Tumblr is addictive. You stare down at your phone and refresh the page again with a flick of your thumb, gazing down expectantly as if something is about to happen. Nothing does, of course - itâs just the same old posts, reblogged by half of the people you follow. Your friend has hashtagged her familiar âpretty sure I already reblogged this, pretty sure I donât care,â and you smile to yourself as you step out into the road.
Bad decision. You really should have looked first.
A blaring honk sounds from somewhere nearby and you look up, suddenly terrified as you see the truck speeding towards you. Thereâs a screech of brakes, a blur of blue, and then something slams into you.
The breath is completely knocked out of you, but you feel it when the truck whooshes on past, the driver shouting profanities. Itâs confusing - apparently, youâre right back on the safety of the pavement, though you donât even remember moving. You look around desperately, searching for the answer, and thatâs when you see it. The Grim Reaper.
Or at least, you assume itâs him: he looms behind you, tall and cloaked, his face shrouded in shadow, but you catch a glimpse of white bone under his hood as he shifts, peering down at you.
âI - I died?â you blurt, though it doesnât make sense. You can still hear your heart hammering in your ears.
The cloaked figure doesnât move for a moment, and you might have run away if your legs didnât feel like jelly. Youâre glued to the spot as he slowly brings a skeletal hand upwards, the sleeve slipping down and revealing more bone. Youâre just about to ask whatâs going on, when he hits himself right on the head with a hollow âthunkâ.
âDammit,â he says in a voice that reverberates all around you. âI wasnât supposed to do that.â
ââŠPardon?â You ask politely.
âOh, you know.â He waves his hand. âIâm meant to just collect the souls and not interfere. Idiot.â He sees you staring and hastily corrects himself. âNot you. Well, maybe you. That was a bit stupid, wouldnât you say?â
Youâre forced to admit that yes, it was probably quite stupid.
âJust make sure you look left and right next time, okay? Otherwise Iâll have to come back and hold your hand, and Iâm sure you donât want that.â
You look at his hand again, the fine bones of it moving delicately, and you think about it. You wonder what the bones might feel like, moving against your hand - whether theyâd be cold, whether the joints might pinch at your skin, whether the fingertips would feel sharp.
He clears his throat and repeats himself, sounding a bit awkward. âYou⊠wouldnât want that, would you?â
âI donât know,â you shrug. âMaybe it would be a good idea. Like you said, Iâm kind of stupid. Maybe I do need to hold someone to hold my hand when Iâm crossing the street. For safety reasons, of course.â
âAh. Of course.â He says, nodding so exuberantly that his hood flaps up and down. You catch sight of a bony jaw line and a set of grinning teeth, and you grin back.
âGreat - you can start now. I need to put this on my blog,â you tell them, holding out your left hand and unlocking your phone with the other.
âBlog? What blog?â The Grim Reaper asks curiously.
âMy tumblr blog. Itâs about how much Iâd love to fuck monsters,â you say, and the hard, cool touch of bare bone closes around your hand.
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