Desperation can often be confused with stupidity. Therefore, to call Death stupid would be unfair. They had a plan. They took all the steps. They made me. They got this far. And they’re about to get what they wanted.

Their mistake was realizing that what they wanted wasn’t what they were actually asking me to do. Their even more dire mistake was unintentionally sharing that realization with me.

They can hand their role down to me. They can leave. They can try out how it feels, being free. That’s what they want. That’s all they want. I see that now. I should’ve seen it a long time ago. Maybe I, too, was desperate, in ways that made me blind to it.

For everyone to win here, all I have to do is accept.

And, when finally left alone, proceed to not fix the spill.

Why the hell would I?

Why should I be the one to rob people of their chance to keep on existing? Why should I lead down a path I don’t even understand myself? If whatever made all this wanted Heaven and peace, they would’ve made it so from the get-go. This pipe bullshit only reminds me of a sick lab experiment.

I mean, isn’t cheating death one of the things we’ve always strived for? Yes, people get stuck in objects, yes, they’ve torn from loved ones, but surely the mechanics are just a puzzle meant to be solved. Surely, we can figure out how to get it so that everyone is like Toaster Ghost and Dee? Surely, this discovery can push us to create simple artificial bodies for everyone?

Sure, there’s the bad people. Sure, there’s some comfort in hearing about them dying, knowing they won’t cause any more harm forever. But, once death becomes an extension of normal life, new measures can be created, right? Adapting’s always been something we’ve done. Besides, with an infinite lifespan, who’s to say crime will even be an issue? Money is less of an issue when you don’t have to spend it on food. Houses are less of a necessity if they elements can no longer hurt you. What good is murdering if nobody can truly die? What good is all the money and all your protection when you can’t hurt the people who are going to come after you when you cross a line? What good are wars when your bullets stop being any good?

The number of people that die per day will eventually cause Earth to overpopulate. Okay. But what about living in the ocean? What about underground; using the space countless dead bodies have already taken? What about the sky? What about colonizing space – the undead would make excellent astronauts, not needing oxygen and everything.

This is the future I see. This is the light. I saw it the moment I knew about what the world had turned into. I kept seeing it when I was told about the spill. It’s what ran through my mind for nineteen long years.

And now, it’s what gives me comfort, as I lie straight to this immortal being’s face

The world has needed a change for a long time. Ensuring that change is what I was really made for. The spill existing is what dictated my life’s path. It’s what ensured that I didn’t end up dying in that home invasion with Mom. It’s what gave me Toaster Ghost. It’s what gave me Dee. It’s what made me me. And while I don’t like me on a lot of days, I can’t really see myself being anyone else.

This is destiny, right?

This is what it’s all been leading up to, right?

This is why I had to be alone.

This is what has it all make sense.

“Almost done.” Death declares, as the chalk scrapes across the parking lot’s cracked pavement. Whatever the magic circle they’re drawing is supposed to mean, I can safely conclude that whatever Eldritch being we’re getting into contact with here has quite the bravado. Look at all these runes. The little arrow that absolutely must point thirty-five degrees on the compass. Why make self-worship so complicated?

Then again, given the lack of reverence on Death’s part, I’m not sure the intent here is to worship anything.

“Your appearance will likely change after the ritual. Mine did.” they tell me. “It won’t be for the better, whatever it is. It’ll be good to have something to cover your face on-hand, at least.” They get back on their feet, throwing the chalk away. “You won’t feel too different. At first. When it comes to, uh, teleporting, you’ll get a hang of it relatively quickly. Just imagine a place with enough clarity and, if it exists, getting there should be easy enough. Don’t bother with tricking yourself into believing a place exists. It’s not a mind over matter situation. You also can’t transport large objects with you. I think I already told you that, though.”

“What about the pipe?” I ask.

“What about it?”

“Where is it? How do I fix it?”

“It’ll become clear enough when you see it for the first time.”

“Right.” I lean against the car. “Right.” Hm. Hang on a sec. “Hey, what do you mean about your appearance changing? I mean, I just kind of assumed you were always like… this.”

Death slides their hands into their pockets. “I was human. Once. I made a mistake, though. I was punished with a ritual similar to this one. My tribe inevitably died. I stayed behind to tend to the duties I was given. Nothing more to it.”

“What was the mistake?”

They shake their head.

I laugh. “C’mon. What does it matter now? Who am I gonna gossip your sins with? What does it change?”

