Mr Fluffers Meets Death

Mr. Fluffers stared at his body, four furry legs standing crookedly like leafless trees, splayed by his distended belly. Bright gold eyes stared out at the road, seeing nothing.

Death stood nearby, a skeletal hand gripping the shaft of his scythe.

“It’s not true what they say, you know.” Mr. Fluffers said. “We don’t really have nine lives. Just the one.”

Death said nothing.

“So now what? The great litter box in the sky? The bright beyond? Or maybe I get to haunt people? I think I’d like that. As long as I can push stuff off shelves. Breakable stuff.”

Death stood silently as a car screamed past, his tattered black robes untouched but swaying in the same otherworldly breeze Mr. Fluffers could feel ruffling his fur. The sun beat down, casting stark but miniature shadows from the few large rocks at the opening of the driveway. Judging by the position of the sun, it had already been at least twelve hours since he had died. Why hadn’t anyone noticed and come to bury him?

Mr. Fluffers strode toward the house, his curiosity piqued. Just as in life, when Mr. Fluffers followed his nose for intrigue, not much else mattered. Including danger. He arrived at the front porch and tried to paw the door, but realized how foolish that was. He was dead. Surely he could simply walk through walls now? He walked toward the door and closed his eyes just before his nose hit the door. His rather solid-seeming nose hit the all-too-solid-seeming door, and he fell backward on his haunches.

Mr. Fluffers shook his head and turned to glare at the dark figure beside him.

“What’s the deal, Death? I thought I was a ghost? Can’t ghosts walk through walls? What kinda racket you running here?”

Death said nothing, but he shrugged as if to say, “I don’t make the rules, kid”, pointing with a skeletal finger at the open window nearby.

Mr. Fluffers sniffed disdainfully. “Fine, I’ll do it the old-fashioned way” He leapt onto the window sill and dropped to the floor inside. The house was exactly as he’d left it a few hours ago, but it was quiet. Too quiet. The house was home to a pair of energetic twin girls. Partners in crime who rarely allowed the echoes of silence to permeate the cozy space. Peace was often only a short lull in vociferous escapades, but Mr. Fluffers sensed this peace had lasted unnaturally long. It sat in the corners of the house, swollen and potent, the lingering after-effect of something… wrong. Mr. Fluffers began his inspection, strolling from room to room, his green eyes piercing the darkness but finding little. His unease grew, a coil of tension tightened along nerves. Finally, when there was nowhere else to look, he gazed into the basement. A breeze brought with it the smell of mildew and dust. And something else… lilac? Mr. Fluffer’s eyes widened in surprise then narrowed in anger.

“Here?!” he spat. “Why would she be here?” He turned accusing eyes on Death, who gripped his scythe tighter. Mr. Fluffers rolled his shoulders, his fur beginning to stand on end as he grimaced and descended the stairs. With each step, the tension grew, his skin prickling under the pressure, until by the last step he felt ready to snap.

The basement was empty, but it shouldn’t be. There should be boxes and old furniture, broken things and Christmas decorations. But there was nothing. True nothing. A void so deep it seemed to pull Mr. Fluffers in, beckoning to him. He stopped and tipped his head back.

“Ailacynth! What are you doing here?!” he waited, his green eyes seeming to glow with a light of their own in the inky darkness. A lilac breeze lifted in the enclosed space, sweeping along Mr. Fluffers, causing him to shudder. A soft voice came from the darkness, a whispering hiss.

“Ah, Mr. Fluffers shows himself at last. I did so miss you, my dear.”

Mr. Fluffers scowled. “Cynth, what are you doing here? And where are the girls?”

Another breeze, this one a petulant sigh.

“Oh Fluff, is this how you greet an old love?”

Mr. Fluffers stamped one paw on the dirty floor. “Answer me! Why are you here?!”

“I WAS DISTRAUGHT!” a blast of air hit Mr. Fluffers in the face. It was hot and acrid, the smell of smoke and rot burning his nose.

He suppressed a cough. “Distraught, a..about what?”

The wind rose around him, howling. “Youuuuuuuu!”

Suddenly Mr. Fluffers understood. “You heard I died? And you were upset?”

There was no reply.

Mr. Fluffers rolled his eyes and stepped forward. “Oh Cynth, stop being so dramatic. Yeah, I died, but it’s no big deal. It’s just the next journey. To be honest, I was getting kinda bored anyway.”

Still no response.

“Come on Cynth, you’re being unreasonable. You know you can’t make me stay by taking hostages. How about this: you let the girls go and we can go on a nice date before I leave? Just the two of us. How about that?” Death grunted disapprovingly, but Mr. Fluffers shot a glare, silencing him. The silence stretched on. “Well? Come on, it’ll be fun, I promise. We’ll go to that nice spot down by the pier where that cosmic rift bleeds through reality and makes all those pretty colors. And then we’ll get a bite at the malt shop, or from the nether realms rep there on the corner. What’dya say?”

A longing sigh replied. “Oh Fluff, you always were an old romantic. That sounds lovely. Very well, the girls are returned. Meet me once you’ve said goodbye. I warn you, the date is not over until I say it is. No skipping out early!” and as she left, the basement reappeared, broken things and half-empty boxes strewn about. Mr. Fluffers turned and pelted up the stairs.

As he entered the bedroom, he saw that in each bed was a young girl, safely tucked under the covers and sleeping peacefully, straight brown hair cascading over the sides of the beds like muddy waterfalls. Mr. Fluffers leapt onto the nearest bed and sniffed carefully. When he was satisfied, his pink, sandpaper tongue jutted out and lapped the girl on the cheek. She giggled softly and pulled the covers up to her chin, turning over. Mr Fluffers did the same to the other girl before jumping down and heading for the door. Before he left, he glanced over his shoulder, smiling to himself. They would be sad, but they’d be okay.