After a long moment of allowing “I dare not” to wait upon “I would,” the dark figure darted forward, and right through the locked metal door.

Inside was lit only by what small amount of sunlight could squeeze through cracks under the door, and through the dark shade that covered the only window. The floor, walls, and low ceiling were all made of the same stone that the outside was made of. The only furnishings were a couple of wooden chairs, most of which were broken.

Propped up against one wall was the figure of a man, dressed in black robes, downing the contents of a bottle.

“S-Sire,” said the dark figure that had just entered. Its voice was hoarse and eerie – like the wind on Halloween night. It was a voice that brought terror … that voice that whispers in the back of your mind, bringing shivers racing down your spine and filling you with a cold sense of dread. This creature, this thing of nightmares, was for some reason kneeling in deference to the drunkard slumped on the floor, speaking as though it were scared of him.

And, in response, the form on the floor grunted.

“Sire, my day’s work is done. Fifty, dead, just as you ordered.”

“What?” the slumped man on the floor said, “Oh, yes, yes, good. Fifty dead, just as I ordered.” He began to laugh, “Just as I ordered? Just as I ordered! Fifty dead, just ‘cause I said so. Hahahahahaha!”

“Sire, you’re not well,” said the shadow, his voice heavy with concern.

“Not well?” the man repeated, taking another swig from his bottle, “I have never been better.”

“Y-yes, Sire.” The nightmare began to creep away, when another of its kind came in through the door.

“Sire!”

“Mwhat?”

“Sire, I went to where you told me – the exact time and place, and the woman wasn’t there! She’s still alive!”

“What are you talking about?” the first shadow demanded.

“I got a job this morning for a thirty eight year, seven month, four day, eight hour year old woman – she was to drown in the harbor at four twenty-two this morning… and she isn’t there!”

“Our master isn’t well,” said the first shadow, “You go back and look for her. Perhaps she will turn up.”

“You think I messed it up,” said the man on the floor.

“N-no, Master, I just….”

“You think I’m unfit, that I’m confused,” there was a dangerous hint of anger in the drunken voice of the man they called Master, “Let me tell you: I’ve been doing this job since before you were dead. I did not get it wrong!” he staggered to his feet, “I am no fool!” he raged. He lifted a chair and threw it across the room. It splintered, and fell to the floor. The man followed it, slumping on to the cold stone.

“No…” he said quietly, his voice slurring, “This is something new….”

*

The shadow stayed in that cold, dark room with his unconscious master through the night and well into the next day. Others came in, reported their work, took their new assignments, and were gone. But this shadow stayed on, waiting.

At last, the form on the floor groaned, rolled over, and opened its eyes. He looked like such an ordinary man, his face drawn and pale, his eyes bloodshot. No one, looking at him, would guess him to be a being of great power.

“You look like Death, sir,” said the shadow, unable to restrain himself.

“Good, that means I haven’t quite lost my touch,” said the man on the ground, his voice tight and full of pain.

“How are you feeling, sir?”

“Rubbish. Get me a drink.”

“No, sir.”

“What did you say?”

“I said no, sir. But I will make you some coffee – black, I think, sir.

“Oh, very well,” said the man, dragging himself into a sitting position with help from one of the few standing chairs.

The servant went off to fix some coffee, leaving the man alone with his slow-moving thoughts. His head hurt to the point where thinking was difficult, but something was nagging at him. Something was wrong.

“You,” he said, addressing the shadow who had just returned with his coffee, “Something happened last night, didn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”
“Something’s wrong.”
“Your coffee, Sire.”
“What? Oh, yes, my coffee.” He quickly drained the steaming cup, then gave a spluttering cough, “What’s in this?”

“Something I used to drink after I had had a bender, my lord. Back when I was alive.”

“It’s awful.”

“But you will find, sir, that it makes the head feel smaller.”

He had to admit that, after the initial shock, he did feel better, and his head undeniably felt smaller.

“Now, last night we… wait. I know what it is.”

“Sire?”

“Someone isn’t dead!”

“Sire, perhaps you simply got the time wrong. I know it isn’t my place, sir, but everyone makes mistakes.”

“You’d better ruddy well know it’s not your place. I didn’t make a mistake. I can feel it now… someone is alive who shouldn’t be. And I know what needs to be done.”

“Sire?”

Getting to his feet, Death straightened out his robes.

“I’m going after her myself.”