A Grimm Companionship

Perhaps there was a time when you had a name like Susan or Mary or Thomas, and perhaps there was a time where you lived in a nice wooden house on a hill with a garden and a dog in the backyard. Perhaps there was a time where you went to school and had all kinds of friends, when you said good morning to your parents, and goodnight when they tucked you in. Perhaps you were loved once. But if such times existed, you don’t remember them now, because your soul is older than it should be, and ever then it ever could have been. Because your name is not Susan or Mary or Thomas, it is Death’s Daughter, a name fitting for your role in the world, which is to reap the souls of the dead. It is not the most pleasant of occupations, but it is a necessary one. For there was a time when death could see to every passing himself, a time when people were few and he could kiss them each goodnight. But today mortals are plentiful, and help is summoned in the form of you. Who are you? Who loved you? Who made you and what are you made of? You know nothing but your purpose, and perhaps it is all you will ever know. So you might as well do your job right. You frequent hospitals of course, they are clean and respectable places. You like them because you know them. You weave in, collect the soul, and leave before grief finds itself in your place. And no one ever sees you, just as no one ever sees you, because if they cast their eyes on you, you are a shadow on the wall. Humans are incredible in their skill of not noticing things. Sometimes however, they do see. Few individuals that you have met have seen your face, they knew who you were, and for a second their eyes were wide with fear or longing or relief. And then their eyes close. One of those individuals was Louise Northfield, who you did not meet in a hospital, nor any respectable place. You met her hunched over a dirty kitchen sink, head bowed, wrists red and raw with cuts. A bloodied knife lay haphazardly on the bench. As you drew closer, you saw the house was in a wretched state, and no one had cleaned it in much time. You saw her lonely sadness, etched in the peeling wallpaper, draped over the plated piled high in the sink, sewn into the covers of a bed used by one but made for two. This was a weary soul indeed, and pity prompted you to be gentle as you carried it on. She lifted her head as you came in, looked into your eyes and smiled. She had been expecting you. “Hello.” You greeted. “Hello,” she said back, “Am I dying?” “Yes. I think so. I’m sorry.” “It’s alright,” she waved her hands dismissively at you, and her smile only grew wider, “I understand. Could I interest you in a biscuit?” “Pardon?” You splutter. You are left, for the first time in centuries, speechless. “A biscuit, ma’am.” She reaches into the cupboard and pulls out a tin, “Wouldn’t you like one?” This was perhaps the strangest offer you had ever been given. You had been begged for a few more days to say goodbye, a second chance to live again, a soul in place for a soul. How peculiar. You smile. “Here,” she passes you a hard little golden cookie, “Golden maple crunch.” “That’s very kind of you.” You humour her and take it, “Thank you.” You turn the biscuit round and round in your hands, run your fingers over the rough texture. You have never held one before. What a strange curio, you think, as you tuck it in your pocket. “Do you like it?” she asks, putting one to her mouth, “Here, have another. My name’s Louise, by the way, Louise Northfield.” “Nice to meet you, Ms Northfield. It is an excellent biscuit, thank you.” “You’re very welcome! If you’re still hungry I could make some… Hm, let’s see.” She looks at her bare cupboard up and down, “Oh, I thought we still had some lasagne. It looks like it’s gone.” The emptiness of the cupboard bares at you. You cast your eyes at Louise, the gauntness of her cheeks, and you wonder how long it has been since she last ate a meal. “I assure you, it’s fine,” You say, “ Perhaps I’ll come by another time.” You’re pushing the laws of the universe, but there is much to be known of Louise Northfield. You’ll see her again. You know you will. She smiles widely at you. Her eyes are hopeful. “Alright. I’ll see you then!”