The Grim Reaper's Experiment

“Don’t scream.”

In reply, her scream pierces through the midnight silence. The cloaked figure at the foot of her bed startles and grumbles before throwing a hand over her gaping mouth, muffling the cries. As soon as she’s silenced for a heartbeat, if only to catch her breath, the Grim Reaper says  “If you yell like that, the neighbors will think I’m trying to kill you or something. So please do me a favor and...”

He takes his hand off of her mouth. This would be the point where he would cock his head and raise a wary eyebrow. If he had a face. Instead, his cloak’s hood appears to be perched atop nothing, framing a window into the abyss. 

“Who are you!”

“Take a wild guess.”

To describe his outfit as a cloak would do the sight an injustice. While it drapes over his shape as a cloak would, the similarities stop there. The fabric has been switched for folds of pure fog, bleeding off of the edges. Despite the soft nature, it still manages to appear ragged and tattered, worn from years, decades, eras, of use.

But that’s not the first thing Cassie notices. “What,” she gags and fights to keep her voice from cracking, “do you have roadkill inside that jacket?” 

“You’re not meant to badmouth the Grim Reaper. The God of Death.”

She jumps to her feet, leaving her sheets a tangled wreck in her wake, and swings her arm to shove a firm finger at his chest. “Didn’t you say you weren’t going to kill me?” 

“I never said that. I just said that’s what the neighbors would think. You’re going to die eventually. Sooner with that attitude. But first…” he pulls a sheet of paper from the folds of liquid shadow.

“Wow, I get your business card?” she hisses, driven to hysteria with the shock.

“You get to say goodbye.”

Her mask of whip-sharp sarcasm drops for the first time since she woke, revealing an ashen face. “To who?”

“Well, I have a whole list for you to get through before you can go. Anyone who was important to your story. A highlight reel of sorts.”

“Important? For better, or for worse?”

“Both.”

The blockade comes hastily back, and with a vengeance. Cassie’s voice deepens to a seething simmer. “That makes sense. If it was only for the better, that list would only have one name on it.”

“Whose?”

“Mine.”

He unfolds the sheet and gives it a once-over before tucking it back into the void. “We’ll see about that. Now, come here,” he says, arms outstretched as if offering her a hug. His cloak hangs on either side, forming immense bat-like wings. 

She stares incredulously. 

“I wouldn’t suggest testing my patience. Get over here.”

As soon as she paces within reach, he curls his wings to meet, enveloping her completely and blocking out any light. However, it’s only that way for a heartbeat until the darkness gives way once more. Waves of sudden disorientation wash over Cassie; she can’t distinguish why, but some sixth sense tells her that she’s not in the same place she was a moment ago. Then again, it could just be that stench getting to her. In the belly of the beast, it’s a toxic cocktail of garlic, nail polish remover, and cheap perfume. In other words: an instant headache. Cassie strains her eyes to study her new surroundings, but the only illumination comes from a streetlight across the road. They appear to be in a neighborhood. The form of a shiny car is barely visible from the driveway they stand in. 

“I’ve already risked too much, allowing you to see me. So this time, you have the honors,” he whispers, reaching into his cloak once again. He pulls out a dark key engraved with miniature skulls and waves it near a door. The key’s teeth shift on command.

“Very on brand.” Cassie takes the key from his outstretched hand and pushes it into the door. It slides in with ease and, what would you know, is an exact fit.

“Good luck, and take all the time you need. I’ll be right outside.”

What a comfort, she thinks as she cautiously steps inside the house, feeling like a skittish and feral cat forced into exploration. Luckily, the halls here have light in the form of nightlights plugged into the wall. Their mauve glass turns the light red, and the glass has thick layers of dust along their tops. Cassie freezes when she notices the butterflies etched into their sides for an additional touch. 

Cassie used to love butterflies. In fact, she loved them so much (and despised the dark with such a passion) that her mother installed butterfly nightlights in each hall. 

She immediately turns on her heels and opens the door wide, hissing at the Reaper, “Just kill me now. I don’t want to say goodbye.”

He just laughs. “No scientist gives their lab rats an opt-out, and you’re no exception.”

“If it’s my time, I just want to be done with this.” she insists.

