Mr Popular

I lay waiting between my soft bed sheets. Moonlight inching through a window faintly lit my dark room. My eyes did not even flicker as I tensed in anticipation. They would be here soon. I was sure of that. I wanted them to like me, respect me: just a look that wasn’t fettered with disgust would have been enough. This wasn’t how I wanted their respect, but, it’s true, beggars cannot be choosers. My dorm was quiet, empty of the grating snores that would have been my overweight roommate’s. He was gone and I was alone. That’s why it has to be tonight, or at least that’s what they said.



College freshmen don’t think much about death. In fact death seems so far away it might as well not exist. That’s why they thought they had the perfect plan. A ghost, a wraith: Death himself coming to visit my bed. They had chuckled in delight as they envisioned my screams. It was too bad for them that I heard it all. Crowded in the locker room they laid their devious plans, convinced that I was gone. But locker rooms are excellent places to hide…whether you wished to be hidden or not; and to think I was upset at having been stuffed in my locker by the quarterback. Now, I was ready to face Death.



A soft rustle and an evil laugh set my heart racing, but I forced it to slow knowing what was at stake. The faint, white glow of a torch - I presumed - lingered at my door. I shut my eyes and waited with a smile. Nothing happened. I sat upright.

“Who’s there?” I asked hopefully, “Show yourself!”

The door creaked open. A cloaked figure entered my room with a sigh.

“Here I am! As you wished!” a cheery pasty face poked out from beneath the hood of the cloak. Not exactly wild and dramatic, but still, one is never prepared for strange visitors at night.

“Who are you and what do you want?!” I asked, falsely brazen.

“I have many names. Why don’t you choose one?”

I looked quizzically at my would-be tormentor, “Arnold?”

“Arnold it is! A fine name to be sure!” the man laughed. As he stepped into the moonlight I saw that only his hands and his face were visible, and the tattered brown cloak covered all else. His features were immaculate; with high cheekbones and a slender chin he could have passed for a celebrity, albeit a creepy one. But it was his eyes that stood out. They were a fiery red, like blood, and they danced in the moonlight.



“Must be contacts,” I muttered to myself.



“What’s that?”

“Oh…nothing. What do you want? Can’t you see that I’m trying to sleep? People don’t go sneaking around other people’s rooms at night!” I frowned, searching for something fearless to say. The man plopped himself down on my bed and revealed his teeth in a wide grin, “Now that is a very good point! Well done! So I shall tell you who I am and what I want. I am Death. A morbid, monosyllabic name, but it has its uses. What I want is your soul as an ornament for my mantle.”



I frowned. The make-up was good; creepy and evil at the same time. Costume…adequate. But he was just too cheery to squeeze any high-pitched screams out of me. He acts like he’s at a formal dinner.

“You don’t seem very scary for ‘Death’ himself!” I said mockingly.



The man paused and his slender fingers stroked his chin as he thought.

“No, I suppose not. I used to be though. Every night I would sharpen my scythe and peel off my skin…I was terrifying really. But after centuries of the whole screaming, begging and swooning thing, I get pretty fed up! Now prefer to just act myself. It’s refreshing to not have any ideals to live up to! You should try it.”



Now “Death”, as he called himself, was giving me advice like an old friend: definitely no swooning.



“So…how do you steal my soul? Or whatever it is you do?” By now I was bored, no action, no drama. Their perfect plan was not planned very perfectly.



“I can’t steal it you see!” said the man sighing, “I have to bargain for it. The whole idea got me rather frustrated to begin with. Gave me quite a complex... so what is it you want most; women, wealth, even power? That’s the usual but I’ve had a few weird ones in the past! One nut just wanted a giant taco...he was a little different you see.”



The man stopped and looked at me, "Well?”

“So you say I can have anything I wish? There must be a catch. There always is.” I decided to play along. This night was a disappointment already so what harm could it do?



“Your soul, my boy. Just your soul. It sounds like a big deal but a soul is very boring. You can’t do much with it until you die. Even then, you aren’t likely to go anywhere nice. Face it sonny, you might as well enjoy it while it lasts! Live the life you’ve always wanted!”

He had a point; even if he did sound like a cheap advertisement. I was tired and I wanted sleep, “Ok, here is what I want. I want to be liked and respected by everyone I meet. Starting tomorrow I will be popular and have all the friends I want.”



The man smiled a sickly smile and began to glow. His eyes went white and rolled and his arms trembled. Strangely enough the air smelled of onions. He stopped and smiled, “Your wish is fulfilled. You have what you asked for. No more, no less. See you soon, ok!”



He got up and left, fading into the darkness. I sat thoughtfully in the silence. I had no idea what had just happened, but I did know, it was a terrible prank, though a disconcerting one. I snorted, breaking the quiet. Slumping back in my bed I pulled the covers up to my chin and closed my eyes to sleep. Hopefully by the morning this would all be a faint memory.



Later that night a muffled giggle woke me from my sleep. I jumped out of bed, angry at having been woken. My door was thrown open: I jumped in surprise. Standing before me was a tall, unintentionally comic figure with a rubber skull-mask and a floppy scythe.



“I am Death! Kneel before your master or I shall steal your soul!” the figure shouted in a gruff voice - a soft titter sounded in the hall. I sneered. Death did not steal souls. He bargained for them. Obviously this was a fake…I stopped. My brain suddenly clicked and I realized what this person meant. My mind went numb as a haze threw itself over my thoughts.



“I said kneel, knave!” the costumed man was pathetic, but I barely acknowledged him. Somewhere, a grandfather clock struck twelve with a clarifying gong. The scythe bearing man stopped as if struck, “Oh! I’m sorry, Michael. We were just playing with you! You’re the coolest guy we know! Why don’t you come hang with us and we will go freak out the girls?”



I felt weak. I looked at the four eager faces crowding at my door. I slammed it.



“That’s ok, Michael! We love you man! Some other time, maybe?”

I walked dazedly back to my bed. Sinking down into the soft sheets, I closed my eyes praying to awaken. But no such thing happened. A sinister voice chuckled in the back of my mind, “See you soon…Mr. Popular!”