Two Feet in the Grave

There was a near grandiose pause. If there was surprise, or wonder, it wasn't visible. And then his voice fell from him like water from a faucet.

"Ciardha of the Den, a demon sent to kill me, or more accurately, end my existence, considering I am already dead." He sounded snooty as hell, but she wanted to know more.

"Why?"

He avoided her question entirely, pulling out the cellphone again, the hellish tinkling resounding through her small apartment.

"I'm sorry for not recognizing you immediately, Agatha. Your eyes were closed."

A Death knows humans by the iris, and if that fails, the eye itself. The eye tells you what the mouth cannot, harboring secrets seen and knowledge known. It acts as a long biography, with venturing spinoffs if the Death so wishes to delve into others lives through your eyes.

You learn a lot when the only person you talk to for eight hours after you die is a Death.

"Why is Ciardha trying to kill you?" His eyes narrows and he hissed, I was almost surprised to see his tongue wasn't forked.

"Shhhh, mortal, do not speak his name!!!" He seemed almost repelled at my saying such a simple name. Hypocrite. His back de-hunched and he spoke in a normal, cool tone.

"I will tell you of the circumstance when I find myself to trust you." What? Is he planning on being here long? More like no.

I almost began to voice my thoughts, but he interjected, aware of my discomfort.

"I will be staying here until Ciardha's dealt with."

"But, why?" He paused, taking one of the teeth into his fingers gingerly.

"Because you provide a certain amount of camouflage that 'charms' can't manage." He smiled a little, in a way that was extremely close to creepy.

"What do you mean?" My lips pursed in a frown and my brow furrowed in a state of confusion.

"You have the ability to deter Otherbeings completely, if you wish it so."