Two Feet in the Grave

I felt it, much earlier than I saw it. A presence, thick like snow and filled with an uncomfortable chill. This was no ghost. Spirits that cling have nearly no spiritual pressure, just as the have no place they belong.

This feeling could mean one of two things. A Death or a demon, and neither of those choices were good. A Death would be more preferable. Who knows? Maybe I died in my sleep? Not likely, but hey.

I cracked an eye open and I peeked over the comforter, hoping not to have roused my uninvited guest.

Said guest was "peeking" as well, out of the window of the small apartment, though at what, I had not a clue, and, thankfully, he wasn't a demon. Broad shoulders hunched, head scrunched, and a wiry frame made him look as though he was... hiding, but from what. He crouched, staring over the windowsill, and I wondered what he was seeing.

I kept the comforter at my eyes and grumbled as though I was asleep, in an effort to catch a glance at the front of him. He turned, and stayed staring, waiting to see if I would wake. I kept still, taking in all the features.

So pretty for a Death. And young, nineteen at most, but for how long? Bright, inhumanly, blue eyes shifted away for a moment, and long, thin hands pushed into dark pockets. Always with the dark clothes. I'd only seen one Death who wasn't wearing black or unnecessarily dark shades of grey in the entire 2,525 times I've died.

Well, the entirety of the boy was dark. I guess more dark was the clear choice of fashion. A jingling that sounded almost like keys brought my attention back to his hands.

He was fiddling with a cellphone, multiple silver and gold teeth tied together with red string, dangled from the phone, making the noise that brought my attention in the first place.

What are those from? I paused and corrected my question. Who are they from?

There was a tinging noise from the phone and the boy rapid-fire texted back. I heard him make a disgusted noise and pushed the phone back in his pocket, putting to rest the teeth jangling.

He sighed and actually sat, no longer crouching. The reaper wasn't making it seem like he was leaving anytime soon and I had yet to ask myself an important question. Why is a Death here? In my house? When I'm not dead?

I shuddered and felt a second presence. Thick, but not in the same way the reaper's was. Thick like heat, so thick that it clung to the back of my throat in a way that was making my almost choke. A sickening warmth pressed and I suddenly wished I hadn't had such a thick comforter. It was horrible and powerful and I didn't want to be anywhere near it.

But.

I couldn't move. No matter how hard I tried. I couldn't move at all. Fear kicked in. I didn't to be in the same room as this thing! The boy was pressed against the wall that the window was on, unmoving, and I wondered if he was feeling the same intensity that I was. I heard it hovering, hissing, at the window, and the boy seemed to push himself against the wall, trying to be flat, unseen.

Then.

It was gone. Slowly, but it was. The air slowly became thinner, lighter, easier to breathe and I sat up and turned to the reaper, forgetting that I was supposed to be asleep.

"What in the living hell was that thing?"