The life of a Reaper is not known to many from the living world. Humans talk about the ‘Grim Reaper’, he was just bad at his job and got caught in the act. The truth is that there isn’t just one ‘Grim Reaper’ that reaps the souls of all the living that are scheduled to die. That would be ridiculous. The truth is that there are lots of them, all assigned to different places across the world and space. Normally they are assigned to the planet they are from for convenience of their knowledge of that place and of how to blend in. In reality, you can see them all the time. When someone becomes a Reaper, they are generally referred to as a Grim, a term born out of the European myth of the Grim Reaper, a joke among Grims themselves. Becoming a Grim involves making a literal deal with the Devil. The Devil does not belong to any religion, it is more like a boss who also has its own job to do. It appears to all as the figure they most associate with the keeper of the underworld or the opposite to God for some, this makes it easier for most to comprehend what is happening to them. Hell, itself is a place that appears to all differently, depending on their definition of it. It is referred to by those who reside there as The End rather than as hell or other religious based names for it. Some of those who die have what they would consider, ‘unfinished business’, with the world of the living and some are just afraid of dying. The Devil makes an offer to everyone who dies and is bound to hell, go to the underworld, or reap the souls of the living for eternity or until you can buy yourself out of his deal. 99% of people choose to go to the underworld, to die with no chance of coming back. The 1% that take the deal make up the entirety of the Reaper workforce. The job is simple, people are given a certain time to die, the Reaper has to make sure that happens, no matter what, or they go to the underworld and are tortured for eternity but do not die. Reapers are gifted with some advantages, some supernatural powers that make the job possible. Immortality for any resistant clients, teleportation for travel, a map that shows the next target’s location and how to get there and Grims are given a new body, a body that exists on their world. Reaping has no preference or bias, people are allocated a certain amount of time, the elderly, the unborn, men, women, children, no one is immune to death. With the addition of supernatural powers, there must be a certain amount of suffering to balance them, in the eyes of the Devil anyway. The ability to truly feel is gone, no sense truly exists except pain, and for any job that is not completed, the worst sufferings imaginable await. The perception of time is pointless as Grims jump through time, while this would be astonishing it is not by choice and quickly loses its magic.
William ‘Will’ Broderick was waiting in the line to hell. He didn’t know what was happening. He could feel the heavy chains around his wrists and ankles and the burning sensation that radiated from the metal when touching his skin. The smell of rotten flesh was overpowering from the gaping, Lovecraftian hole that was swallowing the souls that trudged along ahead. The confusion and paranoia only grew with every passing second as Will’s brain was trying to summon the cognitive strength to know what was going on. The problem was that Will could not ascertain any information from anything. He did know that was in a large, grey room that seemed to go on forever with no corners or edges in sight. There were no doors, windows, and no discernible light source, yet the room was lit as well as any reception area he had ever seen. He was in a long queue that also seemed to stretch long past the void, on a large metal conveyor belt, just like the ones at the airport. The satisfying whirring noise was not present though and was replaced with a complete lack of spatial or locational awareness. As Will moved closer to the giant hole it seemed to grow, with vicious gas and viscous, infected-looking fluid spouting from growths that reminded him of the boils his uncle used to get in the summer. The closer he got, the more the hole began to look like a mouth but attached to no body. He struggled to escape, wriggling and tugging, desperate to retreat from whatever was happening to him. The chains seemed to get even tighter the more he struggled, screams of agony erupted from Will as the burn from the chains intensified. No one seemed to react to his panic, there was no response from anywhere, not even an echo. The void faces of those around made him think it was a nightmare, but the burning of the chains quickly informed him that this was very real. He got to the front of the queue and was greeted by a small, hairy being wearing bifocals who called to him.
“Name?”, his terse voice asked, with a less than subtle hint of distain.
“William Broderick?”, Will said, unsure if that was even the right answer to the question.
“Pass through or make a deal?”, the being said, looking more disinterested as the conversation progressed.
“Make a deal?”, Will queried, his nose and eyebrows scrunching up as they did when he was puzzled. This was met with a sigh.
“You’re dead son, this is the gate to hell. You’re here because you’ve been a sinner in your time on Earth. Not too bad but bad enough to get you here. My job is to check you in to your eternal damnation OR you get the option to make a deal with the devil and stay on Earth. Did that clear anything up?”
Will couldn’t believe it. “How did I die?”, the words fizzed out of his mouth in a mix of rage and terror.
“Ugh. Really? Fine. Name again?”
“William Luis Broderick”, Will replied as clearly as he could.
Hmm…let me see…William Luis Broderick?”
Will nodded.
‘Young man dead… blablabla… shot in a hit and run. Will be missed by his mother and sisters.’ How typical.”
Will did not want to die; he had never wanted to die. He had not been living the best life, but he could change, he knew he could, but he thought killing him was a bit harsh. “Whatever it is, I’ll take your deal”, the words tumbled out before Will had time to think about them, the overwhelming desire to not be dead was stronger than anything he had felt before. The chains disintegrated, flowing away like ashes in the wind. The burning sensation washed away too, as Will was ushered towards a set of burning charcoal stairs. Walking up the stairs, Will realised that he was going to be alive again, he would have a second chance. He thought he would be overwhelmingly happy, but he wasn’t, in fact, he didn’t feel anything. Reaching the apex of the of the stairs, what Will perceived as the Devil himself was sat in a large mahogany reading chair with plush maroon padding sewed in. The Devil was reading some kind of scroll with comically small reading glasses. “William! My boy, sit down sit down, sign here please”, the Devil beckoned to Will. Obliging, Will signed the scroll and within an instant he was sitting in a bar. He was back on Earth, he was back from the dead, it was a miracle! His clothes were different and there was a scar on his forehead that he didn’t recognise. He was wearing new clothes too, a leather jacket he had never seen before and stunk of smoke. He ran out of the bar to find his family but soon realised that he had no idea where he was. Going back into the bar he noticed that it was not a bar that he had ever been in but looked to be a bar somewhere in Spain or maybe Mexico.
