Flash Fiction:

He had not been expecting a letter. He had not been expecting anything at all really, but what we expect and what we get are often not the same.

That morning when the door bell rang, Christopher got up from his breakfast, mildly perturbed at the interruption. He grabbed the knob and forcefully swung the door wide.

"Can I help..."

The "you?" never made it past his lips. The world went dark and the neighborhood across the street melted into a swirling sea of blackness which swallowed the sun and the sky and the birds. Christopher tried to pull back from the doorway. He wanted to run, or crawl or close his eyes but could do none of those things.

As the all consuming ink swallowed the last of the world around him, the sheer blackness was replaced by a spiraling swarm of decomposing bodies. The horror seemed to go on forever, fading into an infinite field of layer after terrible layer of death and decay. Wailing and screaming and the moans of the tortured rose in his ears and he felt his knees weakening.

In the center of this spiral, a small black figure appeared and began slowly moving toward him. Christopher was vaguely aware of wetness spreading in his pants when the figure almost instantly traversed the seemingly vast distance and stood before him.

Silently, the faceless, hooded figure stretched out a fleshless hand and thrust an envelope in Christopher's face. He didn't move. A minute passed. The figured impatiently shook the envelope up and down in his bony hand. Christopher was motionless. More shaking. Still nothing.

Obviously exasperated, the shrouded figure reached out his other hand and grabbed Christopher's arm, forcing it to the envelope offered. Christopher grasped the letter weakly and the figure let go. The bony shoulders rose and quickly fell under the shroud as the ghoul heaved a sigh of frustration.

Then, just as quickly as he had approached, the terrible entity vanished and took his maelstrom of death with him. Outside, the beautiful daylight of a summer day had returned. The wailing and the moans faded quickly and were replaced by laughter as the Riley boys battled each other with their squirt guns.

Mouth gaping and eyes wide, Christopher stood in a pool of his own urine for a moment, then staggered back away from the door and fainted.

When he woke from his involuntary nap, he was still holding the letter in his left hand. He sat up and held the envelope up to see it more clearly.

It was made of the finest parchment and was embossed with "GR" in a beautiful script. On the face of the envelope, the words "Christopher Danville" were written in the most elegant handwriting he had ever seen. The letters seemed to glow slighlty as he studied them.

Slowly, Christopher slipped his finger into the breech at the sealed corner and carefully slid it along the edge to open the envelope. He pulled the letter up and out and opened it gingerly. He almost expected something to pop out and scream at him and he wasn't entirely sure whatever it was wouldn't drag him off somewhere special.

Hands shaking, Christopher read the letter:

"Dear Christopher:

Do you still have the 1968 Mustang you put on Craigslist last month? I have tried to email you several times but am guessing it ends up in your spam folder. I mean, who would ignore an email from Death, right? lol! .

Anyway, I decided to drop in. If you still have the car, I am interested so let me know.

All the best,

Death

PS. You know you really should get out and live your life. Whenever I pass you on the street, I see you feeling sorry for yourself and - from what I can tell - you have no reason to waste your time like that. You and I are going to be well acquainted one day and have lots of time to spend together. Meanwhile, suck it up and get busy. Otherwise, I'll have to schedule your appointment at my earliest convenience and save everyone a lot of trouble. J

You're a good guy Chris. Stop worrying about yesterday and get busy.

D."

Christopher looked up in near shock and stared out the open door. He wondered if he could get the Mustang back from his loser brother-in-law. He thought about calling his Dad. He thought about finishing his novel. He thought about updating his resume. He thought about asking Shelly Stevens to dinner.

He thought about a lot of things, but they would have to wait. There was a raging squirt gun fight across the street and Christopher thought he would join in - right after he cleaned up and changed out of his wet clothes.