Under_The_Whispering_Door_by_TJ_Klune

They said, “Cameron, let’s go outside, huh? Get you some fresh air.”
And finally, they said, “You sure you’re going to be all right by yourself?”
“I’ll be fine,” he told them. “I’ll be fine.”
He wasn’t.
He lasted four months.
Four months of haunting their home, moving from room to room, calling
out for Zach, saying, “We were going to do so many things. You promised
me!”
And still the tears didn’t come.
He was cold all the time.
There were days when he didn’t get out of bed, days when he didn’t have
the strength to do anything but roll over, pulling the comforter over his head,
chasing the scents of Zach, who smelled like woodsmoke and earth and trees,
so many trees.
Toward the end, his friends came back. “We’re worried about you,” they
said. “We need to make sure you’re going to be okay.”
“I’ll be fine,” he told them. “I’ll be fine.”
On the last day, he woke up.
On the last day, he ate a bowl of cereal. He washed the bowl and spoon in
the sink before putting them away.
On the last day, he wandered around the house, but he didn’t speak.
On the last day, he gave up.
It didn’t hurt, really.
The end.
He was only numb.
And then he was gone.
Except he wasn’t, was he?
No.
Because he stood above himself, watching his lifeblood spill from him,
and he said, “Oh. This is Hell.”
And he was still alone.
Until a man came. He called himself a Reaper. He smiled, though it didn’t
reach his eyes. There was a curl to his lips that wasn’t kind.
“I’ll take you away,” the Reaper said. “It’ll all make sense, I promise.
Even though you gave your life away like it was nothing, I’ll take care of
you.”