Chapter 3 - Death’s Contract

After hours on the crypt's cold floor, eyes fixed on the ajar stone door, someone finally appeared—not Death as she had anticipated, or at least that's what she first thought. This figure had flesh over his bones, though minimal, giving him an eerie, decrepit appearance with wrinkled skin tightly hugging his skeletal frame. The black robes were replaced by black overalls and a baseball cap. Noir the cat tailed behind him just as before.

“Don’t worry child, it’s me. I’m sorry for the wait, but I wished to ensure I received no unneeded attention.”

Morrigan had no idea what to expect next, but she currently had no ability to complain. “Oh, and I do apologize for leaving that knife in your chest, but it is currently acting as a plug to keep some of that precious blood inside. We will need some of that if we are to properly make up a contract.”

Contract?

“Well then, without further ado, let’s get you out of this musty old crypt, shall we?” He carefully picked her up and she could feel the roughness of his bones beneath his sleeves. He carried her out to where she saw a pickup truck—jet black from the tinted windows down the rims. “Now, I know you must feel quite alarmed about all of this,” he said as he set her into the bed of the truck and started rearranging the tools to lay on top of her.

Alarmed? That’s an understatement. I’m a damn corpse and you’re… Well, this has to be a dream anyway, right?

“It is uncommon for a soul to remain in their vessel for so long after it has died. In fact, Rule 7 of the Dead explicitly forbids any purposful delays on the part of their reaper. In your case, I think we can allow an exception. That is, depending on what you decide. Well then; comfortable? Excellent! Just a little longer and I’ll have those limbs of yours moving again in no time!”

At this point, she was pretty sure she was dreaming after all. Who knows, maybe she did not die. Maybe she fell asleep after getting ready for the party and she would wake up soon.

She heard the truck door slam and the engine sputter to life. The tires crunched against the worn path as they rumbled away from the crypt. The stars twinkled coldly above as she watched them through the assortment of tools piled on top of her like a makeshift cage—her mind reeling from the absurdity of it all.

Please, just let me wake up already!

***

The passage of time was marked by the truck winding through turns, rumbling at stops, then finally picking up speed.

We’re leaving town… this is a back road, though.

She was tempted to consider this a kidnapping, which ironically would be preferrable to what was actually happening.

Her view of the stars was eventually disturbed by tree coverage, creating an eerie strobing effect on the sky above. She had no idea what to expect, but just wanted this to end.

The truck eventually slowed and the engine sputtered to a stop. She heard the door open and the next thing she knew the black cat was sitting on his haunches along the rim of the truck bed, staring down at her. “Master, I beg you to reconsider. Do you really think this human is qualified?”

“Now, now. Enough, Noir,” Death said as he came into view. He was back to looking like a skeleton, but still wore the black overalls and baseball cap. “Besides, I can’t take away the offer now that I’ve gotten her hopes up. Just look how excited she is!”

They both looked down at her lifeless corpse, buried beneath many old, dirty and rusted tools. She couldn’t see herself, but doubted excited was an apt description.

“Now then! Lets get you inside, dear, and I’ll explain everything. I’m sure you’ve got at least a dozen questions by now.” He paused, once again staring at her corpse as if anticipating an answer that never came.

After the tools were removed and he picked her up, the world turned upside down as she was carried limply in his bony arms. Each of his steps crunched as she watched the bobbing upside down silhouettes of trees, fireflies blinking across them like chaotic Christmas lights. In the distance she heard the ambient sounds of crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl.

Noir walked quickly behind his master as she was carried through a door and into a room with stacks of books lining the walls. The room flipped as the world righted itself and she was set onto a couch.

“Here we are. Welcome to my humble home! Do make yourself comfortable while I make some preparations. I will explain everything, but YOU must sign the contract, so I must first reanimate your vessel.” He moved out of her field of vision, revealing a coffee table and a television set against the back wall. It was a big flat screen T.V. with multiple game consoles stacked around it and piles of DVDs and video games haphazardly stacked along the floor.

Noir jumped up onto the coffee table, staring at Morrigan for a moment. He looked over his shoulder at the video games, then back to her. He lifted his paw to his mouth and cleared his throat. “Master has existed for a very long time, but he is not immune to the trends in human entertainment. He has become quite fond of this era’s video games.” Noir seemed to consider this clarification an embarrassing necessity.

The grim reaper is a gamer… It’s settled—I’m definitely dreaming.

She heard a stack of books fall over.

"You are Dung!" Death shouted.

“Master, please watch your language.”

Death came back with a large black book, bound in old dusty leather. The overalls were replaced by his traditional black robe. He shooed Noir away with his skeletal hand as he plopped it down on the coffee table. He took a moment to leaf through the pages before he stood.

“Excellent! Here it is. I knew this old necromancy book would come in handy sooner or later. I’ve been lugging it around for a millennia, but as it turns out I am not typically in the business of getting bodies moving again. Quite the opposite, actually.” His skeletal finger moved back and forth across the yellowing pages as he read.

