Death’s Intern

If you had told me at the start of summer that I’d be working for the Grim Reaper, I would’ve laughed. Then again, I also laughed when Dad said sunscreen was important — and now I’m still peeling.

It all started when I was desperately looking for a job. My friends were flipping burgers, scooping ice cream, or working at the mall. I, on the other hand, had exactly three dollars in my bank account and a habit of ordering iced coffee like I was a millionaire.

So, naturally, I clicked on the first Craigslist ad that didn’t look like it would end with me in a cult.

“Intern Needed. Flexible Hours. Must Be Comfortable with Travel and Unusual Environments.”

It paid well. Suspiciously well.

The next day, I found myself at an address that didn’t technically exist on Google Maps. It was just… an empty alley. I was about to leave when a tall figure in a black cloak appeared behind me, holding what I can only describe as a luxury edition scythe.

“Are you here for the internship?” His voice was deep and echoey, like someone had installed a bass boost in his lungs.

“Uh… yeah? I think so?”

“Good. I’m Death. You can call me Mr. Reaper.”

The Job Description

The training was… short.

“Here’s the scythe. Don’t point it at yourself, your friends, or any houseplants you like. These are the soul scrolls. This watch tells you where to go. Don’t be late. Time is… well, you know.”

That was it. No HR paperwork. No awkward team-building exercises. Just me, a cloak, and a scythe that hummed like it wanted to eat me.

My first assignment? A goldfish named Mr. Bubbles. Yes, apparently Death handles all living things. I stood over the fishbowl, feeling ridiculous.

“You’re free now, little guy,” I whispered, tapping the scythe to the water. A tiny golden light zipped out and vanished. Somewhere, in the great beyond, Mr. Bubbles was probably in a much bigger bowl.

Easy.

Things Got Complicated

The next few jobs were… fine. A squirrel. A 102-year-old woman who winked at me and said, “Took you long enough.” But then I got an address that made my stomach drop.

• It was my street.
• It was my house.

And the name on the soul scroll? Mom.

I sprinted home faster than any human has ever moved without the aid of jet propulsion. Bursting through the door, I found Mom in the kitchen making spaghetti, very much alive and humming along to the radio.

“Hey, sweetie! Want some pasta?”

“Yes. And also… don’t go outside. Ever. For the rest of the day.”

She gave me the Mom Look™ — the one that could melt steel — and went back to stirring the sauce. I tried calling Mr. Reaper, but apparently, the afterlife doesn’t do tech support.

By midnight, the watch beeped and the scroll burned itself to ash. Mom yawned and said she was going to bed. I exhaled for the first time in hours. Crisis averted. Or so I thought.

A Small Mistake

Turns out, if you skip a soul collection, you mess up the cosmic schedule. Big time. The next day, the watch started flashing like crazy. Locations piled up faster than I could handle them. I had souls in three different time zones waiting, and at least one was a goat (don’t ask).

When I finally tracked Mr. Reaper down, he wasn’t mad. He was… tired.

“You’ll learn, intern,” he sighed. “Sometimes, you can’t change the list. Not even for the people you love.”

“Yeah, but… she’s my mom.”

“Exactly.” He rested a bony hand on my shoulder. “One day, someone else will stand in your kitchen with her name on a scroll. And they’ll feel exactly how you feel now. That’s the job.”

The End (For Now)

I worked the rest of the summer. Learned the ropes. Stopped trying to cheat the schedule. And when school started again, Mr. Reaper handed me a small black envelope.

“For emergencies,” he said. Inside was a single scroll, blank.

I still don’t know what I’ll write on it. Maybe nothing. Maybe someday, something important. But until then, I keep it tucked away, between my math homework and a bag of emergency gummy bears.

Because you never know when Death will call.

Author’s Note: If you enjoyed this story, hit the heart, share it with a friend, and let me know in the comments what your supernatural summer job would be.