(17y) APRIL 2005, 00.44

The double date was everything he could have wanted. Many kisses from Samantha, multiple leg and arm touches, whispered words into each other's ears, and some movie he couldn't be bothered recalling. Much later that night, after a good snog session in the back of the taxi on their way to Marty's and getting lost on the way back to his new house, John lay in bed looking up at his ceiling and smiling. Things couldn't get better. Sleep came slow and sweet and he drifted on its honey cloud.

Drum, drum. Drum, drum,

John turned over in his bed, groaned half awake, his one eye twitching.

Drum, drum. Drum, drum,

'Huh?' He lifted his head from the soft pillow, a bit of dried spittle on his one cheek pulled at his skin.

Drum, drum. Drum, drum,

What the fuck was that strange noise? Sounded like someone drumming their fingers on a desk top. He sat up, bleary eyed. 'Dad?' The drumming stopped. John rubbed at his eyes and tried to focus. A dark figure sat in the corner of his rather large bedroom, the moonlight from his much bigger windows glowing in the background.

'No, I'm not your Dad John Finnie born 22-07-1987.'

There was a long pause, as if the figure had something else to say, and shivers travelled up John's spine. Fear seized him and he tried to bolt out of bed but found his muscles wouldn't work. All he could do was watch the figure.

'No. I'm not your father. I couldn't be your father. Why, John Finnie born 22-07-1987. Why couldn't I be you father? You know the answer. So tell me why?'

No smart answers came to him. In fact, he was so terrified he couldn't speak at all. A strangely comforting musty odour followed the cloaked figure who walked over and sat on the edge of his bed. 'I'll tell you, John Finnie born 22-07-1987. I couldn't be your father, because according to my list your father is dead.' The figure flipped its hood back, and John gasped. The hooded figure's face was that of a normal young-ish man, not at all what he'd expected.

'Who are you?' John said, though in the pit of his belly he feared what the answer might be. Normal people didn't pop into your room in the dark hours of the night uninvited. The man turned to him and his eyes were a cold grey blue, cutting like shards of ice and dead like piles of ash. 'Someone you should not be seeing for quite some time, John Finnie born 22-07-1987.'

John's heart thumped in his chest as if a demon chased him, but he gritted his teeth and felt anger pumping along with the fear. Who was this prick? He'd had enough. He took a breath to shout for his dad, but the man in front of him put his fingers on John's lips.

'Shhh, John Finnie born 22-07-1987, now is not the time for shouting and yelling.'

'Dad!' he thought, mouth gaping like a fish but no sound came out. Being unable to move or speak has a way of putting terror in the deepest part of you, in your bones, and it filled John until he thought he'd froth at the mouth any moment. The man put his hands back on his own lap as if everything was okay. They both sat there for a few minutes in cold stark silence, and John fought against the terror in his mind and the numbness in his limbs.

The man looked out the window at the moon, then at John's slack face. 'I have here a list.' In an instant, a parchment hovered in front of John's face. 'You see the list, John Finnie born 22-07-1987.'

John nodded so slight that he was sure nobody would've been able to see it, but the man did.

'You see the name in red, John Finnie born 22-07-1987.'

John swallowed hard and nodded.

'That name,' said the strange man, 'had a strike through it, a very definite strike. I know this because I strike them out. I strike them out when it is their time.' He paused for a few seconds. 'That name is Daniel James Finnie, born 16-02-1964, died 17-08-1998.'

'I remember it, John Finnie born 22-07-1987. I remember every single one. Imagine my' --he swirled one hand in the air as if he could conjure up an image-- 'surprise, yes. Imagine my surprise when I reviewed my lists and saw that Daniel James Finnie born 16-02-1964 died 17-08-1998 hadn't actually died.' The man looked pointedly at John with one eyebrow raised, his chin tilted at an angle that made him seem like a sinister crow about to peck John's eye out. 'I am never late John Finnie born 22-07-1987.'

The strange man's cloak swished and he stood. 'I never miss at my job. Never. And I never fail to gather a soul, and I am never wrong. So John Finnie born 22-07-1987, tell me how you did it. Explain to me how you stole your father away from me.'

Panic was fully set in now. This man, this thing--whatever he was--might try to take Dad away from him. 'You aint getting my Dad, fuck you. You can't have him. He's mine.'

