from someone. It means a bunch of nonsense.”
As the boy sat, his father continued. “Anyway as I was saying. The soul that humans believe in is a myth. Soul is pure energy. It’s the driving force behind human action and emotion. Consider it their fuel. When I take someone, I take The Soul and consume it. It ceases to exist as you know it. It’s what keeps Death going.”
“So there is nothing after death,” the boy asked picking up the jar and examining the blue light with a finger. It had a cold viscous feel, much like mud. He recoiled and bit, hoping the thing opposite him didn’t notice.
The Reaper sat across him and leaned on the table with his arms folded. “For humans, no. Death is the end. For us, Death always is. It keeps us here. Even after humans are gone, there will be Death in some form, therefore we’ll always be around in some form, too.”
“How do I eat this?”
The elegant espousing didn’t seem to phase the kid. Giving up, the Reaper answered, “just drink it.”
The young man nodded, uneasily put the jar to his mouth, and drank timidly. The substance was quite sweet, much like honey. It was both warm and cold as the same time: cold as it went in and warm as it went down. His hunger, slight thought it was, immediately disappeared. At the same time, he felt his strength coming back. The dull aching and throbbing dissipated and a new sense of satisfaction came over him. He greedily consumed the remainder. After he was done, he slammed the jar on the table and heavily sighed. “That was delicious! I’ve never tasted anything so good!”
The Reaper’s widened his grin. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Soul gives you strength.”
After a few seconds of silence the boy spoke. His voice was stronger and deeper. “If you take and drink souls, what happened to mine? Do I still have it?”
“Of course you do. It’s just not the same as it was when you were human. I’ve removed some of the weaknesses.”
“Such as,” the boy questioned.
“Things like strong emotion. I’ve taken away all the negative aspects of humans: greed, rage, sorrow, and pain. You’re better off without it. It’ll make it easier for you to exist here. I’ve also taken your memory. I know it sounds harsh but knowing what you was before I brought you here might be harmful. Missing it won’t hinder you. It’s like you’re reborn.
The boy shifted in his seat and pushed the jar aside. He looked away as he spoke to The Reaper. “What if I don’t want to stay here? What if I want to go on? You know…die.”
“Well,” said The Reaper rising, “I’m not going to force you to stay. I understand that is all a bit much. I mean you find out that you’re dead…but not really dead…and then you find out that The Grim Reaper wants to adopt you. Yeah, I’ll say that’s a lot to take in at once.”
“This place is scary. It’s dark and it’s cold. Where are we anyway?”
The Reaper walked to the stained glass window and pointed towards the outside. “We’re in a place called The Deadlands. It’s the realm of Death. There are two other realms, too. There’s The Mythosphere where all the monsters and supernatural creatures live and then there’s The Terrasphere, where you come from.”
A deep fear came over the boy. The word death was so final. Or so it had been when he was alive. Now it meant something else. Death was his life. It was his new way to survive. Guilt suddenly took over. He was going to be living at the expense of the deaths of others. That didn’t seem right. The more he thought about it, the idea of staying in The Deadlands became less appeasing. He got up from the table and joined The Reaper at the window. The graveyard beyond was pretty much standard fare: the ground was bleak and dead, a great many ancient tombstones dotted the place, twisted black trees with skeletal branches stood at various points around the yard, and a swirling low lying mist clung close to the earth. The sky was becoming dark. What little light there was began to rapidly fade. The place was ugly and depressing. How could he reside in such a place? It all seemed so unnatural. Consuming The Soul had been very pleasing; it had filled him with a sense of well being and comfort. Doing that seemed the only good thing about the place. What would he do all day while The Reaper was out? The mausoleum didn’t look like the type where excitement was the norm. Another thought suddenly came to him. This must be a dream. It had to be. Something like this could never really happen…it was too surreal. He turned around and leaned against the countertop.
“This must be a nightmare. It has to be.”
“No, it’s very real. Or at least as real it can get after Death. I’m sorry it’s bothering you so much. I never would’ve done if I knew it was going to be this way.”
“How did you expect me to act? Did you think I was going to welcome you with open arms?”