Suddenly, his voice jumps directly into her brain, deepening tenfold and sounding as if it had been dragged through gravel. “You’re going to say goodbye first, and it doesn’t matter to me if it’s by choice or by force. But you’re going to say goodbye either way.” 

Cassie squeaks and slams the door shut on his face.

She’s on her own now, creeping down these butterfly halls, the reek of death following her. She knows exactly where to go- up the stairs, and into the door to the left of the bathroom.

“Nicole? Daniel?” she whispers, allowing their door to creak open. 

Their forms on the bed don't stir, forcing Cassie to take matters into her own hands. She gently shakes her mother’s shoulders, then more violently after her mother groans noncommittally, until her bleary eyes open. 

“Don’t scream,” Cassie whispers.

Of course, Nicole screams, which causes Daniel to snap to wakefulness. He sits up, takes one look at the figure by their bed, and joins the chorus. 

“Oh, god,” she mutters. 

Daniel flies to his feet and takes hold of the nearest object- an abnormally large, hefty flashlight- and lunges, weapon swinging right at Cassie’s skull. 

An instinctual, adrenaline-fueled duck takes hold and she narrowly avoids getting smacked upside the head. “DANIEL. IT’S ME!”

She faintly makes out his shape in the red light, readying another go like a batter.

“DAD,” she says.

Nicole stops her wailing to whisper, “Mary?”

“Good try, but the wrong daughter. I’m the lesser one. The one that’s alive.” she turns to her father, who has been released from his spell. However, he still holds the flashlight high. 

“Cass,” he whispers. They stand there like it’s some western showdown, each person afraid to even twitch a muscle. But then the anger comes. “Where have you been? What are you thinking, coming here in the middle of the night?”

“It’s a long story, alright? I just need to say goodbye, then I’ll be on my merry way.” she relaxes. 

“What do you mean, goodbye?” Nicole slowly rises from bed, tossing the comforter aside. 

“You’ll think I’m crazy,” Cassie says aloud. Then, more quietly to herself, with less confidence than she would hope,  “I’m not,” 

Her mother grabs her in an embrace. “It’s been so long. I’m just happy to see you.”

“No, you aren’t.” she snarls.

“Of course I am. Cassandra, if you need help, you need to tell us. We want to help.”

Cassie shoves her away as if she’d been scalded. “What a joke. You want to help now? You can’t just… do that.”

Daniel cuts in with his logical, level voice. “Do you need help?”

“You left me alone! I was alone! I’ve been alone! I get that you were going through a rough time after Mary...” she drops off and pauses to catch her breath.  “But I was going through a hard time too. You lost your child, but I lost my sister.”

“We never meant to make you feel that way,” her mother makes herself small as if Cassie was taking up all the space in the world.

“Could have fooled me. Even now you choose Mary over me.”

Neither of them has anything to say. They’ve never had anything to say. 

Cassie storms out, slamming their door behind her. They protest too late, saying things like “Don’t go! Cass, wait!”.

But they don’t chase after her, do they? 

“Goodbye!” Cassie shrieks before closing the front door. She carries on, past the Reaper and down the driveway, across the dead street, until she reaches the street lamp. She collapses at its base and smears her tears all over her face in a frenzied effort to rid herself of them. 

“So, how did it go?” the Grim Reaper appears squarely in the streetlamp’s ray.

“Great! Just great!”

The light makes his misty outfit glimmer and roil. It's as if someone has poked a hole through the night, allowing the heavens to pour directly over the God. “Are you done here?” he asks, softly. 

            Before standing, she slides her hands down her face and groans “More than done. Take me. Kill me. I've said my goodbye, happy now?”

           “It’s not your time yet.”

           Thus, with no greater ceremony, she marches directly into his open arms and allows herself to be swallowed. 

           She's released to another doorway once again. She knows the drill by now. Once his ominous key shifts to fit this particular lock, she uses it to charge directly into the apartment, only stalling once to glance over her shoulder. 

         The first time, she was scared out of her wits. Not to mention furious. But now, she feels like a tire that's been worn smooth. Beaten down by the rough asphalt until she can no longer find traction, knowing that she's going to be thrown out at the first opportunity.  

