A Very Reaper Romance

Chapter Three – 364 Days Left

Adrenaline flooded Jack’s veins, who was this and how did they get in? He didn’t recognise the gravelly voice and while his mind told him to run, panic had him rooted to the spot. A tall, hooded figure walked through from the kitchen holding two cups of tea and looking incredibly comfortable for an intruder. The figure placed one cup of tea down next to the armchair Mr Carruthers had been sitting in only the night before, and the other cup by the chair Jack had occupied while he learned of his new predicament.

“I won’t ask again Jack. Sit down.” The figure waved a hand and Jack moved against his will, sliding backwards to the chair. He felt the sensation of invisible hands forcing him to sit in the chair and tried the best he could to brush them off, to no avail. Jack had no choice but to obey, and he felt violated at being forced to move against his will.

“Who are you?” Jack demanded.

The intruder took a leisurely sip of their tea, in no hurry to respond and not removing their hood.

“Drink your tea,” they finally said.

“A stranger breaks into my house, makes me a cup of tea, forces me to sit down and then tells me to drink from a cup that may or may not be poisoned, all without revealing themself? No, I think I’ll pass thanks,” Jack spat, thoroughly annoyed with the situation.

“Well, it’s not like you can get any more dead,” the voice replied, voice deep and dangerous.

“How did you—”

“For all intents and purposes Jack, you can think of me as your boss. You answer to me.” With that, the figure removed their hood, shaking out their long jet-black hair as they did so, and Jack stared Death in the face. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but a pleasant face that appeared ageless was not it. Death’s jaw could cut glass and their dark eyes glinted in the firelight that danced over their smooth ebony skin. Despite the slightly masculine appearance, there was a grace, softness and elegance that hovered around their edges.

Still, Death’s gaze was intense as they stared at Jack, and he could feel the power emanating from them.

“Death,” Jack whispered reverently.

“If you like,” Death replied.

“Um, it’s a-an honour to m-meet you?” Jack stammered.

“Is that a question or a statement?”

“Statement?”

“Are you certain?”

Jack didn’t know what to say, he had already been put on the spot once with Zoie, he didn’t have it in him to come up with anything clever. Thankfully, before he could say anything stupid, Death waved a hand as though brushing away the previous conversation.

“Do you know why I am here, Jack?”

“N-No.”

Death sighed.

“As I’m sure you know, a very long time ago, some of the women in East Barrow came together and created a charm that ensured I had an escort whenever I visited East Barrow. I was a little… overenthusiastic back then.” They paused and chuckled quietly at the memory. Jack shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he waited, not daring to interrupt.

“What is not so widely known, nor part of your nursery rhyme, is that after a few years I got fed up with being babysat, so I met with the healer-women once more. We came to an agreement – I would allow East Barrow to govern their own dead, on the understanding that there would always be one of your dead to mind things locally. A ‘Regional Reaper’, if you will.”

Jack huffed a small laugh, if only to be polite. He regretted his choice and held his breath as Death leaned forward.

“One escort. One keeper. No holidays, no shifts and absolutely no refusing the post. The idea was to save myself a trip and to reduce my paperwork.”

Death sat back and steepled their fingers, a sour expression on their face. “What I said was: the role would pass to the next suitable successor. What they recorded was: the role would pass to the next person who died.”

Death heaved a gruntled sigh and waved a delicate hand.

“Damn healers also added a clause about it being ‘for a year and a day,’ which I do not recall agreeing to. That was the old system, before the Anglo-Saxons – the last to die. But we changed that because things got messy. By the time I noticed what they had done, your town had been doing it that way for over a century, the paperwork was a mess and frankly… it was working.” Death looked at Jack. “So, I decided to leave well enough alone. Which means, congratulations. You’re the Reaper. Temporarily. Any questions?”

Jack stared, unspeaking. He had no idea what to say, what to ask.

“Hello?” Death questioned, lifting their cup of tea and taking a sip.

“What are you?” Jack asked. The words tumbled out before he could stop himself.

“I’m Death.”

“No, I mean, you look like a dude, but there’s something else…”

“Ah, that,” Death smiled. They placed their cup down. “The short answer is, I’m Death. I’m neither living nor dead, male nor female, human nor beast. But human stories paint me as one of the above, so, I shift into whatever their stories tell. To the Romance Language cultures, I am a woman. To the Chinese and Korean I am a bureaucratic type of man, to the Japanese a goddess. To the Gaelic a spectre or banshee, to the Welsh a hunter. Humans have come up with many stories of my origins, though none know the true story…”

Death’s speech trailed off and Jack, feeling bold, decided to ask.

“What is the true story?”

Death’s head snapped up, eyes wide and lips parted slightly as they regarded Jack for a moment. Jack worried he had stepped too far.

“No one has ever asked,” they breathed before clearing their throat. “I was not created; I volunteered.”

Jack blinked. “You volunteered?” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“For this?” Jack gestured to nothing in particular.

“I’ve made worse decisions,” Death said with a smile.

Jack huffed a laugh as Death continued.

“Before endings had a system, things just… stopped. No one really noticed to begin with, but when humans developed conscious thought they realised lives could be cut off mid-thought, souls left lingering. The world grew cluttered with almosts and could-haves.”

Death glanced into their teacup.

“The universe realised this was a problem and asked for help. I stepped forward – I had nothing else to do with my life, my parents were gone, I had no siblings, no lover and honestly, no hope.”

Death looked out the window sadly, remembering time immemorial.

“I was not meant to be feared. My role was to tidy things up. To close doors. To switch off lights left burning too long.” They shrugged as though discussing a normal 9-5 job.

“Over time, people misunderstood what I brought to the world – order. They turned a favour into a function. A function into a force. I never corrected them.

Death met Jack’s reverent stare. “Fear made people careful. Care meant fewer pointless deaths. Fewer pointless deaths meant less paperwork. It was efficient.” Another shrug.

“Anyway, Jack, I meant any questions about the job.”

“Oh, uh, who does the doodles?”

“Doodles?” Death frowned.

“Yeah, in the ledger. The little scribbled drawings. Mr Carruthers said he could never make sense of it, and honestly, seeing what my doodle was I’m not surprised!”

“Show me,” Death demanded.

Jack pulled the ledger out from his pocket and handed it over to Death. Death scowled as they flicked back through the pages.

“I’ve told her about this—”

“Told who?” Jack interrupted, his breath hitching as he realised what he had done. Thankfully, Death did not seem to notice.

“Elriche. The Angel of Death and my messenger. I’ll be having words but honestly, she’s pissed off with this assignment.”

“Who is it?”

“It’s not for you to know the name she uses on Earth.” Death said matter-of-factly as they stood from their chair. “Jack, it’s been a pleasure. Thank you for hearing my story. If there’s anything you think of, tear a page from the ledger, write your message and toss it into the fire, I’ll respond when I can. If you’ll excuse me, I must go and speak with Elriche,” they ended with a grumble.

Jack followed Death to the door to see them out, like this wasn’t their house he was living in. He needn’t have bothered, as once Death reached the doormat, they disappeared before Jack’s eyes. Jack stood there, blinking in the silence left behind. He looked around to see the teacup had vanished and the cushions where Death had sat were now plumped and undisturbed.

“Huh, at least they’re considerate,” Jack said to himself with a chuckle, but froze when he heard a whisper in his ear.

“I am. And don’t forget the rules.”

Jack jumped so high his head nearly hit the ceiling. He ran up the stairs, slammed the bedroom door behind him and dived into bed as Death’s laughter echoed through the cottage.