The Untold Story of a Grim Reaper: Chapter 1.2: Purgatory

Chapter 1. Part 2.

In my blank stare, I hadn’t notice Ardith’s absence till one of the frowning men was standing in front of me. Holding out a large book, whom I presumed was Benzion, I was instructed, “Take it and listen closely.”

Lifting the book from his single hand, I had trouble carrying it with both as I traded him the black scroll. He started walking down the opposite direction of the podium. A path of white brick and mist, but I failed to react to his command. Hands tucked behind his back he was a couple meters away when he called out without turning around, “Haven’t forgotten how to walk, have we?”

“No,” I stammered, “No, I’m coming.” I fast walked to the side of the seven-foot man. His black robe dragged behind him. The frown sketched on his face remained. I asked timidly, “Where are we going?”

In a business like manner, “To your mentor. But in the meantime we’re going to go over the rules for reapers.” He tapped his finger on the book, “Turn to page one.” 

I heard him but couldn’t bring myself to open it. It was emotionally too difficult to have to open it. It’s leather binding didn’t feel good against my skin. Kafziel was sown in large letters along the spine. I hated every bit of what I was holding; it terrified me to open it. Benzion abruptly repeated himself to open it. I did so with much caution and read aloud:

1.    YOU MUST LIVE WITH THE LIVING

Benzion, “Because your soul is still attached to the living world, you must remain with the living. You will be stationed near a private school in Georgia till further notice. Relocation is subject to change without your say in the matter. You must live and learn with the people you may possibly have to reap. Keep reading. Section B of rule 2.” 

I made a difficult swallow before continuing:

SECTION B

2.    YOU MUST NEVER INTERFERE WITH SUICIDAL DECISIONS

Coldly, “Your only job is to reap and deliver the souls of suicide victims. If you were to try to prevent a suicide, depending on the courts decision, you could possibly spend all of eternity as a Reaper in Hell, only to return to earth to reap. You will never rest. Carry on.”

3.    YOU MUST NEVER FALL IN LOVE

“The water in your new body is poison. If anyone come in contact with your fluids, they will perish. This prevents any actually relationships from growing. The dead cannot partake in an experience that is solely meant for the living. Next rule.”

I couldn’t help but sound shaky as I continued:

4.    YOU MUST NEVER MURDER

“If you are to end a life, or aid in the murder of any life, in your time as reaper, your sentence will remain permanent with absolutely no chance of passing over. Do not take a life, for you will carry out your sentence for all eternity in Hell only to return to earth to reap the souls of the,”

“dead.” I finished. My teeth chattered in my mouth. I could barely stand, “Benzion, I-”

He interrupted, “I’m not finished.” I shriveled behind the colossal book, Benzion stopped walking and for once made eye contact with me, “I need to make some things clear. You are not the only reaper or creature of your kind. There are millions, but note that not all are your friend. If you are to discover someone of your kind you may reveal yourself. Know that it is impossible to reveal yourself to the mortal world, there is no possible way for you to confess to the living of your condition.” 

I nodded. He pulled out a long, white whistle made of what looked like a small antler. He continued, “Know that if you are to abuse or misuse your abilities as reaper your sentence can be lengthened. Your existence in time can be easily manipulated. Just be wise and you should be fine.”

Be wise? Clearly being wise was not one of my strong suits considering my situation. I huffed, the mist surrounding my head pushed. I peeked farther into the book. Seeing page after page of animals. They were mostly of birds, an intricate sketch of an owl caught my attention before Benzion snatched the book urgently, “That is not for your concern.”

“I’m sorry.” I stood with a heavy shrug, avoiding eye contact with Benzion.

Benzion laid a hand on my shoulder, “I’m sorry, I do this often, it tends to bring the worst out of me when I do cases like yours.”

I accepted the apology with a small nod. Afraid to speak. Benzion adjusted the whistle in his mouth, taking in a large breath. On the exhale the whistle, rather than a high-pitched squeal, played a song. It sounded like people humming in every chord known to man in perfect harmony.

The faint sound of clicking hoofs came from the distance ahead. The white-bricked road with no visible end, due to the fog, showed signs of something coming our direction.

Still shaking, I crossed my arms to hide my anxiety. Benzion seemed not phased by the ominous gallops. The sound of stones hitting each other bounced around the endless room. My heart felt dark and small in my chest with every click that approached. 

“Signature please,” Benzion held out a pen and the bottom of the scroll where a blank page called my name.

I took the pen and took in another huge swallow, the taste of my own saliva gave me a dark thirst. I looked at Benzion but he he was unmoving, his frown pulling on his face and sitting violently still on his jaw. 

I took the pen, it felt like marrow but weighed heavier than it looked. I pressed the pen to the page and dragged it across the given space. Red ink bled on the scroll as I wrote my signature, thinking Edith Demetria Rothschild but writing Noa Charon. 

Come what may.