Free fiction #170

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Don’t Leave the Grim Reaper on Read

Julia Leef

Claire sprinted down the sidewalk, a stitch stabbing at her side, sweat running down the back of her neck. Her white knuckles gripped her phone as she checked again for a new message, but the screen only flashed the time—3:49 p.m.

It had been six minutes since the first text.

Death will come to collect Claire Barnes at 3:53 p.m. EST at the corner of St. James and Cain Street. Reply “C” to confirm or “H” to be connected to our service line. Buddhists, Hindus, Jains, Taoists, or Jehovah’s Witnesses, please press “?”

She should have deleted it. Spam, some kind of chain text. But she had been walking down St. James Street, so it seemed prudent to acquire additional information, even if it put her on a call list.

Thank you for contacting the Afterlife Service line. Your soul is important to us. A representative will be with you shortly . . . Hello. My name is Vanth and I will be your afterlife representative in this moment of crisis. How may I assist you?

Claire had stared at the foreign name. It looked like a character from one of her niece’s video games. She wished her brother would listen to her about giving the child more appropriate gifts. He still refused to speak to her after she’d thrown several of the horrid things out the last time she had been called upon to babysit, even though she had offered to replace them with some nice dolls or makeup kits. Her phone buzzed a reminder and she looked back down at the strange text before sending a reply.

Is this some kind of sick joke?

She’d barely lifted her thumbs away when the response came through.

I apologize for the confusion. Hell recently adopted a pre-mortem text service to improve our efficiency in collecting souls. Focus groups indicated that mortals prefer advanced notice before Death’s arrival to come to terms with their mortality and engage in any last rites.

Claire had accidentally bumped into a homeless man, tearing her eyes from her screen as his change-filled styrofoam cup fell to the ground. She’d quickly scurried away, too preoccupied with the latest message to apologize.

Would you like to be connected to a loved one to help with the transition? I see from our records we have your high school boyfriend, your former piano teacher, and your grandmother with us.

Claire had stopped dead. She wouldn’t contest her ex-boyfriend, but her piano teacher had been a lovely man, always very friendly with children, and her grandmother had been a product of her time. But surely this person couldn’t actually know—

Other people swerved around her as Claire typed out her final response.

I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling. Get a life, asshole.

That had, in retrospect, been poor phrasing.

We will collect you in just a few minutes. One moment and I will link you to our Reaper Tracker app for your convenience.

Claire’s phone had opened a new window with a map which displayed a pulsing blue dot at her location. A small, grey skull appeared three blocks away. Claire blinked, and the skull darted forward a few millimeters.

Something was coming for her. So she ran.

Now, with less than four minutes to go, Claire shoved past the pedestrians crowding the sidewalk. A red-faced man swore at her—he probably had anger issues, maybe beat his wife and kids. The teenager whose too-big headphones failed to forewarn her as Claire barreled past might sell drugs to her classmates. That screeching woman with the baby stroller could be into child trafficking. Any one of them could be terrible people who deserved to go to Hell more than she did. Sure she had made some mistakes. Burned a few bridges and been banned from a few establishments—not her fault, some people were just too sensitive.

I’m only forty-three, Claire thought, sprinting across the road as the red hand glared at her. I recycle and donate to charity at Christmas. I’m a good person.

She elbowed an old woman out of her way, sending her tumbling to the sidewalk. Okay, that hadn’t been very nice, but maybe Death would take her instead. She probably didn’t have a lot of time left anyway.

As Claire darted through another intersection, narrowly avoiding punting a frilly shitzu lounging in the crosswalk, her phone buzzed and she nearly dropped it.

Our system indicates you have moved out of range of the designated pick-up zone. Please return to the red area indicated on the map.

Claire ran faster. She considered throwing the phone away, but wanted to keep that little grey skull in sight. She thought about calling the police, but she had already been warned twice about making “unnecessary” calls, and if they couldn’t take her seriously then, they definitely wouldn’t believe her now.

What would Death look like? Classic black robes and a reaper’s scythe? Or would he try to blend in? The image of a grinning skeleton in jogger shorts and a college sweatshirt pulled a frantic cackle from Claire’s lips. Maybe with a baseball cap hiding his gleaming white skull. Her next laugh came out more like a sob.

She spotted a stone church on the corner, dwarfed by the surrounding modern skyscrapers. That was it! If she confessed, her sins would be absolved. She could still be saved. Claire darted over to the next street.

Her phone buzzed again.

Update: Your pick-up location has been changed to Bryant and Downing. Death will be arriving to meet you in five seconds. We look forward to welcoming you soon.

Claire barely had time to read the street sign above her head before the car hit her.

December 15th 2023

Julia Leef is an emerging writer who received her MFA in Creative Writing from Lesley University in 2018 and currently resides in Boston. Her work has been published in Belmont Story Review and selected as a finalist in the 2020 Dream Foundry Contest.

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Holley Cornetto’s The Orchard of Dreams, a wistful fantasy.
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