The night He first appeared I was snatching up the last snippets of an infomercial in the dark, save for a razor thin strip of light leaking in from the kitchen. His hot rotting breath hovered in the doorway, black eyes staring right through me, grabbing hold of my bowels. The reflection of his scythe, partially hidden beneath his robe, bounced off the television screen directly behind the bankrupt actor and his lousy attempt at selling me a treadmill.

Heart pounding, I sprang off the couch and turned on the lights.

Nothing.

The following night I had the unnerving feeling He was watching as I lay in bed with Nathaniel. The rank, putrid smell of His jealousy permeated the room. With barely an hour of restless sleep I soon awoke to find Him lingering near the bed, a skeletal hand stretched out to me. A dark red rose wedged itself between His bony forefinger and thumb, beckoning me to accept. Dried pieces of flesh dangled loosely from His ribcage behind a tattered black robe.

I wanted to scream, but what was a scream worth without a voice? I turned over to Nathaniel in a vain attempt to wake him.

I nudged him but he wouldn’t budge. Rendered immobile, I could only watch helplessly as the Visitor raised His sickle and sliced my boyfriend’s brain in two. Eyes plastered shut, I sank into the bed and awaited my imminent doom.

I peeked but once as He instead vanished out the window promptly, leaving the rose on the sill, fresh blood trickling from its thorns. My lover lay lifeless beside me.

I let out a guttural scream, loud enough to disembody what just happened out of my reality and into the dream world where it belonged. I awoke, gasping for air.

Nathaniel slept soundly, oblivious to the night’s visitor. I breathed a sigh of relief.

I rose out of bed covered in goosebumps. The window was open a crack, welcoming the crisp autumn air. But something else caught my attention: sitting on the window sill was one withered rose.