The Grim Weeper

The true Grim Reaper story

          I always knew that my father liked my brother better than me. Rather, my father liked my brother and liked me not at all, so I tried to gain his approval. I hung on his every word like a cocker spaniel. I scrambled to do his bidding with the enthusiasm of one running from a fire. I tried in vain to please him.

          I didn't hate my brother. On the contrary, I loved him well. I looked up to my elder brother, Evil, since he seemed to do everything right; he abhorred me as much as my father. Looking back, Evil was like a travel-size version of my father, all the power in half the size. He was my senior by four years and I wanted him to like me as much as I longed for my father to.

          When I was six, I attended EVIL School, my brother's name sake. I learned proverbs like “finders keepers, losers weepers” and “if at first you don’t succeed, you’ll never try again.” I even learned what evil stands for: Every Villain Induces Lack: unfortunately, I never learned what it meant.

          One day during my tenth year, I brought a puppy home that I was supposed to torture. It was all white with a black nose and big, brown eyes, and every time I tried to carry out a torture, it looked at me with its big, brown, and innocent, puppy-dog eyes. After an hour or so, I gave up and the puppy became my pet, my one true friend. I named him Comrade and fed him bits of my meals, which usually consisted of a mystery meat accompanied by a mystery drink. I kept him hidden in my room for about a week before my brother found him and told my father.

          Needless to say, my father was enraged. He grabbed Comrade and myself and dragged us down past the kitchen, down past the servants quarters, down past the dungeon, down into the depths of hell.

          My father shut me up in a tiny cell where even sunlight dared not to enter and carried Comrade off to who knows where, squealing like a pig. I won’t lie to you; I cried. A puddle of my tears formed at my feet only to be evaporated into the air. The walls seemed to sweat and the ceiling dripped on me no matter where I stood. I was fed when anyone remembered. Usually, they gave me raw meat and told me it was from Comrade. If they had told me it was from myself, I would have believed them so desperate was my case. I stayed there for 10 years, one year for each year of comfort.

          Sometime in my twentyth year, I was released. My father did it personally. He opened the door and motioned for me to follow. I complied, and not a word passed between us as I rejoined the world. When we reached his office, I sat down silently. I had nothing save a black cloak, which I used to hide my face. Comrade entered and sat at my feet. I didn’t need to look to know it was him; however, perhaps I should have.

          Comrade was cold, as cold as my cell. I traced his skeleton with my foot. I longed to see what had become of my precious pooch, but I restrained myself. Compassion is what got me into that mess in the first place. Instead, I focused all of my attention on my father.

          Gruffly, he announced that I was to be the new Grim Reaper for the human realm of Italy since the other one had met with an unfortunate end. I was overjoyed. I had received a new name and a job that I could do. No apparition cared much for humans; they killed everything they came in contact with, even their own kind. I smiled. Finally, a chance to prove myself to my father.

          I left my father’s office with more life than I had going in. Comrade followed behind me, always staying out of my sight. I turned several times trying to catch a glimpse of him but he was too quick for my eyes. Finally, using a power I didn’t know I had, I turned around and picked him up. My eyes bugged out.

          In my arms was not a plump white dog but a black one. I dropped him. This wasn’t Comrade. Comrade wasn’t black; he was white. On closer examination, I saw that the coat wasn’t black, the layers of dirt and grime on top of it were. I rushed Comrade to the bathroom. (Yes, we had bathrooms. We’re demons, not barbarians.) I scrubbed Comrade for hours with no avail. The dirt was a part of him now. I dried Comrade off and sat down on the toilet seat. Comrade sat next to me and looked up at me. That was when I noticed his eyes; they glowed red. I cried for my companion. He was so thin that the meat they had given me all these years may very well have come from him.

          I controlled myself and went to wash my face. On the way, I saw myself in the mirror for the first time. With the hood from my cloak on, I looked like a skeleton. I was so pale and literally nothing but skin and bones. Humans could have studied me to see anatomy in action. I pulled off my hood. I looked better without it. I looked like a normal human youth of twenty or so, who had never seen the sun a day in his life. I pulled up my sleeves and saw that my arms had filled out. I took off the cloak to find that I wasn’t the walking stick anymore. Lethargically, I put the cloak back on. I had a lot to think about. I unlocked the door and went to my old quarters after whistling for Comrade to follow.

