Ever floated through the walls, inspecting the rooms of Mr. Stathopoulos’ house. White sheets clung to various objects: an old table here, a piano there. The apprentice reaper hovered and gazed at a row of framed photos in the hallway, glass blanketed in a skin of dust. He could recognise a more youthful Mr. Stathopoulos from his younger days, not just from his clothes but just his demeanor: smiling easily, light-hearted and carefree, surrounded by family.

  Ever returned to the lounge room, where Mr. Stathopoulos fussed over Twistie. The budgerigar had become quiet again.

  “Now Twistie, here’s some bread.” The old man ripped up some seeded rye bread, scattering it into a serving tray docked to the side. “Don’t just eat the seeds, OK? Bread gives you extra energy for flying.” He put a finger between the railings, wriggling it as if to entice Twistie to give it a nibble, but the bird stayed put on her perch. He chuckled, unfolded a velvet sheet that inside a a set of drawers and threw it over the cage, letting it drape gently over the top.

  Mr. Stathopoulos settled into a single couch next to the cage, flapping open a newspaper. Minutes later, his arms slowly dropped, head lolling to the side, breathing becoming deep and slow.

  Ever waited, sensing.

  The standing nightlamp in the corner of the room dimmed slightly, as if something heavy had sat on its power cable, cutting current off for a second. Moments later, back to normal.

  Twistie flew out through the cage and the velvet sheet, disturbing neither. The ghost bird circled the room, flapping erratically.

  ^Where am I? What’s happened?^ Her trill carried the slightest of echoes. She tried to land on top of her cage, flapping harder to rise when she fell through. Ever raised an arm, catching the bird’s attention. She didn’t hesitate, flapping over to him.

  ^Why are you here?^

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “You died.”

  The budgie side-stepped up Ever’s arm until she reached his shoulder. She preened him for a moment, turning her head this way and that.

  ^What does that mean?^

  Ever walked across to Mr. Stathopoulos, the bird on his shoulder. He settled on the couch next to him. He could see it hadn’t been sat in for a while.

  “It means that you won’t feel tired anymore. You won’t need to eat anymore. You can just fly as much as you want.”

  ^Great! But…^ Twistie hopped off Ever and across to the next couch along. She looked up at Mr. Stathopoulos. ^How about Ted?^

  So Ted was his name.

  “He won’t be with you anymore, not until he dies.”

  ^When will he die?^

  “I don’t know.”

  Twistie thought for a second, before taking off. ^Come with me.^

  Ever got up and followed the bird, who had flown to a small study. There was an old PC in there, a video camera and a few photos of Ted with his bird on the desk.

  ^We made videos. ‘It’s Ted and Twistie Time!’ He’d always say. Other people with birds would send videos back.^ Twistie flapped in front of Ever’s face. ^Can you help me make one final video?^

  The scythe gleamed expectantly in his hand.

  SENSES

  Hearing

  Smell

  Touch

  Sight

  Taste

  Ever considered the options, selecting ‘Hearing’ and ‘Sight’. The scythe bounced happily, before breaking off into two motes of light, melding into the bird.

  “OK,” Ever said, returning to human form and picking up the camera. “Let me see if I can figure out how this thing works.”