The Hearse strolls through a city neighborhood of small rectangular houses, adults gossiping, uniformed school-children playing, and a rallying group at the community’s entrance. The ralliers hold signs that, in bright red paint, read, “OUR STORY WILL END SOON.”
A cream-colored house with lavender shingles towers above its surroundings discordantly. In front of it stands a matching lavender mailbox that reads “MADAME MUFFINPIE” with a paw print stamped near the name. The Hearse parks beside the mailbox. Cheron and Oto emerge from the Hearse and walk to the house’s porch, which elevates the entrance high above ground. Cheron holds Oto’s dress shirt, and the two phase through the front door.
The house’s main hall is furnished elegantly, with romantic paintings adorned with ribbon-laced angels and gold-plated frames. Chiffon coverlets swathe twin love seats, which flank each door in the grand hall. Save for a simple metal trash can, which the owner wants to replace, every piece took years to find and a fortune to acquire. At the end of the hall is a parlor, the interior of which is highly embellished as well, most notably with a mauve floorcloth, an Edwardian coffee table, a long white divan, and a very tall, very dead cat-woman. She is wearing expensive clothes that accentuate her youthful body and fluffy white tail. However, they also emphasize her eyebags and smile lines. This woman died of old age, but she will never admit to it. This is Madame Muffinpie. Beside her body sits her translucent soul, cross-legged. Her eyes are golden kumquat, like Oto’s. She contemplates every word she purrs, but it does not make her sound more intelligent. Her and her vaguely European accent come off slow and fake. She is a self-proclaimed indoor cat, so no one has had the chance to tell her.
“You know, it’s beyond rude to come inside unpermitted. My door is armored with a plethora of locks for scoundrels like you two,” Madame Muffinpie drawls then cringes at the sight of Oto popping his head out. He has already wandered to the kitchen.
“What kind of snacks do you have here? You know what, I’m being insensitive. I’ll give you some space since you’re probably still mourning… you,” Oto trails off, sticking his nose in the fridge.
“Eugh. Death shouldn’t exist, let alone eat.” Madame Muffinpie shifts her eyes to Cheron, who is typing a stupid haiku on her phone.
After locking eyes with Madame Muffinpie, Cheron switches to the app with client files. She opens a to-reap list titled with the present date. “Madame Muffinpie. Cause of death: old age.”
“It’s not polite to mention a lady’s age like that. Tsk. Kids these days…”
Cheron looks up, staring at and through Madame Muffinpie. “I’m just stating the facts. Also, I’m twenty-eight.”
Madame Muffinpie holds her head in her hands. “Ohhh, how could you do this to me? I still have so much to live for…”
“Had so much to live for—”
“You hush your mouth.”
Holding a plastic-wrapped plate of cookies, Oto moseys out of the kitchen and joins the two women in the living room. “I found some cookies in the kitchen. I am going to eat these as it would be a shame for them to go to waste, now that you’re dead and all,” Oto says while chewing on shortbread chunks.
After swallowing, he tosses another cookie into the air, aiming to catch it with his mouth, but he misses and it lands on the floor. He and Cheron glance at the fallen cookie, then at each other, then back at Madame Muffinpie, who is judging them both.
Oto continues, “And look, I can’t just let you live. I mean, I guess I could, if you did me some certain favors—”
“But…” Cheron growls.
“But! I am obligated not to, as it is my job to make room for new souls. Earth is already so claustrophobic due to all these alien refugees…”
Madame Muffinpie bares her fangs. “Oh! So now you’re going to shame me for being an immigrant?”
“You shamed me for existing!”
“I shame myself for letting this take too long,” Cheron cuts in, snatching the Scythe from behind the divan.
Madame Muffinpie did not notice either of the two intruders placing the Scythe there. Come to think of it, Madame Muffinpie hadn’t noticed the Scythe at all until just now. However, she does not have time to think of it, as Cheron is aiming for her head and is ready to strike.
“Wait— Please, you can’t! I’m only twenty!”
“That’s almost a hundred years for your kind!”
There is an ugly pause. With pleading hands, Madame Muffinpie stares at Cheron. With no mercy, Cheron stares back. With a face full of cookies, Oto looks at neither of the women and complains about how there are no more cookies.
Madame Muffinpie breaks. “…You just hate me.”
“Madame Muffinpie, age is just a number,” Oto cheers then gestures to Cheron. “I mean, look at her! She’s just a little kid and she’s metaphorically dead, but I still don’t discriminate!”
“I’m twenty-eight!” Cheron barks.
“You what? But…” Oto puts a hand on Cheron’s head and lovingly pats it. “...You’re so tiny…”
As Oto shares a one-sided tender moment with Cheron, who is fuming, Madame Muffinpie frantically scans the room. She then points to the area behind Oto and Cheron.
