Madeleine 2

    She could feel its fetid breath on her skin. Long, soft gusts of warm air that nevertheless sent feverish chills rolling down her spine. Every time the creature moved, a dozen sharp clicks from popping joints followed. Madeleine realized that she was crying. She tried to stop, but seemed to have forgotten how.
    The glow from the covered window was shrinking and turning red. The sun was setting, and when it did, she was going to die. She knew this.
     Hours passed like minutes until there were just inches of sunlight left. At some point, she had run out of tears. A sliver of crimson sunlight clung to the bottom of the window like a bloody wound.
    Creak.
A shadow blocked out the sunlight for a moment. Was someone outside? A wild and desperate hope blossomed in her chest, melting away the barbed wire wrapped around her insides. She tried to cry out for help, but the words seemed to die before they reached her lips. Then the light disappeared. Darkness covered her and smothered her. Silence clicked its too many joints at her.
    Then a heavy boot crashed into the door, and it flew off its hinges. It landed inches from her head with a bang. A tall figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, coat billowing around him.
    'Alright,' the man growled as he raised a gun the size of a large hair-dryer. 'Let's party.'
   

Madeleine

    Madeleine awoke with a gasp of pain. She was on the floor, lying on her side. The floor was very dusty, and there was blood on it. The room was dark, but the thin, glowing outline of a window told her that it was still daytime. Was this important? She couldn't remember. She thought it might be.

Creak.

Something moved in the shadows behind her.

Creak.

Something that Madeleine didn't want to see.

Creak.

    Something that was very, very hungry. A white and corpse-like limb with too many joints brushed her cheek. It reached slowly past her and traced a line through the blood and dust on the floor. It withdrew.

Regrets

    Approximately twelve thousand feet above the Mojave Desert, Jax was regretting some of his recent life choices. He was regretting them in much the same way a dying soldier regrets going to war. The way a mosquito regrets feasting on a poisoned man's blood. The way a cheap pudding regrets living in England. He was regretting his life choices so much, in fact, that some of them were getting a little offended.
    Becoming involved with Zeke and Ugly Jack had been his first mistake. A mistake he wouldn't repeat if he - or gravity - had anything to say about it. His second mistake was going along with their brilliant and foolproof plan. His third mistake was not getting caught by the police. His fourth mistake was getting caught by the people who weren't the police. His fifth mistake was getting thrown out of a plane.
    Jax really regretted lighting his parachute on fire.

Writer

    The writer turned to the Internet with a triumphant glare in his eyes and a posture dripping defiance.
    'I'm back, you sons of bitches, and there's nothing you, you or you can do, to stop me from doing that which craves doing.' He said, pointing at YouTube, Twitter and 4chan in turn. His voice was like unto a god, and those under his proverbial feet - those crumbling pillars of distraction - would bow before his words like grass before a storm. His fingers wrote, and each letter was a clash of blades. Each word a crusade. Each sentence was Ragnarök.

Meh

    Most people exist in four dimensions: depth, width, height and time. Those are some good dimensions to be sure. Nothing wrong with them. But some people, a select few, also exist in a fifth.
    This fifth dimension isn't an alternate plane in reality, or the power of thought, or the home of an alien species known as the Kroolax. The fifth dimension is the reason why some people can sense things before they happen. The fifth dimension is what gives certain people almost supernatural speed and strength. When a mother lifts a car to free her trapped child, that's the fifth dimension.
    It's a source of incredible power trapped in the human mind. Through the ages, it's been called many things. Chi. Telekinesis. Magic. It manifests in different ways for different people. For some, it manifests as an extreme charisma; a subtle power that draws people to them like moths to a flame, but without all the burning. These people usually become actors. The fifth dimension can be formed and used to manifest almost anything if you know what to do.
    Some can create fire out of nothing. These people usually die from spontaneous self-combustion.
    The fifth dimension is dangerous.

A Scrambled Pile of Mutterings and Brainwaves

    With a motion like a cobra striking, he whipped his guns from their holsters. They were lightning bolts, and the thunder that followed left death in its wake.

***

    Robert Mint was in his best chair, reading the paper and enjoying not being outside in the rain, when Death walked through the opposite wall. Robert lowered his paper. 

    'Absolutely horrid weather,' Death said and shook his heavy, black robes. Spectral droplets of water passed through Robert and landed on his carpet where they'd soon evaporate into ectoplasmic smoke. 'Sorry to come barging in like this,' he said, 'But it's freezing outside.' 

    'Tea?' Robert Mint inquired.

    Death made an approving "ooh" sound. 'Yes, please,' he said. Robert Mint shuffled into his little kitchen. The sound of softly boiling water soon filled the room. 

    'Mind if I prop my scythe up against the wall?' Death asked.

    'No no, feel free.' Robert Mint called from the kitchen.

    Death did so and made himself comfortable at the dining table. 'Ah, lovely,' he said when Robert handed him the small, steaming cup of tea. He took a sip and sighed. 'Lovely.'

    Robert Mint eyed death for a long while. 'So you're Death,' he said.

    Death nodded. 'That's right. Well, not Death Death.'

    'Death Death?'

    'I mean, I am a Death. Death Death doesn't really leave the office much anymore. He leaves most of the work to us.'

    'Oh,' Robert Mint said. They sipped tea for a few silent minutes.

    'This tea is excellent,' Death said.

    'Oh, thank you.'

    'Earl Grey?'

    'Lipton, actually. Biscuit?' He offered Death a small plate of biscuits. 

    'Thanks,' he said and took one. They sat around Robert Mint's dining table, drinking tea and eating biscuits for a few minutes. Finally, Death drained his cup and got to his feet, brushing biscuits crumbs off of his robes. 

    'We had better get going,' he said. 

    'Is it going to hurt?' Robert Mint asked.

    'No, not especially. A bit disconcerting is all. Bit of vertigo.'

    'Oh. Good.'

    'You should probably close your eyes.'

    Robert Mint did so. Death took Robert's hand in his, and together they walked into the rainy night.