This is a piece I wrote for a short story contest. The first line is the prompt, the rest is mine. Hope you enjoy. Feedback is welcome.

LOST SOULS

The sun had finally set. The day was finally over. All was quiet - until that fateful knock at the door…

Clarence rose from his chair where he’d been alternately watching television and the backs of his own eyelids. He hadn’t been expecting anyone. He certainly hadn’t expected to open the door to meet Death himself, yet there he stood in all his shrouded, skeletal glory.

‘This must be a joke,’ Clarence thought, but the strangely grinning skull somehow staring at him, despite hollow sockets filled only with the unending eternal void, quickly crushed that hope under the weight of inescapable mortality. A voice like a crypt lid sliding shut rang not in his ears, but rather in the very depths of his soul.

Clarence Mann?

“Yes?” he answered out of habit, then mentally kicked himself thinking he had probably just sealed his own fate. He risked a glance back at his chair, expecting (but hoping not) to see his own body laying motionless. The chair was empty.

Oh. No. It’s not your time yet, Death assured him. If a black cloak full of age-dried bones could manage to look sheepish, Death managed it. This is all quite irregular, I admit, but… I need your help.

“Umm… Come in?” he offered, his wits temporarily distracted by the search for his sanity.

Somehow, the empty collection of bones (despite its lack of lungs) managed to give a sigh of relief.

Thank you, Death said, propping his scythe in the corner by the door. It occured to Clarence that Death was probably not used to people inviting him in very often.

You see, Death continued, it seems I’ve made a grave mistake.

“Pun intended?” Clarence couldn’t help but ask as he offered Death his favorite chair and took a seat adjacent on his mismatched couch.

Sorry, Death said settling in, In times of stress my gallows humor comes out. I've lost something, and I need your help to remedy the situation.

“And um, what, exactly, is the, uh, problem,” Clarence managed to stumble his way through the sentence as his mind caught up with the reality of his own situation.

It would seem, through no fault of my own mind you, that a very important soul has been, how shall I put this? Misplaced, and must be found.

“Misplaced?” Clarence scowled, confused. “What can I do about that?”

I have it on good authority that this particular soul will be, for reasons that cannot currently be revealed, drawn to you very shortly, Death told him, steepling his hands and tapping his forefingers together like the unyielding ticking of an eternal clock. However, for that to happen, you need to be somewhere a bit more… open to a chance encounter.

“What exactly are you saying?”

How do you feel about coffee? There’s a lovely little shop around the corner that’s just to die for… Ahem… Sorry.

Clarence considered, “I suppose there’s really no way for me to refuse, is there?”

Well… There is one way, Death admitted implying the same option one might have to refuse, say, Don Corleone.

Clarence nodded, “Coffee it is then.”

A short walk later Clarence found himself sitting with Death in a surprisingly crowded coffee shop, the pair occupying two of the three seats at their small table. He had wondered a little how other people would react to seeing Death, but soon discovered that most people didn’t seem to notice him. Those who had to speak to him did so with a seven league stare, and looked very confused when the interaction concluded. Death explained that this was a result of the mortal brain being ill equipped to deal with things that are truly Real.

“What now?” Clarence asked, sipping his coffee and wondering how Death was managing to do the same.

Now, Death said, we wait.

Clarence was about to ask what they were waiting for when he caught sight of a woman approaching them. Their eyes locked, the crowded room seemed empty, distant birds sang, and other such clichés that do no justice to the feeling both of them were experiencing in that moment.

“Hi,” Clarence smiled as she approached. Death loomed across from him, scythe in one hand, an Extra Dark Double-Shot Mocha sporting the name “Jeff” on the cup in the other.

“Mind if I sit here?” She asked with a smile as subtle as the Mona Lisa.

Not at all. In fact, I was just leaving, Death informed them both.

“But,” Clarence whispered, “I thought you needed my help.”

I did. Death rose like a black tsunami. And you have given it.

Clarence’s heart leapt. “Her? But we just met.” As pleading with Death goes, this was not the strongest case.

Indeed, Death nodded. And you shall have many years ahead to get acquainted.

“But the soul,” Clarence said, glancing nervously at the woman.

As I said, the soul needed to be found. Death smiled, (though he could hardly help that.) I never said I required it immediately upon finding. Now I really must be going. After all, I wouldn’t want to kill the mood. He tilted his head in such a manner as to unmistakably manage to wink at Clarence.

Clarence stared for a moment at an empty chair where he could have sworn… someone had just been, though for the life of him he couldn’t recall who.

The woman now sharing his table blinked a few times with the same strange feeling as she looked at the cup labeled ‘Jeff’ still sitting on the table. She returned her attention to Clarence and offered her hand.

“I’m Dianne,” she said with a smile.

“Clarence,” he said, taking her hand briefly, the energy between them palpable enough to jumpstart a Buick. “It’s a pleasure to meet you…”

Elsewhere, in a realm of myth and ideology, Death glared at a small, cherubic creature wearing little more than a cloth and a quiver.

That is the last time I make a bet with you.