“Yes, I believe this will work.” He reached over the table, his fingers coming towards her face. She would have recoiled in horror at the boney digits if she could move.

“I don’t want you getting any bright ideas about using such spells yourself, dear. So I’m afraid I must close your eyes before continuing.”

Once her eyes were shut she heard the rip of paper, the smell of herbs filled the room and a cool wind touched her face. She could barely make out the sounds of Death walking through the room.

“One more thing. Once you are reanimated, many of your nerve endings will begin to work again. Therefore, you may be compelled to rip that knife from your chest, yet I beseech you to resist. Understand? Good!”

The cool wind blew against her harder, and it became colder. Through her eyelids she got the sense that there was a flickering light in the room and then she heard Death’s voice, much deeper and echoing as if he were shouting into a well, speaking in a language she did not understand but it sounded similar to the chant from the boy who had killed her.

"The soul of the dead body is alive, I pray to the old gods! Go back to the prostrate corpse where some hope remains!”

The wind blew stronger and stronger, she could hear pages of many of the books in the house flying open and blowing in the intense breeze.

She could feel Death closing in on her, she could hear the rustle of his cloak and the creak of his bones. Then a tap tap tap of hooves on the wooden floor.

“Condecite Mortem! Condecite Mortem!” Death shouted over and over again as a rumbling filled the room. She felt like she was in the middle of an earthquake, the flickering of light against her eyelids became faster and more intense. The sound of a bleating goat began to form amongst the rumbling, and as it got louder, it drowned out Death’s chant.

Images took shape before her, the flickering lights bending and coming together until it looked like flames insides her eyelids, and worse, the silhouette of a face appearing through those flames! She was scared, she wanted to run away, she wanted to SCREAM!

Stolen novel; please report.

“BREAK DEATH! BUY DEATH!”

Morrigan sat up suddenly, screaming, a horrible pain in her chest that she could not resist reaching for. She grabbed the handle of the knife and ripped it out of herself, spraying blood across the pages of the book. The knife hit the corner of the coffee table and tumbled on the floor.

Death grabbed her by the shoulder and forced her back onto the couch. “NO! Relax, stay still!” He held her down with surprising strength for someone without any muscles, pressing against the wound in her chest. “The pain you are feeling is normal. Accept it for now and know that in a few minutes you will never feel this kind of pain again! We need to keep some of that blood inside of you, the contract can only be signed if it comes directly from your body!”

She heard none of his words, struggling to get away. Wrestling his boney arms and kicking at him. This dream had fully turned into a nightmare. She screamed, her mind reeling in a panic with intelligible words failing her.

“I said relax!” He shouted as he held her down, pressing his hand harder. “RELAX!”

The shout subdued her somewhat, though one trembling hand gripped his sleeve as she stared into the hollow voids of his skull. “P-please—” she whimpered.

Her tongue felt dry with the coppery taste of blood sitting upon it. After feeling that still nothingness, her dulled senses suddenly coming back in full force were overwhelming. She felt the pain of the open wound on her chest, blood moving through her veins like fire, and even the dull ache from her bruised hip where she had collided with a tombstone.

Death’s skull canted, observing her. “That’s better, just stay still, and breathe. Your blood is not flowing properly since your heart is damaged, but your lungs are intact. So breathe, and calm down.”

“Calm down? How can I calm down!?”

“Oh, I understand, believe me, I do.” He grabbed her hand and forced her to press it into her wound in place of him. “If you can not relax, at least keep some pressure here. You unfortunately did the exact thing I asked you not to do and ripped that knife out, so we havn’t much time to lose.” He stepped away from her and began pacing on the other side of the coffee table.

Noir sat atop a stack of books, his yellow eyes watching her intently. “Master, it is not too late to forget about this. Look at her, she is clearly ill-fitted for what you plan.”

“Oh, but I disagree,” Death said, looking at his companion.

“She is merely a child.”

“A factor which has little relevance when set against eternity, Noir.”

As the two deliberated, Morrigan cautiously looked the way they had come. Her view of the door was blocked by stacks of books, but she knew it was there. She shifted her legs, preparing to make a run for it.

I have to get out of here…

Her grip tensed over her wounded chest. This was all too crazy. This guy couldn’t be the Grim Reaper. Stuff like that didn’t exist! She had simply been injured by those psycho’s in the graveard, but didn’t die. This creep found her, took advantage of the situation, and whisked her to his secluded cabin in the woods. He probably now wanted her to join some crazy cult.

But there’s a talking cat…

No, I’m hallucinating. He must have drugged me!

As “Death” continued to argue with the cat, she subtly reposition her leg, ready to bolt off the couch.

RUN NOW!

She sprang from the couch, but a shadow materialized before her in a moment, revealing Death’s skeletal face with his hand raised in a halting gesture. She screamed, flinched opposite of her momentum, and fell back against the couch.

"Thinking of leaving so soon?" Death's voice, though calm, carried an underlying note of amusement.

