Reaper's Game

  The day started out normally enough. All signs pointed to a relaxing afternoon sipping an icy beverage on the back porch. In fact, only one thing stood between Steve and his picture perfect August afternoon.
  Steve sighed and pulled the ripcord on the mower. The malevolent machine sputtered and resumed its resolute silence. Steve pulled again harder. The mower remained quiet. Three pulls, several cries of frustration, and one stout kick later, the lawnmower roared to life and Steve began the long, sweltering hot job of cutting the grass which he had neglected for the past few months.

*  *  *

  David was in a good mood, but that wouldn't last long. He had enough reason to be content and happy, but that too would soon change.
  As he examined a ripe apple for bruises, David let happy thoughts wash over him, making the golden sunlight of the out door market seem a little brighter, even the apple looked juicier than normal. He had everything a man like him could want. He had his wife, Laura, and his son, Samuel. He had a home, he had no worries about money.
  “Pastor Grimm! David!”
  David Grimm smiled at the call. It was an unfortunate name for a man of God, but it made for a great conversation starter. David quickly found the source of the shout and waved. Jonathan Kay was a member of the church, and a close friend of David's. The two men had met in collage, where David majoring in bible studies. They had kept in touch over the years, and three years ago Jonathan had moved to Houston and joined the church.
  Jonathan ran to where David was still holding the apple and stopped, gasping for air. “Do you have any idea,” Jonathan stopped for breath, than continued, “how huge this market is?”
  David laughed and put the apple in his basket, “Whats on your mind, Jonathan? Finally got a date?”
  Jonathan suddenly turned deadly serious, “I don't know how to tell you this David. You might want to sit down.”

*  *  *

  After an hour mowing the unruly grass of his suburban lawn, Steve breathed in the smell of the freshly cut grass as he looked over his work. The grass looked tidy; each individual blade was cut to the same height. Unfortunately the lack of rain lately had left the grass with a sickly, yellowish green color.
  That was it; Steve had had enough of standing in the hot sun. He was just about to head into the house when he noticed a man standing across the street. Normally he would have taken no notice of the man; people walked down his street all the time. But this man was different. He was wearing a heavy looking black trench coat, black jeans, a black shirt and a black fedora. If the outfit weren't strange enough, especially during a scorching Houston summer, the man seemed to be just standing there staring at Steve's house.
  Unnerved, Steve quickly put the mower in the garage and went inside to take a long shower during which he would forget about the man and decide which icy drink he would fix for himself that afternoon. By the time he was toweling himself off, Steve could nearly taste the strawberry daiquiri he imagined would be in his hand within the hour. But his spirits fell as quickly as they had risen. He looked forlornly out the kitchen window. It had started to rain. Not just rain, but storm, the drops crashing to the earth in heavy torrents, washing away his hopes of a sunny afternoon on the porch.

*  *  *

  David's world spun with fear and worry as he sat in the passenger seat of Jonathan's pickup, “A fire? What about Sam and Laura? Are they safe?”
  “I don't know, the fire department hasn't been able to go inside yet.”
  David tried for the seventh time to call Laura's cellphone.
  “Hi, you've reached Laura. I'm sorry, but I can't come to the phone right now. If you leave a...” David hung up and sat in silence, praying, “Lord, please, if your there, if you can hear me...”

*  *  *

  Steve flicked on the lights; the clouds were blocking out nearly all sunlight, leaving only a gray light dimly shining through the windows.
  A crash of thunder shook the house. The lights flickered and then disappeared, leaving Steve standing once again in the dim gray light which seemed to be getting darker by the second.
  Steve cursed and walked through the open door behind him to the living room. He sat on the couch and stared sadly at the big picture window on the south wall. The rain ran down it in streaks. At least the grass was getting-
  Suddenly a flash of lightning illuminated the yard, revealing a lone figure standing in the middle of it:  The man in the trench coat.
  Another flash and, impossibly, the man stood dripping in front of Steve holding a shotgun.
  “Boo.”
  Steve yelled in shock and scrambled over the back of the couch, putting it between him and the man. The man just laughed.
  Steve tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat.
  “Cat got you're tongue? Good it's better that way,” said the man.
  Suddenly Steve found his voice, “Look, Mister...”
  “Grimm.”
  “All my money is in the safe. I'll get it for you if you just leave.”
  Grimm laughed again, “I don't need your hard earned cash, Steve. I just want to play a little game.”
  Steve's head reeled. How did the man, Grimm, know his name? How had he even gotten inside?
  “Game?” Steve gulped.
  “Yes. Hide and Go Seek to be specific. If you can hide for just fifteen minutes, you win and I go away.”
  “And if I get caught?”
  Grimm smiled evilly.
  “Don't get caught. You get a thirty second head start. Starting now,” said Grimm as he looked at a tarnished silver pocket watch.
  Steve panicked “Wait!”
  “Tick, tick, Steve. I would get moving.”
  Steve moved.

*  *  *
  They had told David that the explosion had most likely been caused by a gas leak. Laura had been in the kitchen, right above the source. She had been killed instantly.
  As David sat in the hospital waiting room he cursed God for taking his wife from him and begged him not to let his son die. Sam had been watching television when the gas ignited, and was unconscious and under intensive care in the next room. Dr. Fields had gently told him that the odds of survival were extremely low, around twenty percent, and that David should prepare himself for the worst. But David wouldn't allow himself to lose hope. So he prayed.