Not a trace of familiarity is present here. Cassie carries on through the hallways, tracing her hand along the wall, trudging on towards a cacophony of noise. It’s muted and not entirely present, but a mess of sound all the same. It takes her a moment to place her finger on it- the television. And, as she turns a corner, she finds the familiarity. One of the highlights of her life. Sitting on the couch, mindlessly staring at the screen. 

“Go ahead. Scream,” she says aloud.

Sam whips his head in her direction and looks as if he’s been tased, each muscle rigid and shell-shocked. 

“Cass.” his voice comes out strangled and hoarse, “It’s been so long.”

While his words mirror what Cassie’s parents had said, the tone couldn’t be more different. He says it sincerely, not simply to placate her. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” she smiles.

“No. It's keeping me up. Work… family…” mid-sentence, he sits up and slides an empty bowl off of the cushion next to him. “What are you waiting for?” 

She takes the seat and curls up beside him. Suddenly, it’s all awkward. Memories that have been buried in the mud for months resurface. Newfound tension crackles between the pair. 

Sam breaks the silence with a rub of his neck and a chuckle: “How did you get in my house?”

“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“I’m dying. Or maybe dead. I don’t know.”

Out of all the things he could have guessed, that wasn’t one of them. But, at least it gets him off of the topic of a possible burglary.

“Oh, no. No, no. What…” he fumbles for words, “how are you dying?”

“Not sure,” she says, honestly. 

If this conversation was a car, it’s just pulled into the wrong street. Cassie backs up and tries again. Just pretend this is a normal day. You didn’t just show up in the middle of the night via Grim Reaper.

“So, what have you been up to recently?”

He gestures to the small, cheap TV. “That. But, more importantly, what have you been doing? Where have you been? I was worried about-”

He remembers the chasm between them, the icy treatment he’d received the last time they talked, and stops himself.

“I’ve been... around. After Mary, my sister, passed…”

“I remember.”

Cassie nods. “My parents couldn’t even stand to look at me. I guess it hurt too much. It got to the point that I just had to leave, for all of us. Then I was alone.”

It was at that point, Cassie can distinctly remember, she decided that she was better off without any traces of her old life. She was young. She still is. But she was itching to start clean and abandon everything- Including Sam- for weeks before it became unbearable. She pulled the trigger and disappeared into the woodwork.

“I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

His words strike her. “No, you didn’t,” she says, thinking it over. I chose to be alone.

The conversation after that point feels like walking through concrete. Slow, awkward, and with both of them wondering how they got there until Cassie gets to her feet and says “I’ll leave you to your show. Goodbye.”

Badly concealed relief flickers upon his face. “See you later,” he says with a wave.

I wish I could, Cassie makes her way back to the Reaper outside the door, surprised to realize that it’s true. She wishes she could see him again. And, while we’re at it, she wishes she could see her parents again. For the first time since Mary died, she yearns for the people she once surrounded herself with. 

“I wish it didn’t end this way,” Cassie says to the Reaper, thinking out loud. “Who’s next on the list?”

“That’s it.” he declares.

“What?” she flinches and recoils, taking a step back. “No. I’m not ready to go.”

“The songbird sings a different tune now?”

The accusing finger from the very beginning makes another appearance, rising nervously. “How did I die, then? I felt fine last night. I didn’t die. You can’t take me.”

“You of all people should know that Death doesn’t need a reason to visit,” it’s a nod to Mary. She had gone to bed feeling great one day, but she never got up. He continues, “but you didn’t go through death. You went through something much worse. You had no will to live.”

Cassie pauses her crazed panic and does a double-take.  “So, I didn’t die?” she slowly asks. 

“You’re going to die eventually. But not today. And, with that attitude, hopefully not tomorrow either. Or next year. Or for fifty years.”

“You’re helping me?” she laughs bitterly. “You’re the God of Death.”

“Just because it’s my job doesn’t mean I like it. And, frankly, I’m sick of taking people too soon. And I’m even sicker of these people who aren’t dead- just missing the spark of life- entering my realm. You say you wish it didn’t end this way?”

He spreads his wings wide. 

“Well, go. Go make it end differently.”