The Reaper sighed and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll make it right. I’ll let you go.”
Suddenly, the idea of dying frightened him. Just seconds ago, the notion seemed comforting. What had happened? Why had death suddenly become horrific? The boy stood up quickly and spoke with a fast pace. “No! Not yet anyway. Let me think about it. Please.”
The Reaper nodded, surprised at the new tone. “That seems fair. I’ll let you stay and think it over.”
“Thanks.”
The sound of steps upon the staircase caught them both by surprise. A raspy, rough voice came from above. “Damn it! I knew that stupid old git would do that! I never should have trusted him!”
A split second later, a figure appeared and walked into the kitchen. He was dressed in a neat velvety black suit with an equally neat black vest. The ruffles on the shirt’s chest and sleeve ends were a stark contrast to the man’s gaunt grey-green face. It was fancy and effeminate while the man who wore it was course and rough. His eyes glowed under a giant black wide brimmed hat; strands of long brown disheveled hair poked from under it. He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of the boy.
“What the hell is this, brother,” he asked pointing.
The Reaper put his arm around the lad and spoke proudly to the newly arrived person. “This is…well…I don’t know what his name is…he’s…uh…a new guest in our home.”
“Ha! New guest? We’ve never even had a guest much less a new one!”
The man’s tone was unfriendly and crotchety. The Reaper looked down at the boy apologetically. “This is my brother, The Ankou. He hates the title “the” and prefers just Ankou.”
“What is he?”
Ankou huffed and walked towards the pair with an out pointed finger. “What was that? What am I? You have the audacity to talk to me that way, child? How very dare you!”
“Ankou, calm down, I’m sure he didn’t mean anything be it. You are scary looking you know. And that ridiculous hat doesn’t help, either,” The Reaper replied.
Ankou reached up and touched his hat like it was a person that needed comforting. “Don’t get started on my hat, brother. You know how I feel about that! Anyway, you still haven’t told me who this is.”
“The Reaper brought me here if you really must know, mister.”
He looked at the boy incredulously with a gaped open mouth. “Is this true? You brought this child home with you?”
The Reaper nodded. “Yes, I did. Do you have a problem with it?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” said Ankou pacing around the kitchen with his arms behind his back, “he isn’t some stray or a piece of thrown away junk. He’s a…a…person. That’s crazy. I tolerated that ghoul you have working for you but a human is another thing. We don’t associate with them. They’re not like us at all. They’re alive.”
“I told you I wanted a child, Ankou.”
The man with the hat stopped and gave The Reaper a startled look. “You were serious about that? I thought it was all talk. You do that a lot. You say one thing and then do another. I can never trust what you have to say!”
“It gets lonely here. I don’t have anyone to talk to.”
“What about me?”
The Reaper
waved his hand dismissively towards Ankou. “It’s not the same.”
“Pardon me for livng…er…being dead. I’m sorry I’m not exciting like this child. He is exciting isn’t he?”
The boy thought it was time to stand up for himself. These adults were talking as if weren’t there. He pulled away from The Reaper and up to Ankou. This man was unbearably condescending and rude. He had to be put in his place. “I’m a hundred time more exciting than you, you old goat! Your behavior is unbecoming a gentleman!”
The Reaper chuckled. Ankou shot him and angry look and The Reaper tried stifling his laugh with a hand.
“Don’t you sass me, child!”
“Sass? Really? What is this, 1775? No one says that anymore.”
Ankou backed down a little. He looked as if someone had told him he was alive with color. Stepping away from the boy, he addressed his brother. “What use is he to you? Is he going to be the maid?”
“Maid!” shouted the boy. “I’ll show you maid!”
The Reaper motioned to the boy to draw back. “Settle down. He didn’t mean anything. And to answer your question, brother, he’s going to assist me.”
Ankou laughed. “Is he now?”
“Yes, he’ll be like a son…you know…me showing him the family business.”
The boy sat on the bench in total surprise. He was going to help The Reaper? That changed things. He was now faced with dying or becoming an angel of death. What was the lesser of the two evils? Which one presented itself
Prelude One: Death as a Boy Page 2