THAT NIGHT Short Story by Desiree Diamond 25 February 2022 -o0o-
I wake up. I feel it.
I lie, flat down on my back, in my bed, staring up, seeing shadows on the ceiling.
It must be around 3 am. I know but cannot confirm. To confirm I have to turn my head sideways to see the green digits of the clock. And I cannot turn my head. Not now.
My breathing is still even and regular. I keep it that way. For as long as I can.
The tendrils of sensation reach me. It is cold. A lack of emotion. I get a thought. Planted directly into my mind.
I know you are awake.
No use pretending then. I turn my head and see the alarm clock on my bedside. 3:03 am.
Exactly as I thought. And then I think:
Okay.
I sit up very gently, taking care not to disturb the sleeping form on my right side. The light from the streetlight next to the house illuminates my bedroom. Usually, the glare of this annoys me. Many complaints were lodged by me to the managers of the body corporate of our townhouse complex in the past two years about its unnecessary brightness.
Right now, I am happy that every one of these complaints landed on deaf ears. It beats being alone with that in the dark!
Now I can see it.
It is dark and the form is not fully in view. But I do recognize it. The tight curls. The dark shape of the face and a very distinct and recognizable outline of the jaw. Yes, I know who it is.
Except it isn’t.
The eyes are all but human. Glinting silver coins catching the reflection of light.
No human, dead or alive, has those eyes.
I know what it is and I know what it looks like.
Why her? I ask it, genuinely curious.
It shrugs.
Your choice.
The thought is a whisper in my mind that chafes it like sandpaper against skin. I feel like I will go insane if I have to listen to these whisper-thoughts too long.
For a moment I hold my breath.
What happens now?
And in the silence that follows I know I have more time.
How much time is unknown, but some immeasurable ethereal quantity of time.
It allows me to take a breath and sit back against my pillows.
If the form is my choice, then I chose her. Is that a clue to avoid inevitable doom? Maybe. Maybe not.
A thought comes to me. My deepest fear perhaps embodied. The rejection by that woman, for so many years. Embodied in this form. Maybe my deepest regret too. The love never given by my father’s mother. The alcoholism, the cruelty, the favouritism of her other granddaughter above me. The regret, bitter in my heart, that I didn’t attend the funeral. I should have gone in merriment, found a moment to spit on her grave.
Maybe that is why Death takes this form now. The grim reaper-grandmother. Not the pleasant, chubby kind mother of mother, but the other…
If Death takes me…
I close my eyes. I feel sweat break out along my brow. Such thoughts are not helpful now. At this time.
Maybe Death will take me straight to Hell for this.
I study the form at the end of the bed.
It rocks slightly back and forth, like she once did. The cruel line of its thin lips a dark slash against the skin. The eyes never leave mine. They shine like dark silver stars.
Why now?
It shrugs. Does it know? Does it not care? I insist. Sit forward.
WHY NOW?
Death looks at me.
You know.
That raspy sensation again in my mind. It hurts.
I sit back again. It spoke truth. I did realise. Too many late nights. Too much work. Too much wine. Too much indulgence. I felt the pain ripping through my chest at inopportune moments. I gave it no heed. If I didn’t acknowledge it, it didn’t exist. No doctor visits. No mention to my husband. I will get it checked out; I would think. Later, when I have time. Empty promises to myself.
Still – I would chase the next deal, the next day, then next minute. Relentless in my pursuit of happiness, one more deal, one more party, one more night of forgetting, one more day of rat race.
How many days have I noticed this sensation in my chest? Ten? Fifteen? Thirty? More? How long before my heart gives in?
As if on cue, my chest begins to hurt and I feel a numbness crawling down my right arm. The feeling is familiar. I think about my two children, my 4 year old boy and 6 year old girl, sleeping in the room next to ours. With the starry night light keeping the monsters away. Not my monster.
Will they wake up tomorrow with their mother, cold and dead in her bed?
Will my husband shield them from this?
I feel the gorge rise in my throat. This cannot be! I cannot die like this. My kids are too young, my husband will be alone. How can I die like this?
Panic sets in, and with that the pain worsens and my breathing gets more ragged, shallower. I look at the sleeping form of my husband. He looks so serene. Through all of this he hasn’t even stirred. He looks beautiful in his sleep. I envy his peace.
I look back at IT.
How do I handle this? Reason with it? Plead for my life? Bribe? Threaten? Lie back in resigned acceptance and die? It looks back at me indifferently.
It stops rocking.
The stillness of its form unnerves me.
Do we all know it is … you?
The question hangs between us. It still remains motionless and for a long time I think it is not going to answer me.
I think it considers the answer.
Yes.
Okay.
What about when someone dies suddenly, unexpectedly. Do they still meet you?
