The Reaper

Sebastian hated the forest. Something fell into his hair from a branch above, and he leaned over and frantically shook it out.

No. Hate wasn’t a strong enough word. He loathed the forest. Even his love for his little girl might not be enough to keep him there much longer.

“Rufus!” Stupid dog. “Come here, you mangy mutt.”

He should have bought her that hamster last year when she’d asked for it. Hamsters didn’t run off into dark, dank forests right before the game came on. And hamsters were interchangeable enough that if one did, he could simply replace it without her being any the wiser.

He glared at his watch. He’d already missed the first quarter; he wasn’t going to miss the second one, too. Besides, it was starting to get dark. They could just set out a bowl of food for the miserable animal. If it got hungry enough, it would come back. If not, well, it would be good character-building for the little girl.

With that decision made, Sebastian spun and headed back toward his house. But instead of moving forward as he had intended, he stumbled over a tree trunk and stepped into thin air. The world above disappeared as he fell into darkness.

And fell.

And fell.

Time seemed to stop, as if he floated in an abyss, until a sharp pain shot up his right side, and his mind went dark.

***

Sebastian groaned and raised his hand to his throbbing head. The mattress squeaked with the movement, and he opened his eyes. Bright light burst into his skull, feeding the pain. Intensifying it. He squeezed his eyes closed and hid under the covers, trying to think, but his brain refused to work. It swirled in a sea of confusion and fog. As soon as they formed, his thoughts broke apart like a ship caught in a storm, tossed against the rocks.

A firm voice invaded the tumult. He heard it in the distance and tried to grasp hold of it, but it slipped away. There it was again, tossed out as an anchor, a lifeline. Sebastian shoved the blinding pain away as well as he could and focused on the sound.

“You’ll be late for work if you don’t hurry.”

Sebastian slowly opened his eyes beneath the covers. “Close the window blinds first.”

He concentrated on the exasperated sigh coming from the other man and listened to his steps on the hardwood floor as he crossed the room. It was becoming a little easier to hold back the storm raging in his head. A tinkle of metal and the darkening of the room indicated the curtains had been closed, so he eased his eyes open and lowered the covers.

Sebastian didn’t know where he was. He looked at the man staring at him from beside the window. He didn’t know who that man was.

He was going to be late for work.

He had swung his legs over the side of the bed before he realized he didn’t know where he worked. He turned his eyes back to the man still staring at him from the other side of the room.

“Who are you?”

“I’m your roommate,” the man said with a laugh. There was something wrong with that laugh. It sent chills down Sebastian’s spine.

“You must have hit your head pretty hard last night.”

The pain returned in full force with that reminder.

“What happened?”

“You fell down an old well and cracked open a rock at the bottom. Now, come on. You have to get up, or you’ll be late for work.”

Sebastian got dressed with the other man directing him every step of the way. Where were his clothes? Where was his toothbrush? Where was his razor?

Like a zombie, he followed him out the front door. It was then that he realized he still didn’t know the man’s name.

“What’s your name?”

That laugh again. An echo. That’s what was wrong with it. It was too deep, and it resonated eerily through his head.

“I am the Reaper.”

Sebastian’s mind still wasn’t clear, but even with the fog swirling around it, he recognized that that was not a normal name. Not a good name. It was familiar somehow, but it had a negative connotation attached to it. Suddenly, it clicked.

“The Grimm Reaper?”

He was beginning to hate that laugh.

“You’re not really my roommate, are you?”

“No.”

“Am I dying?”

The strange man snorted. “No. You’re not dying.”

“Then why can I see you?”

“You did hit your head pretty hard. Have you considered that you might have simply jiggled something loose?”

“Something that makes me see death?!”

The Reaper shrugged. “Am I all you can see?”

“What do you mean?”

“Look around. Does anything else appear strange or out of the ordinary?”

For the first time since they’d stepped outside, Sebastian tore his eyes away from the tall aberration and scanned the people milling about on the sidewalks. Everyone seemed normal, just regular people going about their regular day—until his eyes rested on a man in Renaissance garb carrying his head under his arm like the daily newspaper.

Sebastian gasped and stumbled back. “Is that a ghost?”

Shock cleared away the remnants of the fog in his brain and sharpened his focus.

