The House that Death Broke Into

NOTE: this story deals with themes of death, grief, and the passing of a loved one.

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“Goodbye,” It sighed, reading the single word on the ironically named welcome mat at the doorstep. Underneath it, the owner of the house had helpfully added a skull with a big red X on it. Must’ve been a special commission - it was definitely too personal to have been found at some supermarket down the road.

It rolled Its eyes (or at least what It thought of as Its eyes). There was no helping some people - or, in this case, there was no reaping some people.

Over the years, It had met many creatures - both human and animal - who fought It until their very last. Some pleaded, some offered riches and status, some were violent. To these last ones, It allowed the dignity of going down with a fight; most of the time, they accepted It in the end. Things felt better that way, somehow - and it wasn’t like they’d have time to change their minds (unless they became ghosts, but that was rare and far between, and even then, well… what could they really do to It? Throw some cutlery? Steal Its scythe? Moan and make faces? Besides, ghosts faded too, eventually), so there was no harm in allowing all manner of creature to pass on their own terms.

Some, though…

…Some really knew how to grate on the proverbial nerve.

It stepped over the mat, passed through a line of salt drawn across the doorway (It knew that this occupant knew that salt was useless against It, but there was a routine to their dance by now) and made Its way down the hallway. This house was new, and It ran into some walls on Its way - quite literally, as several doors simply led to bricks. A few led down some stairs that led into brick walls, or through several rooms that branched off into different rooms that branched off into different rooms, and so on. The house had looked perfectly normal on the outside, but of course It knew who It was dealing with by now, and wizards were pesky little assholes with a lot of tricks up their sleeves.

This specific wizard had been on the monthly docket for about, what, ten or thirty years now, and things weren’t getting any easier. It had pursued this soul relentlessly for the first year, but after a few incidents that had involved: a toy scythe, three hundred rubber ducks, a pit full of acid (while It had no real body to truly destroy, nor any nerves that would feel pain, It had needed a week or regenerate Its corporeal form after that one), bone-eating snakes, one mansion that had been overgrown with thorny roses, a few innocent victims in very convincing magical disguises (people liked to think It was all-knowing; It was, but often didn’t feel like bothering with Knowing), It had decided enough was enough. Finally, the two struck a bargain: once a year, It would pursue, and once a year, this soul would get the chance to fight back until It decided to just let it go for a while. Honestly, at some point, It had simply wanted to know how long this would take - It was endless, of course, and endless life was often boring. This ritual had provided some much-needed entertainment for a while, but even that was getting boring now, and It was considering Knowing - just to get this over with.

Besides, a few people of the… naturally immortal variety were starting to get nervous about this one.

Opening Its mind to Knowing proved unnecessary, as It managed to navigate through the maze that the inside had been turned into, and finally found the center.

It stepped onto an elegant spiral staircase adorned with artwork of flowers and animals in all colors and of all shapes. It had once marveled at it, as It loved human creation of all kind, but now it was familiar - the wizard never really changed his main abode. When It reached the main room, It stopped and looked around.

The room at the top of the tower (or the room that had once been at the top of the wizard’s first home - a tower) was light and airy, large floor-to-ceiling windows covering about one third of the walls. The rest was an explosion of color and knick-knacks: pillows, souvenirs, books upon books upon books, many animals and plants carved of wood or made of glass, large paintings depicting the same man over and over in different settings, a few beautiful lamps with stained glass shades, and a singular bed near one of the windows. Outside, there were several bird feeders and a big bush suspended in the air.

The wizard himself sat upon a rocking chair, looking out into the airborne bush.

“Which bird is it this year?” It asked.

“Hummingbirds. They were one of his favorites. But it’s late hatching, according to my books.”

“One is sure they’ll come around.”

“I hope so, I’d hate for all this care to go to waste; I have to chase squirrels and snakes away every other day now!”

The wizard was often brash like this, but It knew that no effort was wasted to him. It gave the wizard a few moments before It asked, “what will it be this year?”

“I won’t go.”

It gathered all of Its patience. “You must. You are not living any more. Simply delaying.”

“I won’t go until you tell me if I will meet him again.”

As always, It responded: “One cannot say.”

That was true - somewhat. It could dare to find out, but that often led to problems: some creatures did reincarnate, but if they somehow retained their memory, things could get sticky. Besides, the people upstairs didn’t much like the idea of humans knowing what happens after they died, even if they found out only upon said death. It didn’t like to step on any toes; the people upstairs knew how to make a point even with a wraith that had no nerve endings.

“Then until you can, I won’t go.”

It considered Its options - the wizard was getting on in years, and It hadn’t sensed an illusion in this room. Perhaps they could reach a new agreement - maybe a softer approach?

“You must miss him.”

“What do you know about missing anybody!”

“Nothing, for Oneself. But One has seen loss in all of human history, through its creations and its generations and—”

“Save me the spiel,” the old man waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t care what you know, you can’t feel any of it. I’m getting tired, and my magic is weakening. You could probably just take me, at this point.”

This smelled like a trap. “One will not steal.”

The wizard barked a humorless laugh. “Stealing! Please. My soul has not been mine for a very long time.”

“One can sense your soul in your body.”

“One is an idiot!” Upon this, the wizard coughed violently and shook in his rocking chair. He held a beautiful red and yellow scarf to his face and breathed into it a few times. Quietly, he said, “My soul died with him.”

There was silence that stretched for minutes, then an hour. It was thinking, and the wizard was watching the nest outside.

“He’d tell me off, you know. For being so stubborn.”

“You are stubborn.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion!” Another coughing fit. “I should write a book about prolonging life at this point; would be a bestseller. I could write all about how to avoid you and all the pain a person’s body goes through as you stretch and stretch and stretch—!” He coughed again, more violently, and cursed even louder.

“One wishes you would not.”

“Then I definitely ought to.” A wicked grin, and that made It smile a little, too.

Another stretch of silence.

“I’ve never asked; did the acid hurt?”

“No.”

“Shame,” the wizard mumbled. “Maybe then you’d back off.”

It sighed and sat on an ottoman by the window. “You may see him again.”

The old man pricked up. “For sure?”

“Perhaps.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“Perhaps.”

“Gods, but I hate you.”

“One has heard this before.”

“One has heard this before,” the old man mocked - in a voice that It felt was a bit exaggerated. He then sighed. “That’s the best I’ll ever get out of you, isn’t it?”

“Most likely.”

“Could we at least meet again as birds? Being human was a pain in the neck, and I don’t have a preference - he liked birds a lot, though. Might be fun to fly, you know, naturally.”

“One does not decide.”

“Wouldn’t that be the icing on the cake,” the wizard muttered. He then took a small photograph out from his sleeve and gazed at it for a while. When It made no move, he snapped, “well, get on with it! I want to at least die looking at him!”

“Ah. My apologies.” It lifted Itself from the ottoman, and then lifted Its scythe.

Some hours later, It watched as a hummingbird egg hatched and for a brief moment, Knew that a different nest had also experienced a hatching somewhere nearby - as if it had been waiting.

It closed the door quietly and left the house.