          The next day, I started my work as the Grim Reaper. My first case was of two star-crossed lovers, Romeo and Juliet. I picked them up in the Capulet Dead House, bickering like chipmunks. It seems Romeo had fallen in love with Mercutio. Naturally, Juliet was upset by the whole thing and used language she never would have dared to use when she was alive. I simply pointed out that this whole mess could have been avoided if she had just married Paris. She told me that if I liked Paris so much, then I should marry him. I told her that demons don’t get married and lifted up my head so she could see my face. She fainted, I laughed, and Romeo froze. I carried them to their checkpoint, one in each arm, and then left to continue my business. I was Italy’s proud Grim Reaper for a hundred years.

          In my 120th year, I became the head Grim Reaper thus taking my current name. Don’t ask me how; there were many ahead of me in line for this promotion, but they all met with untimely deaths of there own, leaving me to carry my predecessor to his check point. As the head Grim Reaper, I was the strongest apparition. I was even stronger than my father was. I cheerfully did this grim work for another hundred years, at the end of which, my father gave me a special job.

          My father had decided that it was time for my brother to take a mate. Where do I come into the picture? My father wished for me to pick up the candidates. He had chosen them personally. I was strong enough to handle anyone and several of them were very strong. I looked the list over and then flew off to do my father’s command.

          The first eight were wimps. I deemed them unworthy of my brother without even taking them back to my father. I hoped the last two would be more promising. I looked at the last two names on the list. What luck! The two were together. I crossed over to Sandy’s beach.

          Sandy's Beach was gorgeous. The sun always shined there, but the sand was never hot. It was always just warm enough. The sea was always a perfect sea green in the distance and a dazzling clear blue close up. I could see why it was the land of dreams. Yes, even I could appreciate beauty. People went there when they had trouble sleeping. It was beach bum paradise; however, people also went there when they had problems. The two might end up being helpful.

          I landed outside a little hut. A man was outside sitting in the sand.

          “Where’s Mystiy?” I asked doing my best to sound grave.

          “Who wants to know?”

          “Who do I resemble?”

          “The Grim Reaper, but Mystiy is far from dead.”

          “I don’t bring tidings of death. My dog does that. The King of the Demons wishes to examine her to see if she is a fit mate for his son.”

          “You lied when you said you don’t bring tidings of death; however, I can tell you now that she is not a fit mate.”

          “And why is that?”

          “Which question?”

          “Both, if you please.”

          “Very well. The answer to both is the same.”

          “If they’re the same, why did you inquire as to which I required?”

          “Because you didn’t ask a question.” I was about to tell him that he hadn’t either when a sleepy, though distinctly female, voice interrupted me.

          “Enough, my husband. The dolphins sing of a new addition. The Water-Shore family shall grow but the Demon-Reaper family shall stay the same.” I looked to see the candidate but she had gone back to sleep. She lazily rolled over on top of an incoming wave. I jumped back but her husband remained where he was. He disappeared under the wave but came back into view after it, beside his wife.

          “I’ll forgive you for the insult you bestowed upon my wife but don’t be so sure that she will,” he yelled over the roar of the ocean. I didn’t fear her. She was just the apparition of life, almost my direct opposite. I jumped back not out of fear of death but of fear of getting my cloak wet. The thing could get dreadfully heavy. And I didn’t give up on her, I decided that she wasn’t a fit mate for my brother. The couple had a good point. I crossed her name off the list and looked at the last name, Bandit. It sounded promising, and she had to be the one as there were none left.