Again, the silence stretches out.
Again, I think it will not answer until finally it does.
Yes. It pauses. After.
I consider this.
The pain in my chest subsides very slightly to a dull ache. My curiosity in life has always been a big part of who I am.
I look at it intently.
What form of being can this possibly be? If I had to imagine the grim reaper, with a scythe and a black cloak, would it look like this? Why do we even need Death to accompany the souls of the dead anyway. Would not a sleep and never awaken, or a smooth ascend to heaven alone or descent to hell be more likely as rite of passage to our next realm? The fact that this being exists would indicate that there is a final destination for which we need the ferryman. Now that is a scary thought. What is my final destination then?
So, am I going to heaven or hell?
I ask it.
It doesn’t respond. It sits there eerily just staring at me.
If this was a normal night, and not THIS night, I would have thought that I was dreaming. Except I know I am not. In a seemingly confirmative action, my chest tightens and the pain deepens yet again. I gasp slightly. It leans forward slightly and now the light catches the left side of its face illuminating it more.
It is truly terrifying.
Memories flood my mind. Not only of my grandmother but also of my family. I suppose that once you know you are going to die you look at the past with a poignant mixture of regret and fondness. I think of my kids, my marriage, my parents, my grandparents.
My kids are too young! I need to stay here!
It doesn’t respond.
I feel panic again but I push it down. If I panic now this game, this life, is lost. I know it. I have to get my emotions under control. Keep it under control.
I think about the countless boardroom meetings I attended. The countless deals I closed. What did I do to be successful? I had to learn about the client, the opposition, I had to understand the players. I had to figure out what they wanted. What I could offer that was special and different.
Somehow, I have to try and understand this … thing… this being.
What makes this being so different from a human? It seems to be sentient. It seems to be aware of being aware. That makes it similar to a human in some ways.
If it is aware of being aware, if it has that certain sentience, it must have certain aspects to its countenance that are familiar.
It must be intelligent. It can communicate complex concepts in terms of thought-speaking. It understands my communication so two-way communication – though not easy, is possible.
The chest pain eases again and I very carefully take a deeper breath.
We are just staring at each other, not speak-thinking, my mind racing.
Death’s features are inscrutable and I cannot see any action or reaction. But its silver shining eyes are definitely looking at me. It is there. It is observing. It is darkly intelligent. It has emotion in the sense that the lack of emotion itself is almost an emotion in itself.
My curiosity is now outweighing my terror.
Is it just you? Or are there many?
Many.
The thought of many of these terrifying creatures overwhelms. I shudder.
I am surprised that it answers my question now as earlier it seems less inclined so I venture another question.
Do I have a choice? Can this stop? Am I allowed to continue living or is this end inevitable?
It sits. Not moving. Eyes glowing. Looking at me.
Okay. No answer to this. Could be yes, could be no. Most likely no.
I study the creature. It is definitely not of this world. It seems to have very little substance and as I watch it, I can see the outline of my dresser behind its form. It must be from a different plane of existence. The one beyond this. I wonder what it wants. What it feels. What it experiences. Does it feel happiness. Sadness. Curiosity. Nothing. Just a void.
A memory surfaces in my mind. I was in a boardroom with the CEO of a large tech corporation, Walter, a year ago. We were doing the deal of the century and there was a lot at stake for me in closing this deal. All negotiations had run extremely well for an entire two years before that point, only to come at a screeching halt at the door of this particular man. I had insisted on meeting with him directly and I had studied him in terms of what he was like, what he wanted, whatever there was available in terms of what I could find on the internet, on social media, by interviewing anybody and everybody I could find that knew him. I studied the deal, the variables on each side, the return on investment. It was all flawlessly put together and would result in a win-win on both sides. If there were any stops it was because this CEO did not want it for a reason that was not as easy to see prima facie. Hence the research! In the research I found nothing. Nothing at all! Everything was bland and boring and non-personal. His wives, his children, divorces, yaddah, yaddah. Nothing in this had really assisted me in gaining any kind of knowledge about his actual personality.
So, I had to meet him. And I did. Once I sat across him in the boardroom, I studied him. I noticed little movements. He was stoic and inscrutable but his eyes belied his astute manner. They looked a little sad. Even though it was just the slightest hint, it was there. I could not find any major tragedies in his life, beyond the usual parents and grandparents that are normal for someone that is older. Yet somehow, either through fate or circumstance, life had left him standing on that stage, surrounded by all he could possibly have, yet singularly unimpressed.
