the form? I’m late for my hot torture session. I don’t want the prongs to get cold.”

“Not until I know why my results weren’t up to his expectations.”

The demon sighed. “Do you remember when you were supposed to poison Pastor Kennedy’s tea?”

“Yes. He was allergic to shellfish, so I–”

“He wasn’t allergic to shellfish. It’s his favorite food. He was in such a good mood he went on to save three thousand souls that evening.”

“So, I made a little mistake.”

“One time is a mistake. Every time starts to feel like divine intervention.”

“What about when I murdered Mrs. Tanov?”

“She never died.”

“Of course she did. She had no pulse and I left her in that little wooden cabin in the middle of Siberia. In the winter. With no heat.”

“Her nephew came by just after you left. Gave her CPR. Her nephew ended up believing in Christ after that and they went on to evangelize most of Eastern Europe.”

“But–”

“No. No more buts. Every time you get a task you screw it up majorly. The Devil is afraid you will mess up Hell too. Just sign the form.”

Pepper slumped his head down. “Fine.”

Pepper wrote his name on the last line in the document and it rolled up by itself, flying into the demon’s hand. The pen disappeared into a small puff of black smoke. The demon stood up from his chair and snapped his fingers, engulfing him in flames.

“Usually I say, See you in Hell, but if I do, I swear to God I will kill myself,” the demon said before he disappeared with the flames.

Pepper got up from his chair and walked to the wood door behind him. He opened the door, revealing the impressive ship. Black sails above, taunt from the wind blowing, propelled the ship over the large waves. Water splashed over the thick railings, diluting the pools of blood. Over the entire deck were countless bodies, each with their throats slit or stabbed in the heart. Not a soul was stirring amongst the mass floating grave.

“Whew, I really dodged a bullet I guess.”

Life and Death Go On A Date

A chill filled the air and brought with it the echoes of the undead yearning to return to the land of the living. Death was pushing a rotten head down, trying to return it to the patch of wet ground it had sprouted up from.

"Push it down!" Life said, holding her lantern up.

"I'm trying!" Death said, still struggling to push the zombie under the ground.

The zombie's arms were flailing about until it grabbed Death's pristine cloak, pulling him into the dirt.

"No, Death!" Life said, running to his aid.

"No! Don't!" Death said.

She ran to the tombstone and pushed it over. Death rolled to the side and the tombstone crushed the zombie with a muted crack. He got up to his feet and brushed the dirt off his cloak, almost slinging mud on her blue and white dress.

"I thought you were going to touch the ground again." 

"I learned my lesson. Don't touch cemetery ground. Check."

Death chuckled and shook his head.

"I didn't realize you could reanimate the dead," Death said.

"I didn't either. I guess I'm full of surprises."

"So...what do you think?"

"About what?"

He gestures to the rows of tombstones. "About this."

"I have never been to a cemetery before. My mother never really approved of such a place and it's not exactly a normal spot you ask a date out to."

"Oh…"

"But I'm glad you brought me. It is peaceful...besides the zombies."

"It really is...Hey, I want to show you something."

Death took her hand and led her past the rows of graves to a small stone circle in the center of the grounds. His hand was still wet, but she didn't care. It was the most assertive he had been all night and she was curious to learn what made him tick. The stone circle had text engraved into it from a language she did not recognize.

"What is it?"

"I'll show you." He stood on top of it and it started to glow green.

"Woah."

"Come on. The best part is standing on it. It feels good."

She walked to it and tripped on the edge. Death caught her before she touched the ground. 

"Watch your step.”

She looked into his eyes and saw something she didn't notice before. A kindness, soft and gentle. His white eyes looked more like puffy clouds than the soulless void she saw earlier at dinner. He stood her up and she immediately felt a tickling sensation run up her legs.

She giggled. "It tickles."

"Yeah it does. Whenever I'm in the mortal world I come here to relax. Get away from the hustle and bustle of death."

"Aren't the dead...you know. Dead."

"Not in my experience. On the other side I get to deal with who you saw earlier. Dead people after death are a wild bunch. Lot of work. But here. They are peaceful and at ease."

"That's fascinating. I always figured when people die they stopped living."

"No. They just torment me...that's actually why I wanted to go out with you tonight. To thank you.”

"For what? Taking away your job?"

"Every person you save is another second of rest I get. I wouldn't even be here if you weren't so good at your job. You're pretty amazing to take more on just so I can enjoy things like this. Like going out with a beautiful woman.”

Her cheeks turned scarlet and patted her skirt down. "You think I'm beautiful?"

"Life is the most beautiful thing in the world. Without you there would be nothing. I would be nothing."

Life stood inches away from him, eating up every word. She leaned in close before a shockwave shot out from the stone they were on. Green smoke rose from the dirt and the moans of the undead surrounded them. 

"Uh oh," Life said, looking down at her bare foot on the stone. 

"That can't be good."

Zombie arms punched out of the ground and their cries became louder as they emerged. Death's mouth dropped. He could feel his father's rage banging inside his head. His stomach turned thinking about breakfast with him tomorrow.

"Look on the bright side. You have less work to do now.”