WATTYS 2023 SHORTLIST
Cara, a troubled college dropout, finds herself slowly falling for a handsome stranger - who turns out to be Death incarnate. But the arrival of a mysterious being puts Death's home for lost souls and his very existence at risk...
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Over the last few hours, I've found that it's nearly impossible to argue with the logic of an eight-year-old.
So, when Lisa demands that I claim the bedroom directly beside hers, I see no reason to do otherwise. However, I draw the line when she suggests drilling a hole through the wall for us to talk through.
My new bedroom fits right in with the rest of Death's home, bursting with dusty antiques and furniture that could have belonged to my great-great-grandparents. I set down my bag on the bed, pull out my pajamas, and go scouting for the nearest bathroom, realizing that it's only a few feet away across the hall. After triple-checking that the door has properly locked behind me (even though that wouldn't stop a curious ghost who could simply pass through the wood) I wipe down the old claw-foot tub, test the water, and let it fill as I strip off my disgusting clothes.
Thankfully, the water heater is in good repair, and when I sink into the tub all of my muscles automatically unclench. I stay in there way longer than I probably should, working lather from the ancient bar of soap into my skin and hair. All the while, my thoughts keep trying to sneak onto the subject of Death until I give up trying to reign them in and let them run wild.
As if it isn't already weird enough that Death exists in a human form and lives with ghosts in an old house in the woods, he supposedly performs secretive work in said woods that no one is allowed to witness. Could his nice guy act be just that: an act? Everything about him thus far seems way too good to be true.
But before my mind goes too far down that rabbit hole, I remember the way he looked at me when he said he wanted to help me. Even Leonardo DiCaprio couldn't fake that level of sincerity, that kindness that sent a jolt to the numb place in my chest.
And God, his face. His arms. His lips. All of him.
Maybe I'm just devastatingly lonely, or naked and warm and hopeful – or both – but I find myself wishing for the first time that it wasn't impossible for us to touch. I imagine what it would be like to brush his hand under the dinner table and feel warmth there, how his fingers would tangle in my hair–
Stop. My cheeks burn with shame, even though I'm all alone.
No matter what, I have to remind myself that Death isn't human. In fact, I'm still not quite sure what he is. I can't pine over him just because he's hot. I'm better than that. And I'm definitely not in the right place for a relationship of any kind.
Both more frustrated and relaxed, I step out of the tub and dry off, heading back to my new room as quickly as possible. I need to sleep more than anything, then I'll be able to think clearly and get started with the renovation tomorrow.
Through the expansive window behind my bed, the moonlit sky shines down like something out of a Bram Stoker story, casting the back garden in a bluish light. And before I can pull the curtains shut, I notice Death's unmistakable silhouette as he makes his way along the dirt path and passes out of sight to a place that no one can see.