*  *  *

  Steve ran to the kitchen and tried the door. Locked. He unbolted it and tried again, but it stuck fast. It was darker; almost pitch black, with a surreal gray-blue light filtering through the windows. Steve looked frantically around for something to help. The phone? No, the power was out. Finally, he grabbed a kitchen knife from the counter and ran to the pantry, closing the door after him.
  Ten seconds later Steve heard light footsteps walking across the linoleum floor. His heart beat faster than it ever had in twenty-seven years of not working out.
  “I can hear you're heart beating, Steve. Are you afraid?” The whisper seemed to be right outside the door.
  Then silence. For a full minute Steve waited while nearly holding his breath in the pantry. Finally he worked up the courage to crack the door open. When he did, it nearly flew out of his hands. Standing directly in front of him was Grimm. Without hesitation, Steve plunged the knife into the side of Grimm's neck. Blood spurted out, but Grimm made no sound. He just smiled, blood seeping out from between his teeth.

*  *  *

  It had been three years since the fire. At first Jonathan had allowed David to live with him, but after David spent six months isolating himself from the world Jonathan had confronted David and told him that it was time to move on. David had tried. He had gotten a job and an apartment, but he had never quite moved on.
  Now it was December, and a nearly record cold for Houston. No snow, but the dirty puddles on the pavement were frozen.
  David stood in a warm black trench coat in front of the twin grave stones that he had visited so many times in those last three years. Today would have been his and Laura's anniversary. He fell to his knees and clenched his fists. A freezing drizzle began to fall. The grief stricken man turned his face towards the dismal gray sky, nearly enjoying the biting cold.
  “Why did you do the to me, God?” he shouted, finally voicing the thought that had been unspoken for three years, “What did I ever do to you? I gave my life to you! Are you listening to me? Answer me!”
  The voice came from behind him, “I think I can help you.”

*  *  *

  Steve shoved past the man and ran to the living room, barely missing being hit by a load of buckshot. He ran straight for the big window and threw himself through it. The glass shattered, cutting him all over his body. He fell into the freshly cut grass, glass cutting into his palms. He stood and ran through the pounding rain. A loud boom resonated through the air and Steve was flung from his feet by the shotgun blast. It wasn't enough to kill him but he couldn't bring himself to his feet. Steve started to drag himself through the grass, using all his strength, fighting to survive.

*  *  *

  David stood and whirled around, embarrassed. Standing on the stone path was a man. He was tall and strong looking, with long dark hair and a sharp, angular face. But the most striking feature was his eyes. They were all black, like his pupil had dilated to cover the white.
  “What? Do I know you?”
  The man smiled coldly, “Not yet. But it would be in your favor to listen to what I have to say. I can give you what you want.”
  “Unless you can raise the dead, you can't help me.” David started to turn away.
  “Stop.”
  David stopped, is back to the man.
  “I can't give you Laura and Sam. But I can give you the next best thing.”
  David turned. There was something wrong about the man, but David couldn't quite put his finger on it, “Are you an angel?” David immediately wished he hadn't spoken, out loud the thought sounded ridiculous. But the man didn't laugh.
  “Not quite,” said the man, “but close. Now, we both know what you want. You want others to feel like you. I can help make that happen.”
  As soon as the man, or demon, spoke, David knew he was right.
  “How?” one word was all David could manage.
  The man silently pulled a knife from mid air and handed it to David.
  Instantly David knew what the demon wanted. It was crazy, but who cared? He had nothing to live for anyways.

*  *  *

  Grimm's voice came from the shattered window, "How does it feel Steve? Do you feel the raw terror freezing your heart? Do you feel alone? Because guess what Steve, you are alone. No one can hear you scream."
  There was a flash of lightning and the deafening roar of thunder. Grimm was standing in front of him, the knife still grotesquely sticking out of his throat.
  "You're a good Christian man aren't you? Tell me, who can save you now?"
  Steve's mind was gone. His body was gripped by pure fear. it pulsed through his veins, ripped his thoughts to shreds. He squeezed his eyes shut.
  "Oh God..."
  "Wrong! Your precious God can't help you now. Do you want to know why? Because He doesn't care! If He did, He would be here right now, and from where I stand, " Grimm brought his boot down on Steve's hand and trapped it there, "it's just you and me amigo."
  Grimm stomped down hard on Steve's hand, relishing the sound of crunching bone. Steve groaned in agony.
  The dark figure looked at his pocket watch again.
  “A minute and fifty-seven seconds. Better then the last one. Poor guy only lasted forty-three seconds.”
  Steve started to cry.
  Grimm looked at the broken body at his feet with disdain, “Want to play another round?”
  Steve shivered and remained silent. Grimm touched the gun barrel to the pitiful figure's neck.
  “No? Very well. Tag, you're it.” He pulled the trigger, decapitating Steve with the crash of thunder.
  Grimm lifted the bleeding corpse with one hand and dragged it back to the house. The murderer threw the body back through the window and walked back for head. He lifted his bleeding prize by the hair and threw it after the body. Grimm snapped his fingers and lightning ripped through the sky, hitting Steve's house and igniting it like dry kindling. A tribute to Laura.
  Grimm turned his back on the scene, already deciding on his next target. How about that one writer...?

*  *  *

  The former David Grimm stood looking at the bloodstained knife in his hand, feeling the blood seep from his heart. The demon had entered his mind and body when he had plunged the knife into his heart. Even now he could feel the inhuman presence within him. He knew nothing would ever be the same; he had felt David fall away, taking with him his mortality, his humanity, leaving nothing behind but Grimm.
  Grimm stepped over his old body and on to the stone path. He would disappear, everyone would think he had killed him self. Grimm smiled. He would show them what it welt like to lose everything. They would know what it was like to have God ignore their pathetic cries for help.
  The wind picked up and the drizzle turned into an icy downpour. Thunder cracked and lightning forked across the sky. Grimm felt a shotgun force it's way into existence through his fists. Lightning flashed and Grimm disappeared. It was game time.