A Scripta

Grim stood across the street from the ranch house. It was 10 pm, and Grim had to leave Lue, telling him he was being summoned. Grim’s leg was still sore, so he put most of his weight on his left.

Lights were on throughout the house, and there were cars parked in the driveway and on the street. Grim looked down at himself and saw that he was in gray. This meant he was ready.

Grim walked across the street, through a car and the picket fence, right up to the front door. He put his hand out, and passed through the door.

Assorted people were gathered in the TV room. Some were asleep, catching cat naps. Everyone looked exhausted, watching the news without really looking at the TV. He walked by them, and a woman came out of a kitchen with a cup of coffee. Grim stopped short, but he brushed against her. She shivered.

Grim walked around, finding a set of stairs and he climbed up them. A nurse was coming down and passed through him. She stopped, turned around, looking for someone. Grim looked at her – she had probably felt this thing before, being a nurse. She seemed to focus on him for a moment, and then turned slowly away, her head bowed.

He continued up the stairs. Two men were in the hallway, talking. “And I said to him, ‘I think the best thing to do would be to redo it,’ but he thinks that she’ll go within a year.”

“Probably,” said the other man. “Widows don’t last long in this family.”

Grim went past them, brushing them with his wings. The initial speaker said, “Did you feel that?”

“Yeah,” said the other. “You think..?”

“C’mon, you believe that grim reaper crap?” The initial speaker laughed. “That’s like believing in Santa Claus.”

Grim chuckled to himself – maybe he should look into that job, too. He went through the door of the room and saw a man laid out on a pristine bed. He looked like he hadn’t moved from that spot in a long time, as the sheets and blankets around him were unwrinkled. His chest barely rose and fell.

Two people were on either side of the bed. One was an older woman, already dressed in black, sitting on a folding chair and holding the man’s hand. The other was a younger woman, older than Grim, dressed conservatively, and standing next to the bed. She had dark circles under her eyes and looked tired.

Grim looked at the man in the bed. His soul was superimposed on his body – Grim could see the soul looking right at him. “Who are you?” he asked.

“Grim Reaper,” Grim said.

The soul sat up from the body, but was still attached. The man’s body in the bed sighed, and the women jumped. “You don’t look like one.”

Grim wondered if he should demand a dollar for every time someone said that.

The younger woman said, “Mother?” She wasn’t speaking English, but Grim was hearing English. The older woman burst into tears, holding onto the man’s hand.

“I know I’m not what you expect. Sorry to disappoint.” Grim noticed he wasn’t speaking English, either. Since when did he know Russian?

Grim took out his dagger and looked at it. It remained a dagger. This meant he would have to kill him, too. Grim walked around the side of the bed, the soul turning his head to follow his movements. The younger woman turned and left the room. “David, Stan,” she called.

Grim took her place. The soul looked afraid. “Wait, wait, I can’t die.”

Grim tilted his head slightly. “Trying to bargain?”

The two men from the hallway came in and stood at the door. The older woman still cried. The younger woman hadn’t returned.

“I’m sorry, but it won’t work.” Grim raised the dagger. He aimed to cut down, directly into the man’s chest.

Then a surprising thing happened, the man’s soul grabbed Grim’s arm to try and stop him. “No! I won’t die!”

“Everybody…does,” Grim said and pulled his arm out of the soul’s grasp. “It won’t hurt if you don’t fight.”

The body in the bed started to go into convulsions. The older woman started wailing, and the two men rushed out the door to probably get help.

“I can’t die! I'll go to hell!”

“Why?"

"I cheated on my wife."

"Didn't you get your last rites?"

"I never told him..."

"You're taking it to your grave." Grim coldly sliced at the man’s soul. He didn’t realize his dagger had turned into a sickle, and he didn’t realize that he aimed to behead the soul. The head separated from the body, falling back, but disappearing before it hit the corporeal body in the bed.

The body stopped shaking, and the rest of the soul faded away.

“Oh, my God…” He put his hand to his mouth. “Where did he go?”

The bedroom started to fill with people. “I called hospice,” he heard someone say. “She couldn’t have gotten far.”

Grim backed away from the bed, passing through people milling about, still a look of shock on his face. What happened? Did I destroy a soul, too? What happens when I do that? Where does the soul go?

Something told him to get out of that room – he vaguely remembered he only had a certain amount of time before he could clear out. He flew out the door and down the stairs as others came up, and the keening of the older woman didn’t stop. He headed to the door and slammed face-first into it.

“Shit!” he cried, and grabbed the handle with a normal-colored hand, throwing open the door. Luckily, no one saw him as he ran across the lawn, vaulting over the fence and disappearing into the night.