Isaac Olsen lived in the family homestead with his brood of children, as well as numerous aunts and uncles in the large farmhouse. They were a kind, loving family, and it wasn’t unusual when one of the children would climb into bed with mom and dad in the middle of the night because they weren’t feeling well, or couldn’t sleep for one reason or the other. Isaac remembers one middle of the night encounter considerably more vividly than others, the night that something else crawled into their bed.
That particular cold, dark night, Isaac and his wife were bedded down for the night as usual. He felt the end of the bed sag beneath the weight of someone climbing into bed with them. Isaac wondered which of his children it would be as he waited for their voice to announce themselves. A strange cold chill ran up his spine as he felt the subject move up the bed, between he and his spouse, disturbing the mattress and covers in the process. The figure stopped and reclined full length between he and his wife, who was still sound asleep. Then Isaac felt a large cold hand come to rest on his shoulder.
Still not wanting the think there was anything wrong, Isaac next assumed that it must be one of the other adults who lived in the large house. Perhaps the heat had gone out in their room and they were seeking warmth. For the hand on his shoulder was large, and cold as ice, with a grip on him so tight that he didn’t feel that he could even turn over to look the person in the eye. His worse nightmares were made true soon enough, however, when a deep, slow voice, with a slight crack, as if from years of disuse, hissed, “I am Death.”
Isaac froze in terror. He felt as if the very life in his soul was draining out of his body. He tried to move, to roll out of bed, but couldn’t. He wanted to cry out for his wife but found himself mute. He lay there, helpless, in the grip of Death, until the unseen weight moved back to the foot of the bed and vanished. Isaac lay there in bed wide-awake for the rest of the night, praying to God that the incident would not be repeated.
At breakfast the next morning, Isaac sat nervously trying to look over the newspaper as his wife fixed their breakfast. He was reluctant to mention anything to anyone about what had transpired the night before. Suddenly the headlines on the front of the paper caught his attention. Apparently in the middle of the night there had been a tragic fire at a nearby orphanage. Most of the children had been consumed in the inferno. Isaac knew at once that the figure in bed with him had been Death Incarnate, on its way to the orphanage to collect the lost souls of the little children and ferry them to the other side of the veil.
The End