The strange man put his hands up and John froze again. His neutral voice permeated the room. 'I never fail John, so tell me what you did.'

Anger boiled inside John and he struggled to move but it was pointless. 'Fuck you!' he growled through clenched teeth. 'You can't have him back.'

The man walked to the window, glanced out as if he had other places to be, then turned his wicked gaze back on John. 'I never fail John. Tell me what you did. Tell me how you got your father back.'

Tears of frustration welled in John's eyes and he fought against the mysterious hold the stranger had on him to no avail. At last something gave, and with all his might John pushed against the invisible energy pinning him down and sat up in bed. He sneered and distorted his face into what must have looked a god-awful expression. Sweat beaded his forehead and dripped down his neck, but he kept struggling until he stood upright, defiance puffing his chest. In contrast, the stranger looked bemused, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, one arm folded and the other on his lip, watching John battle against him.

John staggered towards him, pointing his finger. Did he look as crazy or as fucked as he felt? It didn't matter, this shit bag could not have Dad. 'You can't have him.' John strained to get the words past his clenched teeth. 'He's mine. If you take him, I will get him back. I will fight you all the way, every single day.'

The strange man held up his hand and John stopped moving. Spit flew from his mouth and he tried but failed to force his body into movement again. He was a dribbling fool, frozen mid-stride like some modern statue, but that would not deter him. The strange man stood opposite him now and bent down slightly to get eye to eye.

'Curious. You are curious, John Finnie born 22-07-1987. There is something in you that I do not know.' The man's head tilted and John imagined swinging his fist into the fucker's cheek. 'You are seventeen John Finnie born 22-07-1987, but your blue eyes are older. Why?' The strange man walked around the boy with his forefinger holding his chin, until they were face to face again.

'Why are you older? You all age. Man cannot stop the ravages of time. But you, John Finnie born 22-07-1987, are old without aging. Why?'

This fucking idiot was crazy. The strange man looked directly into John with his ash blue eyes and clicked his fingers. John felt a release, as if a great hand clutching his chest had just let go. He could speak again. 'I am telling you fuck all, you arsehole. You are the Collector, aren't you? You are the psychopath that's been killing girls.' Dammit, why couldn't he move his arms? John tried to say more, but the strange man clicked his fingers again and stopped him with a sigh.

'Me a killer? No, John Finnie born 22-07-1987. I am no killer. I have seen people die for more years and in more ways than you could possibly imagine, but I merely strike them off and guide them on their way. I am no killer, John Finnie born 22-07-1987.'

The stranger sat on the end of John's bed, and John felt himself drawn back to the bed against his will. In his mind, he shouted at his feet to kick or run, at his fists to punch the fucker in the noggin, but instead his feet dragged slowly back to the bed like he was a zombie from one of those 1940s movies. The fucker sat drumming his fingers on his thighs. John's ass plonked on the bed, him sitting pen upright, and the bedding whooshed.

The stranger stood again, walked to the window, and looked out at the moon for a few minutes, and then slow as death turned his face to look directly at John. 'Some call me Anubis, Yama, Thanatos. The Greeks call me Cronus, and the Romans called me Saturn.' A hollow chuckle erupted from his chest and suddenly he did not look human at all. Something horrid and foetid showed in the man, the thing, a flicker in his ash eyes of a vast emptiness that could swallow your soul. 'I do love the old names.' He leant forward, and John wanted to cringe, to lean back and cover his face. 'You, John Finnie born 22-07-1987, you can call me Death.'

Death looked at the moon.

Oh god, it'd happened. He was crazy, he'd lost his marbles. Maybe he was already in a mental institute somewhere, just trapped in his mind fooled by his own unstable imagination.

'I am in a curious position John Finnie born 22-07-1987. And I am too busy to be curious.' He drummed his fingers on his thighs again. 'And yet here we are. A puzzle is binding us together. I need my lists to be right, I am one soul down.' Death closed his eyes and seemed to flicker for the briefest of moments.

Or maybe this was real. Was it real? John's life seemed altogether fucked, just like that.