          Leaving the couple, I decided to inquire after her in the hut. The hut suddenly seemed a lot nicer than the beach. I quickly arrived there out of breath and instantly closed the door behind me. I felt something at my feet, so I looked down. A body lay prostrate on the ground accompanied by many others. In truth, the floor was carpeted by them and at the far end of the room sat a figure in a cloak, like mine, spinning. The figure was undisturbed by my entrance and continued spinning as if I weren’t there. I was unused to this treatment. Most apparitions were at least curious as to why I was there, but this one seemed unimpressed. I wondered whether any of the other reapers would be here, perhaps collecting the souls from these bodies but no. These people weren’t dead but sleeping. I recalled a tale my mother had told me once, a silly tale called Sleeping Beauty in which a girl pricked her finger on a spindle, like the one the shadow used, and fell into a deep sleep. The humans told it. My mother didn’t like humans. Of course, that didn’t matter since she was dead. I decided it was up to me to find my breath.

          “Where can I find Bandit?” The spinner looked up at me.

          “Before your eyes,” she said removing her hood. That was the first time I saw her. From a distance she looked small and weak, but my senses told me otherwise. She was a Weaver Fairy, a highly respected one at that. All Weaver Fairies seemed like weaklings until you lost a battle to them.

         Her bright eyes had the longest eyelashes I had ever seen without mascara. Something drew me to her eyes, and they were all I saw. After a moment of gawking like an ignoramus, I realized that she was waiting for me to speak and getting impatient.

          “I, huh, am here, yeah, on an errand from my father.”

          “Do you always do what your daddy tells you?”

          “Yes, for a good son does.” All respect for her was gone. “Do you always cover your floor with bodies?"

         "This isn't my floor. People come here to get help with sleeping. We do awakenings too. Haven't you ever heard of the human tale about Sleeping Beauty? It was based on this. One of our workers lived in Sleeping Beauty's village. The worker wasn't able to give Sleeping Beauty a present when she was born, so she decided to give Sleeping Beauty a wish. You see, Beauty had a lot of suitors, so her wish was to sleep for a hundred years or until her true love came, whichever came first. Apparently, they both arrived at the same time. She married her nerd and lived happily ever after."

"You will return with me to 666 Satin Ln."

          “How do you know I will? I’m quite comfortable here, if you please or if you don’t please.”

          “I’m prepared to use force.”

          “Only incompetents use threats, but I will accompany you if it means that much.”

          “Really? I mean, of course you will.”

          “I’m curious to see what your place looks like anyways. This way, I’ll get to kill two birds with one stone, not that I approve of killing birds. Feel like it, yes. Do it, no.” I scowled at her but she seemed selfish; that was a good sign.

          True to her word, she followed me back home and into my father’s office where he waited.

          “Where are the others?” he asked in his gruff, monotonous tone.

          “I deemed them unworthy, sir; however, I assure you that she will do.”

          “Which is she?”

          “She is the one sitting right here listening to you two. Bandit is my name and if you keep this up, I’ll make you both literally lame.” Ignoring this comment, my father bellowed at me,

          “I gave you an order to bring them all here. You are still the wretched guttersnipe who brought a ‘little puppy home.’ You shall be punished for this. Perhaps another ten years in your cell will teach you. It taught you before except its effects wore off after only two hundred years. Perhaps twenty will suffice for a lifetime.” No sooner had my father given the command then it was done, leaving me deep in the bowels of hell without even a chance to defend myself. I sat sullenly in a corner.

          Sometime later, perhaps an hour or five, the door to my cell creaked open. I eagerly looked up expecting a repast but I was thoroughly disappointed. Instead of food, they threw in Bandit.

          She had time to scream, “You’ll hear from my lawyers!” before they slammed the door. After deciding that they were gone, she turned her attention to me. “Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?”

          “How did you end up in here?”

          “No idea. Possibly because I kicked your father, ‘The King of the Demons,’ in the shin or maybe because I flailed his son where the sun don’t shine. It could be the annoying laugh I did over and over; however, I think it’s because I gave him a kiss and told him that I loved him.” I looked at her in disbelief. Here she was in the pits of hell and she didn’t seem to notice. She noticed the look on my face and said, “Okay, why are you giving me the ‘what is she on’ look?”

          “You can see my face?”

          “Of course, nitwit. Now you haven’t answered any of my questions when I’ve answered all of yours.”

