Halloween 2018: Choose Your Spooky Outcomes: Chapter 12
You might not know what powers a Grim Reaper has over bringing people back to life, probably limited considering the job title, but they can’t be worse than what you have now, which is dick all. “Victoria, give me the bag. I’m crossing over.”
She tosses it, however someone else snatches the pouch as it tumbles through the air, snagging it effortlessly. Dark gloves wrapped around boney fingers curl over the material, bringing it close to a long, flowing robe that seems to join with the very shadows, making it impossible to tell where the robe ends and the darkness begins. In the other hand, also gloved, there is a long, smooth handle leading up to a gleaming silver blade.
“No.” The word ripples through you, like a current surging through the very world. “You’ve made enough trouble for tonight. I do not have time for a false Reaper.”
Deep down, part of you was afraid this would happen the moment you put on the Grim Reaper costume. What if the real deal took offense? And yet, staring at what is clearly a manifestation of death, you find that your fear is largely absent. Of all the things in life you worry about, death is one of the few exceptions. Not given what you know about yourself. Much, much scarier is the idea of ending this night with your brother still a withered husk.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to cause problems, we actually came to help.” Looking around the destroyed room, you realize that perhaps this year wasn’t as successful as you might have hoped. You also notice that Jim and Victoria are frozen, still trapped in the moment of throwing the bag. “I just wanted to save Thad.”
The bag burns away in that gloved hand, turning to ash, and even that has dissolved before it drifts all the way to the ground. “What you seek should be impossible. But your brother is special, as you’ve noted. For his kind, the rules become flexible.”
That dark figure turns, facing you fully for the first time. You can’t quite make out his face under the hood, only flashes of white and a pair of sockets that you can somehow see despite the shadows. “It will not be pleasant.”
“Pretty sure I’ve had worse,” you counter.
He draws back the scythe, it’s tip on a perfect trajectory for your heart. “Some advice. Without light, there is no reflection. Without reflection, it is not truly a mirror.”
“Thanks.” That gives you a good idea of what to do next, assuming this works. You’ve got hope, more than you expected minutes prior. Death is oddly more accommodating than you thought. “For doing this, as well as the advice. I thought you’d be opposed to me taking a life back. Or mad at me because my power keeps bringing me back.”
Um, maybe that last line was a bit much. No way to tell if this fellow is surprised or not, given the face situation. When he speaks again, its with the same tone. That might be the only one he was, come to think of it.
“Were his situation different, my demeanor would be as well. Yet you are right, that is not all this is. Consider it my apology. I have tried to free you many, many times, all of them unsuccessful.” He pulls back the scythe a hair more, the only warning you get before the strike. “Because you are mistaken. You are not gifted. You are trapped.”
There are quite a lot of follow-ups you’d like to ask about that, but sadly there’s no time. The gleaming silver cuts right through your heart in a single motion. Your body turns limp instantly, mind already fading as you fall to the floor. All things considered, this is in the running for your most painless…
Dead End