“Look over there!”
Chuckling, Cheron doesn’t fall for it. “Are you kidding? What kind of blockhead would—?”
In horror, Cheron whips around to see Oto gazing at the distant nothing.
“What is she talking about?”
“Holy— That actually worked!” Madame Muffinpie screams as she phases through the parlor door.
Cheron drags Oto down by the tie. “She’s getting away you dunce—!” She stops herself after noticing Oto’s eyes widen and glow. “Oto? Oh no.”
His eyes are so bright that she can’t even see his expression. The beacon of blood-orange Light that was Oto assumes an athletic running stance.
Cheron grips the Scythe tighter. “Woah wait a sec—”
Oto seizes the Scythe, hurtling Cheron into the door as he phases through it. The door squeaks as her face slides and thuds to the floor. She rubs her temples and groans, blindly slapping the door until she finds its knob. Her groan grows into a scream as she notices an interminable amount of locks.
Oto chases Madame Muffinpie through the hall. Madame Muffinpie attempts to snatch and sling the metal trash can at Oto, but her hands phase through it. She also tries a 5.6 million-dollar Goya piece, which she, to her agony, chucks with much ease. However, it disappears into the Light.
At the end of the hall, they phase through the elevated door. Madame Muffinpie lands on her feet and seamlessly sprints away. Oto lands on his face, but immediately straightens himself and vaults after Madame Muffinpie. Moments later, Cheron slams open the front door, panting. She bounds down the porch steps and grumbles as she unlocks the Hearse.
Oto chases Madame Muffinpie down the street, only a few meters behind her. The cat briefly hesitates to enter an intersection, but she adapts. Soon enough, Oto can hardly see her through the bustling traffic and cacophony of horns. Sweat pours down his face as his fading eyes flicker left and right. He then halts in the middle of the street, realizing that he is sweating.
“I’m— what...?” Oto breathes and trails off, tuning out the pedestrians and drivers screaming obscenities like “not this again,” “my mom is gone because of you,” and “hey, Death, you should die.”
One man even throws some of his accumulated car-garbage at Oto and howls, “Take that you— you concept! I’ll never die!”
“You’re next, blockhead!” Cheron yells back, swerving the Hearse through traffic and around Oto. “Hey you!”
Oto blinks out of his trance. His Lights have turned off and are now just regular, kumquat-sclera eyes. He looks to Cheron and smiles with open arms.
“Cherry!”
“Shut up and get in the damn Hearse!”
Oto dives through the backseat window.
Cheron is boiling. “Why didn’t you just wait so I could drive you?!”
“I was too caught up in the moment! Also I didn’t think she’d be this fast, she’s like a billion years old!”
“Alright, I have a plan!”
“Gee, Cheron, people already hate me to distraction! Another ghost on the loose and I’ll be reaping my credibility!”
“I have a plan, so shut up and listen, dingus!”
The dingus shuts up and listens. Gaining on Madame Muffinpie, the Hearse snakes around several angry lanes of traffic and onto a highway that leads into a concrete tunnel.
“We’re right behind her. There’s practically no chance of screwing up.” Cheron explains with one hand on the wheel and another hand bound to several meters of rope. “So, you’re going to tie this rope to the Scythe and lunge it at Madame Muffinpie...”
Cheron does not notice that Oto is a beacon of deadly orange Light again, and has already tied the rope to the Scythe.
Cheron continues, “but only once we’ve— oh no—”
Oto assumes what he assumes should be his position, clutching Cheron’s headrest and reeling the Scythe back like a spear. Cheron sighs as she and the Scythe launch and shatter the windshield. Before Madame Muffinpie can reach the light at the end of the tunnel, she glances behind. Cheron’s scowl is the last thing she sees.
The Light fades, and Oto reappears. He first notices the lack of windshield, then the clouds of dust at the end of the tunnel. He leaps out of the Hearse, toward the plumes, and as they part, he notices the pool of blood. Coming up from the blood is the curved blade of the Scythe, the long black handle, and at the end of the handle is Cheron, the human shish kebab. Her face holds the same dead expression and half-circle eyes except, now, Cheron’s right half-circle has a large shard of glass jutting out of it. Oto doesn’t know what to say.
“Madame Muffinpie… What a pussy, am I right? Get it? Because… she’s a— I am so sorry.”
“Whatever. We got her.”
Hands outstretched, Oto approaches Cheron. She glares at him. He stops..
“...Do you want any more painkillers?”
“Later. For now, just get this stuff out of me.”
ns 15.158.61.23da2