“I’ve imagined this interaction a million times. And nowhere have I seen myself telling you that.”

“You clearly don’t have much of an imagination. That, or you don’t give me enough credit, if you really think I’d never get around to asking.”

“You had nineteen years for that.”

“And now we have five minutes. How times goes by!”

They sigh, glancing back at the magic circle. “I killed my brother. I didn’t have a good reason to. I can tell you I had visions of places you never want to see, let alone imagine. I can tell you I heard voices in languages I could not understand, egging me on to do it. I can tell you it was always bound to happen. Whatever the case might be, it doesn’t change the fact I just didn’t like him very much.”

“Doesn’t sound like a ‘mistake,’ then, does it?”

“I said ‘mistake,’ not ‘accident.’ And whatever motive I had at the time can’t compare to the regret. Call it whatever you want, though. Most would just call it the first one.”

“First?”

“The first death.”

“Like, ever?”

“Like, ever.” They walk over to the car. “It was unprecedent. Extraordinary. And an extraordinary problem required… an extraordinary solution. The elders drew the circle. I don’t know how they knew it. It might’ve just been engrained somewhere in the back of their skulls. A safety measure of some sort. Doesn’t really matter, I suppose. You see the end result.”

I point to the circle. “And how do you know this is what’ll get you out of it?”

“I don’t know anything. Not for certain. After my transformation, I began to catch more and more glimpses into those... unimaginable places. My voices turned into whispers, but I still listened to the words. And the more I did, the more I ended up finding things in the back of my own skull. These runes – this whole circle – it’s not some fancy ritual. It’s paperwork. A transferal of debt.”

“What if a thousand-eyed monster from that other world files a complaint? What if you didn’t fill out the form correctly?” I ask.

“I imagine they’ll take it up with you.” They shrug. “I think they’ll be understanding when they notice the pipe fixed.”

I take Ferdinand out of his cage. “What if those unimaginable places are exactly where the pipe leads? What if they’re feeding off our souls? What if there’s just eternal suffering?”

Death taps the side of their helmet. “You assume the worst only because your mind fears what it cannot comprehend.”

“I can’t comprehend you, but I’m not exactly shaking in my boots here, am I?”

“That’s because you’re not wearing any.”

I pet the little hamster. Even if he isn’t so ‘little’ anymore. Kind of gotten fat, actually. He’d stopped exercising a while ago. He seems too exhausted to try and wiggle around in my hand. That could be because my skin’s attached itself to his feet.

Oh, well. He’s still alive. That’s something, at least.

Death picks up their scythe, walking over to one of the smaller circles within the sigil. “Very well. Let us beg—”

“You didn’t answer the question.” I point out. “What if you’re dooming all these souls to their doom?”

They tilt their head. “What’s your point?”

“Hmph.” I put Ferdinand back in the cage. “Never mind, then.” I follow suit, stepping into another smaller circle, directly across Death. I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.

“So, what?” I ask. “Do you give out some chant here or—”

The ground shakes. In spite of not being able to feel anything, I sense something cling to my leg. I can’t move. Death’s grip on their scythe loosens, slowly floating over to the center of the magic circle. The chalk outline begins to disintegrate. The night sky turns into a mass of neon. The moon is black. I feel cold, too, all of a sudden. A thousand ice baths, all at once!

Oh, God, this was a mistake.

What have I agreed to?

What have I done?

Help me.

Help me!

I can hear someone. Dee? No. No, it’s not Dee. Don’t be stupid. I can’t even understand what they’re saying. It’s like there’s someone in my ear. But I have no ears. I’m barely even a body, yet—yet I feel it, as if a bug is crawled up somewhere in there. Goddammit. I feel like I’m eating it. Through my ear. Through my ear? No, not my ear. That’s just the voices. I’m eating through somewhere else. I’m consuming. What, though? I don’t understand.

Am I floating?

No, something’s still holding me to the ground.

I have to focus.

Death is still there.

They can’t move, either.

They’re screaming, though.

I see substance of some kind leaking through the cracks of that diving suit. The dark liquid is oozing towards the sky. I can’t even look up to see what's sucking them try. It’s as if they’re falling apart before my very eyes. 

They’re trying to tell me something. I can’t make it out. This thing in my ear is too damn loud.

No.

No, I know what they’re saying.

I know what they’re thinking.

The exact same thing I am.

‘Help me.’

