It’s nearly four in the evening when I arrive at Sika’s apartment.

After that encounter, everything was strangely normal. I didn’t see any other spirits, or souls, rather. The day resumed to be just another day. The people I did see stayed away from me like the plague. All as per usual.

Sika’s apartment is as posh as it can get at the outskirts of the town – outdoor balcony on the second floor, fully decked-out gym on the terrace, driveway with two expensive cars and a two-tiered fountain in the garden downstairs, where Sika’s favourite flowers are in full bloom. His place borders the city, so these kinds of properties are usually owned by large businesses or the people who run them. Despite being here countless times, I can never get used to the scent of money on the walls.

I carry Milko and place him on my shoulder, anticipating the loud barking creature that sprints to our heels from the open door. I scramble inside and Milko leaps for the sofa, seeking haven in the pillows. The retriever darts back inside as I give him a good pat on the bum. “Sika?” I close the door behind me and look around. “Sorry I’m late…”

The TV’s light glows faintly in the darkness of the drawn curtains. Dust fills the air, accompanying the faint smell of unwashed dishes. In the living room twice the size of my entire house, is Sika on his recliner. Hair in a dishevelled bun, his eyes stare absentmindedly at the ceiling.

I walk up to him and place my hand on his shoulder, “Yo, I’m here…please wash your dishes, it stinks.”

“…'Sup dude…” His eyes slowly come to focus on me. “…I don’t wanna.”

I sigh. No amount of light-heartedness will solve the grief of the past. “You wanted to talk?” I fold up my sleeves and head to wash the dishes. His kitchen is a mess. Another sigh escapes my lips as I begin washing. I glance over to the TV. Some odd comedy show is on, but Sika doesn’t crack a smile. He doesn’t respond to me at all. I can’t stand the silence. “Are you angry with me or something?”

“…”

“Is everything alright?”

“…yeah dude.”

“New dog has a name?”

“Just call him whatever you wanna.”

“Hah?” I can’t shake away the twinge of frustration I feel. I shouldn’t be thinking that way, he’s grieving, I get it. But he can’t just abandon everything like this. “Sika, look here.”

I wash my hands and dry them on my pants out of habit. “Mum sent you this.”

He lifts his head slightly. I toss the pickle jar at him. It bounces off his head and lands on his stomach. “Ow! Dude! What the–”

“I also got you flowers.” I shove them into a glass I just washed, and keep it on the desk in front of him. “Thought it would cheer you up a bit. You’ve always liked them.”

Sika slowly sits up, eyes glancing at the red bouquet. “…These are from my garden.”

“You’re welcome.” I set the last dish on the counter and draw the curtains open. The room fills with light, bouncing off the dust on the white walls. With light, the room already feels less heavy.

I sit on the couch, waiting patiently for his eyes to adjust to the new brightness. I can see a small smile forcing itself onto his face. His dog comes up to me and demands a pet. Naturally, I smother the good boy with head-pats. Milko’s seething jealousy is something I am used to, as are the several scratches he lands on my back. I can sense Sika’s gaze drift to me as I continue to squish the dog’s face and give him a boop. “Today, your name shall be…”

“Yin Rivers! I will remember you.”

“…”

I can still hear that voice so clearly in my head. My face stiffens. In every text, every myth, every thread of religion and history that speaks of meetings with the supernatural…it has never been a good omen to meet Death. I should know. I’ve been warned so many times about ‘seeing’. And though I don’t believe in what the Shamans say, I can’t shake the feeling of that… that fear.

But for certain, Death felt different from that.

The spirit–soul–he called it a soul. It was a soul I pulled out of that body. Do all souls look like that? Then, back then…the black cord that was strung around my mother’s heart…was that her soul too?

“Dude.”

I startle at the voice.

“You okay?”

I look up to see Sika hunched over me, a strand of his blonde hair loosens from the bun and falls to his neck. He hands me a glass of water, “You spaced out.”

“Ah.” I take the glass and drink a sip, unsure whether I should tell him what I saw. Even if I do tell him, what would he do about it? Sika used swear by what the mystics in the town said, but he changed his views completely when his father genuinely went mad a year ago. Maybe his father saw a soul? Maybe that’s what happened. But if it were true, then I would have faced the same fate by now.

I don’t dare ask about what really happened. He believes that god had a plan for his father, and took him away. I don’t buy it. There is no god, is there?  But after all that’s happened at this point, I almost want to believe him.

I saw Death, after all.

“I know the feelin’, dude.” He says somewhat vaguely, rubbing his eyes.

He looks horrible. There’s no need for me to overthink. Right now, Sika comes first. “Yo, my guy. Sorry I’m late, but, what in the world can I do to help you out?”

His eyes, golden in the light, are devoid of energy. He has a complicated expression. “…a hug?”

“I mean, sure.” I lean up, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, and gently pat his back. “If there’s anything else you need I’m here to help.”

“Anything?”

“Mn.”

“…You sure dude?”

“Of course, I’m your best buddy, aren’t I?”

 “…C’mere. There’s somethin’ I wanna show you.”

I accompany him to his room, bidding the dog farewell. I guess I’ll just call him Dog. Straightforward names are always easier to remember. Death is Death. My last name is Rivers. Milko is lactose intolerant.

“I found this book, dude.” Sika doesn’t turn on the light as he walks to his desk. His room is speckled with the evening sunlight phasing through the curtains. Shadows play on the floor as he flips through a few pages of something that looks like a journal. He looks up at me.

“What’s it about?”

 “I’ll show ya.”

He turns to a page and begins reading in a whisper, “Divine Grace, all eternal, Outlier of Fate, my soul begs thee…”

“You wanted to show me a prayer…?”

“Gold, red, gold, red, Outlier Divine, hear me…”

Something doesn’t feel quite right. Sika isn’t responding to me. The whispers pouring out of him echo through the room, and the windows begin rattling. My gut is telling me to run. “Sika–!”

A strong gust of wind blows open the shutters and slams the door behind us, I whip my body to the side. The lock on the door automatically turns and clicks. “Sika!” I rattle the door, but it’s fused shut. Is this some kind of dark magic or some shit?! The clouds outside gather, blocking out the sun. I feel a weird tingle in my stomach. “Sika, I think you should stop–!”

I’m shoved to the centre of the room by an unknown force. My legs move on their own. “Sika!”

“Just see!” He grabs my arm, holding out the journal as its pages scatter around us in a whirlwind.

“What are you doing?!”

“Watch!”

The pages form a circle around us and spin rapidly. Today is not my lucky day. A wave of nausea makes me keel over. This presence is unlike Death’s. “I’m going to puke–uhg–” I cover my mouth and try to find a good place. Sika hoists me up without concern, his grip burns my arm. Through the corner of my eye I see a few faint letters in the air start to form. Dog is barking from outside and I hear Milko scratching the door. “Mil–blaarghhh–”

“Dude!”

My vision gets blurry, I don’t like this. “Sik–”

“Hello-hello mortals! Oh ew, puke.”

I snap my head up as the voice booms in my ears.