Something is coming.

Through the cold and dark.

It is coming.

It always comes.

The inevitable kiss always arrives.

Something is coming.

And you can run.

But you can never hide.

Thunder rolled.

Lightning flashed.

Your room was lit up as your eyes snapped open.

A shadow.

A silhouette in your bedroom doorway.

BOOM!

The thunder.

Another flash illuminated your room.

You backed up in your bed, pressing against the headboard.

The silhouette was closer.

Another boom, another flash.

Closer still.

You didn't have time to scream.

It caught you, just a simple touch, a freezing, burning touch.

Your eyes closed.

The cold swept over you.

So familiar.

Like the touch of a loved one.

So familiar.

Your breath left you in a sigh.

You heart fluttered and stopped.

So very, very cold.

They say you died of unknown causes, a perfectly healthy human, nothing wrong, nothing out of the ordinary. They buried you, your family confused and tearful surrounding your unmoving body in the suffocating wooden casket. They never stopped wondering how you died. Mystery and confusion steeped around your memory until it faded. No one remembered you, given enough time passed. No one ever will.

Death came that night.

Swift.

Quiet.

Unknowing.

It struck down upon its victim, claiming the soul to be added to its collection.

The kiss of death awaits everyone.

Give it time.

Your time will come.

Your time has come.

Your time came.

And just like that, you are but a distant memory in the wind.

It comes through the cold and dark.

Always watching.

Forever patient.

Waiting to claim its next victim.