The Death's bargain

The first time Samuel Voss saw Death, he was seven years old.

It happened on a cold winter evening when the wind howled through the cracks of his family’s farmhouse. His mother was coughing blood into a handkerchief, her skin as pale as the snow outside. The doctor had left hours ago, shaking his head, muttering about consumption and the inevitability of things.

Samuel sat by her bedside, clutching her frail hand, when the air in the room grew heavy. The candle flickered, though there was no draft. Then, in the corner of the room, a shadow moved—not like a normal shadow, but like something alive, something watching.

A figure stepped forward. Tall, cloaked in darkness, its face hidden beneath a hood. Yet Samuel could feel its eyes on him.

*"You see me, child?"* The voice was dry, like rustling leaves.

Samuel didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His throat had closed up in terror.

Death—for that was who it was—tilted its head. Then it turned to Samuel’s mother. With a skeletal hand, it reached out and touched her forehead. Her breath stilled. Her chest stopped rising.

And just like that, she was gone.

Death lingered for a moment, then vanished into the dark.

Samuel never forgot that night.

---

Years passed. Samuel grew into a bitter man. He hated Death—hated how it took without mercy, without reason. His father drank himself into the grave. His younger sister died in childbirth. His best friend was trampled by a spooked horse.

Every time, Samuel saw *him*. The dark figure, watching, waiting.

And every time, Samuel screamed at him. "Why? Why them? Why not me?"

Death never answered.

Until one day, it did.

Samuel, now a gaunt, angry man of forty, stood over the body of his wife, Lydia. The fever had taken her swiftly. And there, in the corner of their small, dimly lit room, stood Death.

This time, Samuel didn’t scream. He didn’t weep. He just stared at the cloaked figure and said, "Take me instead."

Death went still. Then, slowly, it spoke.

*"You wish to bargain?"*

"Yes," Samuel said. "You took everyone I loved. Take me. Spare the next one."

Death was silent for a long moment. Then, it did something unexpected. It laughed—a sound like dry bones rattling.

*"Very well. I will spare the next life I come for... if you can guess its name."*

Samuel blinked. "What?"

*"A game,"* Death said. *"You have three guesses. If you name the next soul I come for, I will take you instead. If you fail, they die... and you live on."*

Samuel hesitated. But what choice did he have? "Deal."

Death extended a hand. Samuel shook it. The grip was ice-cold.

---

The first death came a week later.

Old Man Harker, the town’s blacksmith, collapsed at his forge. Samuel rushed to his side, but it was too late. Death stood in the shadows, watching.

"Guess," Death whispered.

Samuel’s mind raced. "Is it... Harker?"

Death chuckled. *"Too obvious."*

And with that, Harker’s chest stilled.

Samuel cursed.

---

The second death was a child—Mira, the miller’s daughter. She had been playing near the river when she slipped and drowned.

Samuel arrived as they pulled her small body from the water. His heart pounded as Death appeared beside him.

"Guess," Death murmured.

Samuel swallowed. "Mira?"

*"No."*

The girl’s spirit slipped away.

Samuel fell to his knees.

---

The third death came at midnight.

A knock at Samuel’s door. He opened it to find the town’s young physician, Elias, pale and sweating. "Samuel... I’m sick. It’s the fever. Like Lydia."

Samuel’s blood turned to ice.

Behind Elias, in the darkness of the street, Death waited.

Samuel’s mouth went dry. This was it. His last chance.

He thought of every name in the village. Every possibility. Then—

"Wait," he whispered. "The bargain... You said the next life *you* come for. Not the next death."

Death tilted its head.

Samuel’s heart raced. "You’re not here for Elias. You’re here for... me."

Silence.

Then, slowly, Death nodded.

*"Clever."*

Samuel exhaled. "Then I guess... my own name. Samuel Voss."

Death stood still for a long moment. Then, it reached out and placed a cold hand on Samuel’s chest.

*"A deal is a deal."*

Samuel’s breath left him in a rush. His legs gave way. As he fell, he saw Elias’s feverish eyes clear. The physician gasped, touching his own forehead in disbelief.

The last thing Samuel saw was Death leaning over him.

*"You win,"* it whispered.

And then there was nothing.

---

In the morning, the townsfolk found Samuel’s body cold in his home. Beside him, Dr. Elias—miraculously recovered—wept for the man who had saved him.

And in the shadows, unseen, Death watched.

Then it turned and walked away, searching for its next game.