Mythos Prologue: The Specter

Prologue: The Specter


It was going to be another boring day. The man thought this as he strolled into one of the London slum’s featureless brick buildings. He brushed a hand through his dirty blonde hair as he closed the door behind him, yes, it boring indeed. There was a woman sewing in the front room, a pitiful fire burning in the fireplace. She looked up as the heard the door open and close. Standing quietly at the door was a man who she could only describe as…boring. Short hair, decent yet well worn clothes, not that tall nor that short, not fat nor slim. Even his facial features, obscured by a dancing shadow that she wasn’t sure was coming from the fire, seemed as plain as could be. She placed her sewing on her lap and tilted her head, “Can I help you?”

The man nodded, not moving from his position, “Is Mr. Thatcher here?”

A look of relief replaced wariness on the woman’s face. Springing to her feet she nodded, “You must be the doctor we sent for! Thank you for coming, I promise you that we will be able to pay you!”

A small smile played across the man’s face, “No payment will be necessary, please, I’m only doing my job.”

A glimmer of confusion appeared in the woman’s eyes, but only for a moment. Grasping the man’s hand she led him into the other room of the small apartment. As she pulled him she could not help but notice the chill that seemed to be emanating from the man’s hand. Was he sick as well? Her thoughts had to pause however when they entered the tiny room. In the single bed sat a man, looking interested at his visitor. The two stopped besides the bed and the man turned to the woman. He spoke quietly, “You’ve been most helpful, now please leave us.”

After the woman had complied, the man turned to face the bed once more. The one sitting in the bed addressed him kindly, “I fear you’ve come for no reason Doctor, I feel much better today. I’m afraid we may have wasted your time.”

Again the small smile appeared, “No, no my friend. I am meant to be here. Though I believe I may be a bit early. Do you mind if I…observe you for a bit?”

The sick man nodded, figuring that the doctor, if anyone, would know best. Leaning against the wall, the visitor waited. Minutes passed in silence, the sick man stealing a glance at his visitor every once and a while. After nearly a quarter of an hour, the man gave a small cough. Almost as if it had been a signal, the visitor pushed himself from the wall and approached the bed. When he reached it he said simply, “It’s time.”

The sick man’s mouth opened, perhaps to ask exactly what the doctor had meant by his words. His words died in his throat however as he saw the specter emerge. Black robes poured from the man’s shoulders, pooling on the ground in layers and layers of torn cloth. A dark hood rose to cover a face whose features rotted away to reveal only cold bone. One fleshless hand rose to grasp the great curved scythe that appeared beside the horrid figure. The man quailed beneath the dark aura that roiled from the being that stood before him. For a moment he thought he heard the screeching cries of crows, as from a distance, before the entire world quieted into a horrible silence. He found his voice as the scythe rose,

“You’re….”

“Don’t bother”

The scythe fell. Quietly the ghastly figure moved the man back to the relaxed position he had been in before his death had claimed him. The robes disappeared, the scythe vanishing to wherever it had came from and once again the plain man stood next to the bed. Quietly he opened the door to the first room and passed through, unseen by the woman who continued to sew quietly in the corner. Emerging into the hot and oppressive streets the man reached into his coat and produced a small handkerchief. Mopping his face he muttered to himself, “Boring, just as I thought. Since when did being Death become so dull?”
Muttering, Death made his way up the street, aiming for a better portion of the town. Nimbly dodging his way across traffic he suddenly stopped. He had felt something….ripple. The blaring horn of a car flying past him brought him back to reality. He was in no real danger, he was Death after all, but best not to attract the attention that getting hit by a car would cause. Achieving the safety of the curb, he paused to look around.

Nothing

He wasn’t stupid enough to shrug off the occurrence, he had felt something and something powerful enough to shake Death like that certainly was not something to be ignored. He would make his inquiries and would find out what had shifted reality. Maybe it would even break up the boredom a bit.