Death turned to face the boy again. 'You see John Finnie born 22-07-1987, you are the only person to look upon me and not be on my list for over two thousand years. This is...startling to me. I believe you when you say you will get him back John Finnie born 22-07-1987. I can see your strong soul raging against me at this very moment.' Death raised his hand towards John, a finger lingering longer as if stretching to taste the strength inside of him.

'Get away from me!' John thought.

'Yours is a tough one, John Finnie born 22-07-1987, and by what I have just learned, it will need to be. So what do we do?' Death frowned at the moon and hid his hands under his cloak. 'I can't just take one, it's against the rules.' Death looked up, then down. 'Yes, so many rules, and I am the balance of the game. But you, John Finnie born 22-07-1987, I think you are a mistake, a quirk of nature if you will. I don't think you are supposed to be part of this game we play, which against my better judgement, makes me like you. You have changed the balance, this eternal game, but who let you?'

Death drummed his fingers on his thighs again and walked back over to the bed where John still sat like a frigid statue. Half of what Death said scared John, and the rest sounded so crazy he struggled to believe it. If not for the numbness and the zombie walking, he would've doubted it all.

'I do not believe in chance, John Finnie born 22-07-1987. I do not believe in fate. What happens is written in the Book. It has always been this way and always will be.' Death looked down at John, and John felt small then knowing what it was that stood before him, knowing he'd stolen a soul from Death. 'Well, apart from this one time.' Death walked away and looked out of the window, touching the window pane softly. 'So much time spent with one person, and a live person at that. Interesting.' He clicked his fingers and the numbness detached from John's tongue.

'You can't have him,' John said. 'I will get him back.'

Death looked straight into his eyes. 'Are you stupid, John Finnie born 22-07-1987? Have you not been listening? I cannot take your father back; his time has been changed. I will have him in another time, that is for certain, but he is not on my list anymore and so I will have to wait. There are, however, others that I will be taking, of that you can be sure John Finnie born 22-07-1987.'

Death started shimmering away, like he was dissolving into the air, and John regained some control of his own body. He jumped up and ran towards the disappearing figure. 'Who? Who will you be taking?' Dread filled his heart and he heard one word hissing faintly in the darkness, 'Tiggerrr!'

(17y) APRIL 2005 07.15

He awoke with a start, heart palpitating, sweat drenching the bed and himself. John jumped out of bed and took a photo with the digital camera even though he was just in his boxers. He grabbed jeans and a shirt and tugged them on while he hobbled out the room, then ran downstairs.

Dad and Charlotte sat together watching kids tele. 'There's tea in the pot John,' Dad shouted without looking.

'Thanks.' John kept running, slamming the door behind him. He ran up their beautiful pathway past the roses, then up the street and down another. He ran and ran and ran, and found himself on a bus travelling to Marty's house without recalling how he'd got there. The world rushed by him from the bus window and his mind raced as he tried to figure out what had happened last night. Had it been real? Had it really been Death?

It was Sunday morning and quiet on the streets. He knocked on the door of Marty's house. Marty's dad answered.

'Is Marty in?'

Marty's dad shook his head. 'No John, I asked him to go down to the paper shop and get my newspaper.'

John ran off in the direction of the newsagent without even saying thanks. He saw Marty coming out of the shop and shouted, waving a hand in the air. Marty looked up and waved back. John sprinted across the road.

He didn't even hear the tyres screech or feel the impact. He just felt the wind in his hair when he was thrown ten feet through the air, and the burning white hot pain as he lay on the cold tarmac. John could hear Marty screaming for help, but he couldn't move his arms or legs to stand. The feeling was familiar, except that the pain hadn't been there before. He moved his eyes to look up. Death was there; he looked down at John and nodded.

'And so the quirk is no more. Let go, John Finnie born 22-07-1987 died 19-04-2005.' A trickle of blood escaped John's parted lips and he felt it warm on his cheek.

Death staggered back. 'No! You cannot be! No, you are not possible!'

John could see another set of feet by his face, then a photo was thrust into his vision. 'Blink you stupid little bastard, Blink now or die!' John thought he recognised the voice. Was it his dad? His vision blurred; he concentrated and Blinked. He felt his body whoosh and nothing more.

P.S.

Please people, give us your thoughts. We know this one's quite epic and shocking. Did everything make sense?

© Steve Ford & Joy Cronjé 2018