I feel their words in the depths of my soul. They expand as fast as they shrink. They’re in me. And I am in them. I am standing naked at the dawn of man, over the body of my own brother. I have stood in a crude circle such as this one many, many, many eons ago. I have always been here. But I am not me. This is not me. I’m fading. 

Yet, I’m here. 

I am me.

I am not Death.

I will surpass Death.

I will consume Death.

They thought they would be free.

But they’re contacting an entity that they have been defying for a long, long time.

How did they ever think they would just walk away?

Desperation. Stupidity.

Easy to confuse.

Undeniable stupidity, though.

This. This is the idiot who was in charge around here all this time? This is the moron who gave me life? The bastard who fucked my Mom? The smartass who brought us to Taco Bell? The ingrate who chased Dee away? This existence must fade away.

Die.

Die!

Die!

The one thing you were good at was putting your faith in me.

And now, the beings who are letting me do this to you will have to do the same, whether they like it or not. That's how much of a bad job you did.

Something's crawling through me.

I feel different.

I’m still not done feasting.

More.

Give me mo—

I’m somewhere else now. The ground looks like ash. The sky is blacker than ever. My movements feel slow. The matter forming me is lagging behind my presence. It’s dark. Too dark.

I look up.

I see Earth. I see all the little lights shining across the continents. I see beyond that, though. I see the uncountable souls that have amassed themselves across the land. I hear their cries. I remember their history as if it was my own. Only for a moment, though. I make it all go away. I forget. There’s too much to deal with at once. It’s as if I’m witnessing infinity.

All the little lights.

All the little souls.

One, two, three, four…

I could count them forever. How long has the pipe been spilling?

How many?

How many?

I turn around.

I see the pipe’s entrance. I see them all spilling out. Like little astronauts, they drift into space. And, these little astronauts, they scream as they drift back to Earth. They don’t understand. Not yet. They might never. Like Grandma Ethel, in the washing machine.

How many?

I know.

Too many.

The sound in my ears, I realize, are not voices. It’s music. It’s THE Music. Born from the endless cycle of the universe eating away at itself. Someone is dancing to it, and in their dance, the water flows. It overtakes us all. It drowns us all. It kills us. It creates us anew. I need to breathe. I need something to breathe with.

The Moon is flooding.

The world of twisted skyscrapers, volcano tongues and giant spoons – I see it all again. It’s in the water, drowning with me. No. No, no. It’d disappeared long ago. The water simply remembers. It’s all happened before, but differently. A different universe that had fallen apart.

Nobody is speaking to me. There is nobody on the other end of the line. The magic circle is nothing but a footnote on the music sheet. The Dancer improvises with it, allowing me to peek behind the curtain. Death wasn't killed for fucking up. The job was just the only thing keeping them alive. 

No Eldritch beasts.

It’s only the Music and what we hear in it.

And the Music tells me the world had failed and fallen apart, even when the very basics of time and space were completely changed.

I see it.

I see it.

I see it.

How do I fix it?

How do I fix it?

How do I fix it?

I don’t know.

I need to know.

I need to change.

I need to act.

I have to become mo—

—re.

The man falls to his knees. Shivering, although not cold.

The sky is calm. The Moon isn’t black.

The only thing in his ear is the sound of the crickets, echoing in the night.

The only thing that remains of Death is the diving suit, crumpled up on the ground.

What the hell happened?

The blade of the scythe is jammed in the center of the circle. He crawls over to it, using it as support to get back on his feet. He feels numb. That’s the cruel joke: he's been numb for almost two decades. Why does it suddenly feel unnatural?

He pulls the blade out of the ground.

Chrip. Chrip. Chirp.

The world feels exactly as he’d left it.

All is silent.

He's scared.

There’s something else. Not just the crickets. It’s a song. Stuck in his head. He can’t remember the name. He's not even sure about the melody.

He's scared that he doesn't know why he's scared.

He limps over to the car.

Chrip. Chrip. Chirp.

He sits on the hood. Ferdinand is right where he should be. There's a gleam in the hamster's eye. Bewilderment? Curiosity? Fear?

Whatever it is, the person hiding inside finally decides to play his hand.

"Jacob? Jacob, are you okay?" he asks.

Chrip. Chrip. Chirp.

The man looks up.

The scythe slips from his hand.

The Moon isn’t black. But it looks horrible. That thing — that growth on it...

It’s the pipe.

And he—

He sees the spill.

They’re flooding the night sky.

The little astronauts.