teaser for short story "Reapers"

         “So, yeah, my parents had a messed up sense of humor...” the young man stated as he moved into the yellow oval on the sidewalk, produced by the streetlight above. “I mean, who the hell names their kid Apollyon? 'But, it's a great name- it's in the Bible!' My poor Greek mother never quite understood English, and only shortly before her death several years ago could she clearly pronounce the language.”

         “Anyways, getting to my point... Revelations chapter nine, verse eleven: And they had a king over them, which is the angel of the bottomless pit, whose name in the Hebrew tongue is Abaddon, but in the Greek tongue hath his name Apollyon” Lowering his head, the white stripe of hair down the middle of his head reflected the light from above. “Like I said, screwed up... but somehow, with our family, it was fitting. And not in that quirky 'Big Fat Greek Wedding' way either. You see, we are direct descendants- don't ask how many generations... I tried mapping out a family tree a few years before Mom passed away, and gave up when I hit the year 1000 AD.”

         As he leaned back up, the smoke rising from the burning cigarette at the corner of his mouth enveloped his face, his eerie red eyes glared brightly in the dark night. “What I'm getting at is that my family is... I am directly descended from Charon, the original ferryman of the River Styx in the Underworld. What? Fuck no, it's not a myth... As sure as I stand before you now, he was real.”

         He took another step forward, then kneeled down to the corpse on the ground, and scooped up the two gold coins from their resting place on the victim's eyelids. The elderly man now lying on the ground, had ended up an easy target for a group of gang members, who stabbed him to death as part of their initiation rites. Apollyon tucked the coins into his coat pocket, then tapped the old man on his forehead, “C'mon pops, I ain't got all night.”

         The old man's eyes popped open, all color gone from his once bright blue eyes. He was now just a shell, waiting to be transported to the afterlife. As he slowly pulled himself up to his feet, he glanced down to the gaping wounds on his torso, then locked eyes with the young man in black. “It is true, then. You will take me on your boat?”

         “Please...” the young man retorted as he pulled a small key fob from his pocket, and pressed one of the buttons. In the distance, a high-pitched chirp broke the silence, followed by the sound of a V-8 roaring to life. The old man followed slowly behind him, as they crossed the dark street towards a black 1960 Cadillac Eldorado, it's chrome exhaust pipes reverberating throughout the cool night air. “Get in.”