“You’re not here to go back to your life Will”, a voice said from the bar, “you’re here to do a job. Didn’t you read the contract?”, the voice sneered, turning to face him. “Your target is Hector Chilavert, he’s outside smoking, it’s his time. Don’t disappoint me, William.” A white heat emanated from the scar on Will’s forehead, it was like his brain was cooking inside his head. He smacked to the ground, writhing around in pain on the splintered wood floor, he thought his eyes were going to melt out of their sockets. Just as suddenly as it had begun, the pain stopped, a remnant glow was piercing through his scar, like there was an industrial strength light propped up in his skull. The pain had stopped, but it was something he would never forget. Will tried again to leave the bar. He walked outside, the door slapping off the pebbledash wall with an almighty, “THWACK!” He saw a man who must have been Hector, leaning against the wall smoking, the ashes from his cigarette getting caught in his thick, black moustache. “Can I bum a fag man?”, Will asked, feeling the need for nicotine more than ever in his life. Hector looked puzzled and shrugged at the boy, he clearly did not speak much English. “Eh…cigarro por favor?” Will asked, remembering that Portuguese could get him through a Spanish conversation. Expecting the wash of relief that smoking normally gave him, Will still felt nothing, it was like he had a body, but it wasn’t his. It looked like his body, it had the same Portuguese coat of arms tattoo on the left shoulder, same black hair, same hands, but strange scarring on his back that he had just become aware of. The ridges of the scarring scraped painfully along his t-shirt. Will thought about running away again but as soon as he did, he was engulfed in a spin of fire and smoke and was in the bar again.
“Understand this, William!”, a booming, disembodied voice cried, the building trembling from it, “I own you now, so you do what I say. So, kill Hector.”
“But I can’t! I can’t!”, Will screamed to no one.
He found it strange how no one in the bar seemed to help him or even notice him for that matter. It was like he was invisible to them, like he didn’t exist. He felt something in his jacket, it was solid and heavy. Reaching into his jacket pocket, Will felt his skin go cold and the colour leached from his body. He knew what the cold feeling and sharp edges were attached to. Will drew the blade from his jacket and examined it carefully, inscribed into the hilt was something that made him physically sick. “H-E-C-T-O-R”. There was no choice, no other option, Will had to kill him. He crept his way slowly out of the bar, Hector was still outside smoking, it was like time has stood still, like Hector was waiting for his demise. He finished his cigarette and turned to leave. Will began to follow him. He followed Hector down a couple of allies and made it to the outside of his apartment building. He watched as the doomed man opened the door to the complex and waved passively to the building’s security guard. Will appeared on top of the building, a door in front of him, he had no idea how he had got there. He had felt a little woozy, closed his eyes and woke up on the roof in an instant, like he had materialised there. He opened the door and started making his way down the stairs. Each step added to the ever-growing guilt that Will was experiencing, like a giant stone weighing him down from the inside. Will came to Hector’s door, the unmistakeable smell of death lurked in the air, put there by the Devil to mark it out for Will. The door was open, and Will eased his way in. He could hear a television with what sounded like a car race on. He made his way through the hall, taking in the pictures that hung on the wall of Hector and his family at their homeplace. Will followed the sound of running water through the apartment to find Hector’s shower was on. He must have been letting the water get warm. He was in the bedroom and found Hector taking off his shoes completely unaware to his impending doom. “Desculpes”, Will whispered and plunged the knife into Hector’s neck. A fountain of blood began to spray around the room, covering the walls, bed, lamps, everything in a rich red mist. Will felt his stomach send everything back up the way it had come, his vomit on the floor mixing with his burning tears. That familiar fire and smoke surrounding him again and he was taken from the room that had become a horror show.
He was on the floor again, in an office that was attached to the Devil’s bar. Sat in that grand chair again was that unmistakeable demonic presence. “You took your time with that William”, the demon jested, “but you did well, I think we’re going to get along just fine you and I”, it sneered.
Will was consumed by the shock of what he had just done, his insides felt like they were going to jump out through his mouth, leaving him empty. He was already empty. “You…made me kill him”, he whimpered. His lips trembled more and more as he spoke, and the tears continued to burn as they rolled down his cheeks. “I-I killed a man, that…that I have never met before in my life…for no reason”, his voice had become distressed, and he was struggling to breath. The Devil interrupted him, “oh no, no, no William. Not for no reason, not at all. For the greatest reason possible, because it was his time, all people have their time. That is my job, ever so graciously bestowed to me by the ‘upstairs people’.” The Devil bowed sarcastically to the ceiling as he made this speech. “You mean…God?”, Will asked tentatively. “Yes William, God, or Gods or whatever say that people have to die, that’s just the way things are. They’re just too scared to make the decision themselves, so they gave me the job. I obviously can’t do it all by myself, so I need willing participants like yourself to help me,” he explained, grinning a nefarious grin.
Will picked himself up off the ground and got to his feet. “Let me see that contract”, he ordered. “It’s unbreakable you know?”, the Devil answered, still grinning widely. “Yes”, Will replied. He vowed, aloud, that he would find a way to break it, even if it was the last thing he did. The Devil laughed through his reptilian sneer. Even with the demonic conman over his shoulder, Will felt that having the chance to remain on Earth, undead or not, with the possibility of seeing his family at some point was better than anything the gaping mouth of hell’s door had to offer.
By Owen Coyne
Taken to the Corner 
Awesome read! Great stuff Owen!!
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