“Yes.”

Anger, disbelief, accusation, filled Sebastian’s eyes as he aimed them forcefully at the Reaper. He should have felt fear. Here before him was death incarnate, but not a drop of fear could be found anywhere in his body at that moment. There was too much else there for it to fit.

“So, I see dead people, now?”

“It looks that way.”

Sebastian growled. “I need to go to the hospital. They’ll fix me.”

“No. They won’t.” The Reaper laughed; the sinister echo grated on Sebastian’s nerves. He examined the thin man. His black suit, black shirt, black tie, black hair seemed to fit his role even while they didn’t.

“Aren’t you supposed to be wearing a robe and carrying a scythe? And I thought you were a skeleton.”

The Reaper bowed mockingly. “Naturally, since everything you see on your television is correct.”

That was enough. Sebastian didn’t have time to waste on this strange creature. If he wasn’t dying—and the Reaper had said that he wasn’t—then he would get on with his life as if none of this had ever happened.

What was his life?

Who was he?

A better question pushed the others aside.

“If I’m not dying, why are you hanging around me?”

“I don’t have anyone I need to kill right now, and I’m curious how you will handle being able to see us.”

Anger surged through Sebastian. He had lost his memory and picked up a terrifying new ability, and this cursed specter found his situation amusing! Was it possible to kill death? For one mad moment, he wanted to try.

He took a deep breath. He wouldn’t allow this thing to rile him. He didn’t want to be late.

“Where do I work?” The pain in his head had dulled, and his thoughts had cleared. He might as well try to surround himself with familiar things so he could more quickly regain his memory.

“This way.”

He struggled to contain and subdue the terror that began to rise in him as time and again he spotted dead people as he made his way along the crowded streets.

They acted as if they didn’t realize they were dead, though he couldn’t understand why not. If their minds were clear at all, they must recognize that living people didn’t go about their days with knives sticking out of their chests or bullet holes through their heads or half their throats ripped out by savage animals.  

“They all died such violent deaths. Is that why they’re stuck here?”

“Not all the dead here died violently. Those are only the ones that are obvious.”

Sebastian’s head shot back and forth, examining the people around him with new eyes.

“Some of the normal-looking ones are dead, too? How can you tell?”

“I am the Reaper.”

“Are they trapped here? Why don’t they leave and move on to the underworld?”

“Anyone who doesn’t belong here can leave this place as soon as they realize they don’t belong and simply make the attempt. It is those who don’t understand they don’t belong—those who don’t try to leave—that are stuck here forever.”

Those who don’t understand they don’t belong. Sebastian raised his hand to his head. The throbbing began to build again when he touched it, but it ceased almost immediately when he pulled his hand away.

“Here we are.” The Reaper had stopped before an impressive office complex.

“This is where I work?” Sebastian glanced back at the smiling face of the Reaper before returning his gaze to the tall structure. “What do I do here?”

“You’re a programmer. You write programs that help people understand things.”

Something about that sounded strange—too vague. But he liked the thought of it. Though it wasn’t familiar. Maybe if he sat in his office and did the work, over time, familiarity would come, and his memory would return.

He wanted to ask if the dead also lost their memories, but he didn’t have the courage. Those who don’t understand they don’t belong. An uncomfortable sensation began crawling up his body. Unwelcome ideas clawed at the barrier he hastily erected around his mind, and his throat tightened in fear. He understood, but he rejected the understanding.

“I’m not dead!” He glared at the Reaper, hatred and determination shooting out from his eyes.

The Reaper simply gave him a tight smile and tilted his head in a slight bow. Of agreement? Acknowledgment of his stubbornness? What? 

“I’m not dead.” Sebastian spun around and stormed into the building, his back ramrod straight and his head held high. He was not dead!

The Reaper laughed his disturbing laugh. No. Sebastian wasn’t dead. But the Reaper would never correct his assumption. He chuckled lightly to himself as he moved back through the crowded street and reentered the house. He waved his hand toward a wall in the bedroom, and a door appeared. He opened it to reveal a small closet with a dark gaping hole in the ceiling. The Reaper flew up through the darkness of the hole and emerged in the forest above.

A small dog barked in the distance.