At that moment I knew what I had to do. After a few minutes of pleasantries, I addressed the board. I knew they were expecting me to go through the presentation of the merger and painstakingly cover the points that had already been covered. I decided to gamble and go a different route.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I have come to realise that the documents are quite fine exactly as they are and I do not have to further explain or offer any further insight to the deal, it is quite well described in here.” I put down the thick bound folder outlining the deal. It landed with a thud on the boardroom table and I slid over closer to the CEO. He looked at me, suddenly with curiosity, as did the rest of the board. I continued. “I ask therefore that you take this weekend to think things over and consider your options, and we shall be in touch on Monday on your final decision. I bid you all good day, gentlemen.”
I picked up my coat, my handbag and I strolled casually out of the boardroom nodding my goodbyes as I went. I cannot imagine the discussion that followed, but definitely I am pretty sure it was an interesting one! I had totally broken the mould and expectation of what was supposed to happen. Further negotiation, terms, grovelling… I wasn’t going to play that game anymore. I had to find a different tactic.
After I took the elevator down to the lobby, I went to the little coffee shop next door and pulled out my phone. I went through the pictures of Walter on his family’s profiles and I found a picture of him at a young age of approximately 5 years old, standing with a shotgun almost twice his height, smiling brightly at the camera with a much older man on his haunches next to him.
The pic was posted by his sister in memory of their grandfather after his passing twenty years ago. The picture was in stark contrast to the sour, monotonous man I met at the meeting. Little Walter was a ray of sunshine in this memory! I had missed the relevance of this.
I called my secretary with specific instructions, ordered another coffee and waited.
Half an hour later my driver brought me a beautiful little box with a specially crafted invitation.
I opened it, read the invitation and nodded my approval to my driver.
I went back into the building and went up to the highest floor again and dropped off the box with the invitation at Walter’s secretary.
Then I went back to the office and waited.
An hour later the phone rang.
We went hunting that weekend, my husband, me and Walter. We had scotch, got pissed, sang at the top of our lungs and loved every minute in the hunting lodge I booked. The next Monday the deal was done. Signed, sealed and delivered.
I always seemed to find a way to get past the barriers in getting what I wanted. Maybe I could do this again in this situation.
So… what did this thing need or want? What was its aim? Could I find a tactic to get out of this sticky situation? Did it even have a choice in the matter? Or was it only operating on orders?
Best to keep it communicating if there was any way out of this. Maybe I can spot a weakness in this being that can keep me from being reaped.
I start talking about my life, talking about the future, asking questions of this thing. During this time, I watch it carefully, looking for a chink in the armour that would make it take pity on me, something that would make it react, anything that I can work with. There was no research I could do on this, except my own observation.
As I talk about these things I start thinking about my children, my husband, my family. Everything that mattered to me. I share stories, anecdotes of my life. Throughout this process I often feel like crying. Life has never seemed so precious, so wasted, so unappreciated as it does now at this very moment facing my impending demise.
It seems like hours but it is probably much less.
It sits there. Not moving. Not answering. Yet it listens and it sees.
After I finish talking about my life, I sit back in bed. I am exhausted but somehow, I feel happy, content, purged of regret and worry. I looked at my life and I found it fulfilling. I just wish I had more of it.
I never got a reaction out of Death but I have a blinding realization. This was not for me to negotiate out of, this was not for me to close a deal. There was no template for me to operate on, no learnings that would help me. For me this became something else, this was for me to come to an acceptance of me, my life, my past. I look at its form again, the grandma-death-thing. I realise that I now accept her too, my peace is made. That is a freeing thought and I smile.
I think at it:
I am ready.
It looks at me.
It gets up and moves closer and brings its terrifying head close to mine, leaning over me. In its glinting eyes I see an abyss of eternity staring back at me. I close my eyes, too terrified to move.
I hear a faint static sound. I open my eyes and see that it has moved away from me now, surprisingly. The shining eyes shift away as if Death is listening to a radio wave just outside my range of hearing. Inside the sound wave, I think I can make out voices but it is too faint to tell.
Death takes one more look at me and then disappears, winking out of existence, out of my room with a faint crackle of static.
And then, there is nothing there. No presence, no feeling, no being.
My chest pain eases and I relax into my pillow.
I do not know what changed my fate. I do not know if it was orders of a higher being or some fluke. All I know is that I could not reason, persuade or in any way influence Death to not do its reaping. There was nothing that I did to change my own fate. Nothing I could do.
That is a sobering thought. I listen to my beating heart and the beat seems steady, certain. I breathe deeply savouring the night air coursing through my lungs and into my veins. My husband is still asleep and I listen to the sound of his breathing, the most beautiful sound I have ever heard.
I am definitely going to the doctor to get myself checked out tomorrow. I will live my life to the fullest, every moment of every day.
I do not know when Death will return. Whether it be an hour, a day, a month, many years. But for this moment I am alive and I live.
And then I sleep.