THE VISIT

ONE

Chapter 1 -  THE TRAILING GOOP DOES NOT COUNT AS A MAGNIFICENT ENTRY

I open the door to Death. 

The alley is otherwise empty. The wind has promised a storm, and crystal mist hangs low over the whispering beeches. The cold seeps through the woolens, but I do not shiver - I had promised myself that I wouldn't. 

Instead, I smile. 'Come for me, have you?' 

 'Oh,' it says, waving a thin pale hand in my general direction. 'Don't flatter yourself. I've come for tea. This mortal chilliness is not meant for my being.' 

So I let the faceless horror in, standing aside. It stands over the doormat like the heralder of an awful time, the omen of unknown evil, seeping black ether. I find myself hoping it will really take me this time, because the black goop would take an incredible amount of scrubbing. 

'Must I really?' It asks in a rich, velvety, arcane voice, fingering the burnished coat stand. I realize that I don't really want to see the body attached to that hand in my last hours, so I reply with a forced 'If you must.' 

'I'll spare you.' And I hear the amusement in its voice. I tell myself that if this being wouldn't have been my ticket to the other world, I would have used my broom to show it its way out. 

'I am not afraid. Just merely not keen.' I tell it, showing it to the couch. It slithers over, raking terrible claws against the filthy unwashed covering, exposing the yellow fluff underneath, and quite possibly a rat- although it was hard to tell for sure in the dim light of the dying fire, and the blue-grey of the static television. 

I pour the steaming liquid into the ceramic cups, and join it in the tiny living room (ironically named so). 

Its skin is blue white, exposed at the back of the hand; its fingers quake lightly as it stretches out to take the cup from my hands.

'I am sorry,' I settle down opposite to it. 'I hadn't realised that the dead can feel the cold. Someone once told me the two belong together.' 

The cup stops before it reaches the depths of the hood. 

'Oh, miss, we do go together. In fact, I am honoring the very fact, by choosing to feel it. You can't merely say two things belong together if you can't even bear to acknowledge each other.' It says. 'I hope the drink isn't poisoned. Wouldn't be unheard of, would it? You give me the vibes that you're one the creatures that love to act out irony.' 

'I’m sorry, ' I say again, ‘Have we made acquaintance?’

‘Let’s just say that I have heard a lot about you. You help the dead, don’t you?’ the steam rises from the cup, curling around the darkness, taking the vague shape of an angular face.

‘I can see spirits.’ I raise the cup to my own lips, the warm liquid sliding down my throat. ‘Some of them.’ I sound as bitter as the drink itself.

‘But you have apparently done a great deal. They complain all the time, that I should be more like you. Helpful, kind, the works- but alas, death cannot be all those things.’

‘Death can only be cold.’ I say pointedly, as its hands continue to shake ever so slightly.

‘I wish you would keep the sarcasm down, miss, the coat is not very warm.’ It sounds miffed.

‘Why have you come? If you are here to take me, I do not wish to delay any-'

I hear a snort of laughter, and it shocks me. To hear something so human from this, I had never expected.

‘This is truly a night of firsts for me, Miss Emma Nancy Burton. A night of firsts.’

‘And how do you happen to know my maiden name?’ I demand, setting down my cup with an air of finality.

‘It’s a little talent of mine. I get to know certain things about people I stay next to. Little facts,’

That gives me chills, but I remain placid. ‘So your “little talent” is that stalking comes naturally.’

‘You can do the same with spirits, miss Burton, you must understand.’

I fold my hands. ‘I always thought they told me what I came to know about them.’

‘They let you feel it. Not very good with words, them dead people. You’ll miss using this talent of yours, when you have to come with, leaving behind your shell.’

‘And are you here to make me do that?’

‘You don’t need me to make you do that. Just a trip to the roof with your ancient slippers would suffice.’

‘How dare you suggest that? I storm. ‘I do not plan to do such a thing.’

‘It is clear that you want to die.’ Death points out coolly.

‘And not to kill myself. They are both different things, if it has escaped your notice.’ I purse my lips. ‘If you haven’t come to help me, why come at all?’

‘Just for a friendly chat, Miss Burton, you could do with a bit of companionship.’