Death is My BFF Rewritten (Book 1 of the Rewritten Death Chronicles)

Chapter 32: The Boy Who Died: Part 1

As I observed the stage there was a solid knock on the girls closet. “Momma, is that you?” the actress promptly asked. A masculine cackle of a laugh answered. The girl squeezed the bear to her chest, now visibly afraid. “Momma! Momma! Help me! It's here!”

The “Mom” aka a beefy guy dressed as a woman threw open the girl’s bedroom door, holding an unlit cigarette between their over-caked lipstick lips. They wore a huge unflattering dress with flowers, a blonde wig drier than the hay beneath my butt, and crooked heels, an obnoxious shade of orange, which drew attention to the fact that this "Mom" had some unsightly hairy legs.

“Whadda ya want from me, Suzie!" the Mom's falsetto voice shouted out. "This is the fifth night you have woken me up!" To my disgust, the guy actually picked at his crotch.

“Momma! I'm not lying! There’s a monster in my closet! It knocked on the door again!” The girl screamed in response, clutching her teddy bear to her chest.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever! I'll check for ya', kid." The Mom stomped across the stage like a T-Rex and threw open the closet door, sticking their head in to look around the closet. "See? No monster! You watch too many movies!”

“Momma” then turned around to face her daughter, shaking her head and putting her hands on her hips. “Oh, Sam. What am I going to do with you?”

A guy in a clown outfit stuck his head out the closet, covered their mouth with their white gloved hand and shook with silent laughter, then held out a knife that looked pretty damn real to me.

The girl on the bed screamed. "It's there! It's there!"

I found myself looking over at Death in the other wagon. He turned his head towards me at the same time, and time seemed to roll to a halt as he sat up a little straighter. I don’t know why I gave so much thought of it right then, but I started to think about how Death knew so much about me, and I barely knew anything about him.

The clown leaped back into the closet before the mom could turn around.

With a growl, the mom left the closet door opened and stomped over to the daughter. "I've had it up to here with these imaginary monsters, Sam--!”

Suddenly, with a menacing laugh, the clown came charging out of the closet and stabbed the mother over and over again with the knife. They then gripped the daughter as she screamed and dragged her across the stage. The lights went off. The music went off. Silence.

Death angled himself so that he was facing me, facing our wagon, tilting his head to the side a bit inquisitively. “Are you going to come over here?” the position told me. Waiting, like a lion hiding amongst tall grass for its next meal. I wondered if Death was trying to read my thoughts. I pressed my fingers against the necklace around my neck as assurance that he couldn’t.

            I didn’t even know what Death looked like, besides his hair and his body type. I was in the dark, when it came to Death, and that’s exactly what he wanted. He wanted to know more about me, than I knew about him. He was the dominant one, the one who came out on top. That’s how he worked.

Sure, I knew what Death looked like as a child, but did that even begin to give me an idea of what he looked like now? Was he handsome? Young looking? Didn’t people age differently when he was born? Was he tan or ghastly white, like a ghost?

 Now that I was thinking about it, the only time I even saw his skin, when it wasn’t a memory, was when he held his hand out to my forehead and made me go to sleep. His skin was an olive color, pleasantly tan. I saw a man with markings on his body in my dreams, but didn’t know for sure if that was Death. I didn’t know what those dream meant, period; I just knew that they felt too real to be made-up.