Four days after Mandy meets Sean, she’s got a new friend. Mostly, they bond over late nights, but yesterday they went for coffee a few hours later and commiserated there.

She’s learned that Sean performs autopsies for Rigorton’s police department, and he’s learned that she doesn’t just do bereavement visits, but works the night shift in hospice work. For some reason, people in this city prefer to pass in the dead of night. (When he appreciated that pun, Mandy knew they were buddies.) They’ve exchanged numbers, with offers to text during the doldrums’ hours.

It’s finally Friday, and no patients have pressed the Call button for anything outside of water and help to the bathroom. Sam Feller’s sitting next to her at Outpatient, catching up on reports. She’s a sweet, quiet sort, and shares the same growing lines on Mandy’s face. She’s a mix of Portuguese and French descent, inheriting her mother’s dark hair and her father’s darker eyes. Her skin looks like soft clay against the white papers.

Normally, they murmur small talk to stem the facility’s unnerving quiet. Tonight, Mandy could talk about the new guy, Rob, who’s making the standard rounds, how he seems like a nice guy, if a little bland to talk to. Unfortunately, Sam seems too focused on her work.

Despite ten years’ experience with what most Rigorton nurses call the graveyard shift, the quiet gets to Mandy in minutes. She yanks her phone from her purse and scrolls to Sean’s number.

>>Mandy M.
You with a body?

A minute later, her phone vibrates.

>>Sean R.
Always.

Mandy snorts.

>>Mandy M.
New guy arrived tonight

>>Sean R.
What a coincidence. I got a new guy too.

>>You busy?

>>Nah, just put down the scalpel. Gotta finish everything else soon though.

>>Ugh

>>Yep

Sean’s available for the next five minutes before he texts a regretful goodbye. Busy night, apparently.

Mandy sighs, looking down the hall to the glass doors. It’s never good when a coroner’s busy.

Sam mumbles something.

Mandy spins her chair. “What?”

Sam glances up. “I asked if you were okay.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s just—my neighbor’s a coroner for the RPD. He’s got a busy night.”

Sam grimaces. “At least our people aren’t usually murdered.”

The computer blares, jolting them half out of their chairs. The screen rouses them with ROOM 130 in big bold letters.

Mandy huffs, clicking it off and standing. It’s her turn to respond. “We really need a better call jingle.”

Sam’s snort follows her around the corner. Pale Lily Retirement Home is built like a starfish, with Reception in the center and different halls surrounding it. Room 130’s in the hallway adjacent to Outpatient, about three-quarters of the way down. A gray embossed label reads its number, the name on a changeable paper slid underneath.

“Mr. Lourne?” Mandy calls softly, “What’s goin’ on, dear?”

She gasps, slapping her hands over her mouth.

Mr. Lourne, a 95 year old man, is a bloody corpse. Standing over him is a figure in black, wielding a scythe. Its shaded skull mask looks at Mandy, chilling her to the bone.

It holds a pale finger to its toothless jaw. Mandy’s building scream freezes in her throat.

The figure takes its scythe in both hands and cuts a smooth vertical line down Mr. Lourne’s torso. A voice, inhumanly deep, hums a toneless song.

Before Mandy’s wide eyes, Mr. Lourne’s exposed stomach glows a ghastly blue. The light coalesces into a quivering sphere. Shock whispers in Mandy’s mind that it’s like something out of Harry Potter, only this thing is the size of a heart.

The figure gently takes the sphere. It hovers in its clawed fingers.

And the sphere speaks.

Mr. Lourne’s voice, stronger than Mandy’s ever heard, whimpers, “I didn’t recognize him. But his nametag said Robert.”

Mandy’s breath whooshes between her fingers. No fucking way.

“I—I reached the call button in time,” Mr. Lourne says, “I was so scared.”

The figure nods once. Then, in one fluid stride, reaches the window and opens it. As soon as it holds out its hand, the sphere floats away, as if the figure were releasing a butterfly.

The mask looks back at her.

“Call the police,” it rumbles. “And don’t worry. I’ll find him.”

Mandy’s hands drop, but her mouth flops uselessly. Before she can find her voice, the figure sweeps into a shadowed corner and vanishes.

“Ma’am,” the officer says, “What did you see?”

Shivering in the shock blanket, Mandy whispers, “I saw Death.”