Akhtem Kurbanov

There was something about the night that the dead loved. Something about the cold and dark that got them excited and made them come out of their hiding places to play. Akhtem didn't know what it was, but all he knew was that he liked it too. Wearing his coat over his waistcoat and walking in the dark with his walking stick in hand gave him more pleasure than any orgasm could.

To most people, it was just a chilling night in November, but to Akhtem, it was a night to work. There was one more thing about the dark he loved; the dead. Around him, hidden between layers and layers of vision were ghosts. They took up the entire street. Some were running, some were peeking through the windows of houses, desperate for the barest sliver of life, while most of them were simply waiting. For what? He didn't know and he didn't care. But as he walked on, he could feel their stares on him, as if they were hungry for the life that brimmed within him.

Akhtem shrugged. Death gave a deeper chill than any winter could bring. It was a chill that ran deeper beneath skin and the bone, until it reached the soul. That was the kind of chill the stares of the ghosts gave him. Thankfully, they couldn't come near him. They knew his name, and he knew theirs. Even as he walked past them, he could hear the bitter whispers of some of them, echoing his name like a mantra. Akhtem Kurbanov. He, however, chose to believe they kept staring at him because of his good looks. It wasn't every night they saw a black man as gorgeous as himself in a waistcoat.

He walked on for a few more minutes, savouring the feel of the night and the chills of the dead before he reached his destination. There was a bench under the streetlight. One of those old benches that held a thousand memories from the day it was made. The only memories the bench held tonight was death. Akhtem wiped off a stain from the bench before he sat down. There was no way he would get his beautiful black cloak stained tonight.

He sat down there for quite little while, simply looking at the house across the street. The house was brightly lit up and through the windows, he could see a man and a little girl in there. It was a beautiful sight watching him carry the girl to her room and tuck her in bed. It made Akhtem smile, as it did the person sitting beside him in the bench.

"She's beautiful, right?" the woman sitting beside him said.

Akhtem nodded. "She is."

"She took the red hair from me, but those fierce brown eyes are from Taron," she said with a sigh. Akhtem looked at the woman and saw that indeed, the little girl had her red hair. They also had similar angular faces and large body structures. The woman was a beautiful redhead giant with dull blue eyes. She had a smile plastered on her face too. She was clad in a simple attire. Jeans and a purple blouse. Not the appropriate dressing for a chilly night like this, but Akhtem wasn't bothered.

"What about you, mister?" the woman said.

"Huh?"

"Do you take anything from your parents?"

Akhtem shrugged. "Oh... Well, I took my black skin from my dad. As well as the family business," he answered.

"Family business?" the woman said thoughtfully. "What's your job?"

"I'm a collector slash therapist of sorts," he answered. The woman gave a confused frown, nudging him to explain. "I collect souls and help people move on. Like the grim reaper, only hotter and very much alive." His voice was cool, one of the many things he liked about himself.

The woman laughed softly. "You're funny. Grim reaper. That's a good one. I hope you find your next soul in time."

Akhtem dragged a nervous laugh. "I've already found her. Her name is Antoinette August," he told her.

"That's my name," the woman said with glee. "Too bad I'm not dead yet."

"You are," Akhtem said more sharply then he intended. He shut his eyes briefly and dipped his hand in a pocket to pull out a card.

"I'm pretty sure I'll know if I'm dead," Antoinette pointed out.

"No, you won't. You are dead, Antoinette. You've been for a while now."

Antoinette frowned. "This isn't funny anymore."

"Fine. Why don't you pickup your bag and go in your house right now. I'm sure Taron and Emily are expecting you," he told her.

It was then Antoinette began to cry. "I ca—I can't," she said. Akhtem held her hand gently. Her translucent grey form glowed a little as they touched. Then they shared memories. Akhtem saw Antoinette have a stroke on this bench two years ago. He saw her vow to always watch over her daughter who was crying over her dying body. That explained things. When he let go of her hand, Antoinette gasped. He, however, left his card in her hand.

"That's my card," he told her.

Antoinette brushed away the tears. It was weird watching a ghost cry. "Detective Akhtem. London police de—"

"Bloody hell! Wrong card," Akhtem said and quickly snatched it out of her hand. He handed her the other card in her pocket with a smile.

"Akhtem Kurbanov. Professional grim reaper, therapist and consultant on the afterlife," she read. Then she looked at him dully. "Very exciting card you've got here."

Akhtem frowned a little. "Can we go back to when you were crying?"

"I'm not going anywhere," Antoinette said firmly and turned her attention back to the house.

"Your dad hired me," Akhtem started. "He has some suite of sorts in the afterlife and he wants his only daughter to come join him. You mum's there too."

Antoinette rolled her eyes. Another weird thing for a ghost to do. "Listen to me, Death, I'm not going anywhere. This is where I belong. With my family."

"Do well not to call me death next time. You might piss off Death. He has a bad temper. Terrible bloke. One time, he stole a soul for himself instead of leaving it to reapers like me. Back to business, however. You need to move on, Tonie. Look at that. Emily is safe and happy. Taron has done a great work over the past two years. She doesn't need some silent watcher," he explained. "You know, she goes to your grave once a month."

"Really?" Antoinette asked, her dull eyes widening softly. Akhtem wasn't sure if it was her grey form that made her eyes dull or if that was how it was before.

"Yes. Do you know what she says? She hopes you're better wherever you are," he told her.

"You stalking my daughter, turd?" the ghost asked, raising her voice.

Akhtem sighed. "No! Jesus, no. Just stuffs I heard from the ghosts around. Point is, you need you move on."

"You're terrible at this," the woman informed him.

"I know. But we gotta do the family business."

Antoinette looked through the window and saw her daughter sleeping soundly. Akhtem offered a smile and said something about Emily doing okay. "One question, am I going to hell?"

Akhtem smiled. "No. But I'm not promising heaven either though," he told her.

Antoinette licked her lips. "I'm ready. Another question though, I thought I would see a light after death or something. Like you know how people say stuffs about seeing the light."

"Sweetie, I am the light," Akhtem told her with a smile before his eyes glowed a bright white and shone on Antoinette. Like the divine light of heaven. If anyone was passing by, they wouldn't see anything there. But the dead were around, and they knew what was happening. The ghosts moved closer, circling them and desperate for a touch of the light. But as quick as it began, the light disappeared, and Akhtem was alone on the bench with a legion of ghosts around him.

He sighed loudly. Helping a ghost move on was tough work. The ghosts around drew nearer, earning a dark look from Akhtem. They still kept drawing closer. Akhtem whistled and a jackal materialised on the bench beside him. Akhtem stroked the soul devourer. "If any of those cocksuckers take even a step nearer, eat them," he instructed the jackal.

There was something about the night the dead loved. Akhtem didn't know what it was, but he liked it too.