          “I am Grim Reaper, doomed to rot here where no one, save possibly you, will hear my death screams. My poor soul, ripped and tormented by—“

          “Spare me, please. You are such a Drama King. It’s not that bad down here. Truly, I like it.”

          “But it’s so hot.”

          “You call this hot? I take baths hotter than this.”

          “And we will hardly get any food you know.”

          “I’m on a diet any ways. You can have my share.”

          “But, but…”

          “Don’t worry. I think I LOVE it down here.” Suddenly, everything began shaking. I must have looked terrified because she winked at me and said, “Don’t worry; it’s all part of the plan.” The pounding grew louder and louder as whatever was making it drew closer and closer.

          Finally, the door was thrown open and my father entered as I had never seen him before. His eyes bulged out of his head and he was snarling like an animal. Bandit giggled and pointed at the vein throbbing in his forehead. Her laughter seemed to fuel his rage and he seemed to grow ten times.

         “Sheesh, I only said I love—“ My father cut her off with a terrible roar, then stood there, sizing her up.

          “What now, genius?”

          “I don’t know, I didn’t think this far ahead. He was so fat; I thought it would take longer for him to get down here. Maybe he should have brushed his teeth first because his breath is kicken. I wonder what would happen if I said that I loved you?” My father roared again and charged at her. She had managed to maintain her cool thus far, but when my father charged her, Bandit looked down right terrified. She ducked down into a fetal position and closed her eyes.

         I was frozen, staring at her. When she bent down, I spotted a sword around her waist. Then, I looked closer and noticed that she wasn't crying. I reached for the sword but stopped when I notoiced she was laughing. She must have been more aware than I thought because I heard her voice in my head;

         "What can I say? I laugh in the face of danger. The point being that at least I'll die happy." I looked at her and then glanced at my father who was merely six steps away from being able to cause physical harm on Bandit's body.

         I panicked and my mind went blank. All I could do was watch as my father got closer and closer to Bandit. Now he was only five steps away. It's amazing how fast your brain could work with adrenaline pulsing through it. I started thinking about that.

         Now my father was only four steps away and I was through thinking about the possibilities available with adrenaline. My mind was blank again. I struggled to think of something besides images of my father ripping Bandit to pieces but was helpless. Then a voice broke through the fog.

         "Nimrod. Do I have to think of everything? Grab my sword." My father was three steps away now. I dived for Bandit. I yanked the sword off of her and shook the scabbard off. Then, I ran it through my father’s heart.

         Time seemed to freeze. I felt strangely serene as I felt my father's heart of stone shatter into tiny grains of sand. I watched the sand fall out of him with a dumb smile stuck on my face. Time for me had stopped, but it was only slowed for him. My father crumpled in a dejected heap on the ground, the sword still stuck in him. He reminded me of rag doll. I realized that I was holding my breath and released it. Time began to flow again, fast.

         My smile of sweet victory turned to a gape of shock. I stared down in shock at what I had done. All my life, I had wanted his approval. Now, I would never get it. After another six seconds, my father smiled at me and then was gone.

          I don’t know how long I stared at my father’s grave or how long I was in a trance because when my consciousness resurfaced, I was in the throne room staring at the most incredible eyes I had ever seen. My cloak was torn and my hands were bloody.

          “How long has it been?”

          “Time is a measurement made by your consciousness, so you tell me.”

          "Seconds.”

          “So it will be for a while.”

          “And why, Madame, did you not use your sword? It was not due to a lack of skill, I presume.”

          “For the same reason you didn’t use yours.” She pointed to the sword I had buckled around my waist. I grinned sheepishly and blushed; she laughed. I laughed too. While I may not have gotten my fathers approval, it didn’t matter any more. Having Bandit’s approval seemed to matter more to me than having the whole world’s approval.

          “You may have gotten your father’s approval too, my little drama king.”

          “Were you reading my thoughts?”

          “Shhh. It’s a secret, Grim Weeper.”

          “Reaper!” I corrected. She smiled at me with her eyes and sat down to the right of me while Comrade sat at my feet.