“Please,” she whimpered. “Just let me go! I won’t say anything or—”

“Morrigan,” his voice turned firm but not unkind. “Let go of this fantasy you wish to convince yourself of. You know the truth. You are dead. You were murdered in the graveyard and the life you wish to return to no longer exists.”

“B-but…”

“Look at yourself, feel your heartbeat—it is no longer as it was.”

She looked down, her hand gripping over her bloodstained shirt. Fresh blood coated her palm, feeling slick and unnerving between her fingers, and the white shirt was stained a crusty darker red where it had dried. Under her palm, her heart beat was painful, moving unnaturally as it desperately tried to continue its work.

"Noir, perhaps you could give us a moment?" Death suggested. The cat, with one last long look at Morrigan, gracefully leaped off the stack of books and sauntered out of the room, his tail flicking in annoyance.

Once alone, Death settling into a chair opposite her. “Humans are kept unaware of certain realities of this world," he explained. "Therefore, now peering beyond the veil, your hesitance to accept it is only natural.”

“But… why me?” she asked in almost a whisper.

“Why did you die?”

Morrigan nodded.

“There is no why to when these things happen. It is merely a matter of how, which is often cold and nonreassuring with no purpose to be found.”

“They murdered me…” she felt a hollowness creep through her as she spoke the words.

“Yes, but I wish to offer an alternative. One where your story does not have to simply end with an untimely death.”

She stared at him, tense against the couch as she kept pressure on the wound. It hurt, but after the initial shock of pain she calmed down somewhat.

“Morrigan, I would like to offer you a contract.”

“A… contract?”

“Yes.” He stood from his seat and began to pace. “Since your soul had been defiled, you were not accepted by Heaven. Nor were you sentenced to Hell. Still, we can not have stray souls wandering around, so I would have had no other choice but to send you to limbo. That is, unless there were a way to allow your soul to stay in this world. There is only one way which I can justify that, and that is to give you a purpose.”

She gulped as she watched him, the yellow flames of a nearby candle flickering against his skull.

“I would like for you to become a reaper, Morrigan. My apprentice.”

Her posture straightened as she sat up. Perhaps it was just too bizare to comprehend rationally, but a defiant spark of humor twitched the corner of her lip. “Become… a reaper?”

“Yes, think of it as a part time job.”

“A job?” she scoffed, shaking her head. “Does that mean I get health benefits?”

Death stopped his pacing. His jaw fell open and he let out a hearty burst of laughter. “Ah, the wit! I knew you were a good candidate!”

She cocked an eyebrow at him, losing her focus on the wound and letting her hand fall away. She gasped and quickly plugged it up again when she noticed the blood pump out in a quick burst.

“So, this means what? I’ll have to go around collecting souls?”

“Yes, you catch on quickly,” he said. “There are some other details but we do not quite have the time to iron it all out. For the most part, as long as you follow the list and reap your client’s souls in a timely fashion, everything will be just fine. It is no easy path, but should the burden prove too much to bear, I can always send you limbo, which is where you would have ended up anyway. Sounds fair, doesn’t it?”

“Fair? Sorry, but there is pretty much nothing about this that sounds fair,” she said as she stood up.

Noir came from around a stack of books and fixed her with a stern gaze. “My master is offering a rare opportunity. You ought to act a little more grateful, human!”

She met his gaze squarely. “Forgive me if I’m not exactly jumping for joy here.”

“The choice is fully yours, of course,” Death added. “I wish the circumstances allowed for more time to deliberate, but we must act quickly while you still have a viable vessel.”

Morrigan exhaled, trying to still her nerves, and flopped back down on the couch. “So… where is this contract?”

Death extracted a scroll from his sleeve, holding it from one end and letting the other unravel. Crafted from aged leather, the scroll sprawled across the necromancy book, its text in an unintelligible script similar to the book beneath it.

“If you are going to embrace your role as a reaper, might I suggest you brush up on your Latin?” Death advised. “Most documents from the underworld tend to be written in Latin, you see.”

“So, I’m supposed to sign a contract, when I don’t even know what it says? How do I know this isn’t going to… I don’t know, make me your slave or something?”

“I would gladly spend years teaching you Latin so you could decipher it yourself, but time is a luxury currently unafforded to us. A brief summary and a few key questions are all we can manage now. Remember, should you regret your decision later, limbo remains an option. Forgive my impatience, but based on the amount of blood you’ve lost, there isn’t much time.”

She didn’t like the idea of signing a contract when she didn’t know what it said. In anime or novels usually there were some extra strings attached that ended up being a bad deal. Still, she did not really have much of a choice.

“So where do I sign… and, uh, how do I sign?”

“Just spill your blood over it with the intention of agreeing to abide by the contents there-in.”

“I don’t know the contents there-in.”

She stared at the scroll, having no idea what to expect. The part of her that still tried to whisper that this was all a dream had grown much quieter. This was real; she was preparing to agree to be a reaper, yet she barely understood what that meant.

Her fist clenched, feeling like there should be more drama in signing her soul away. She felt she should at least say something cool, like, ‘Fine! I accept your contract, REAPER!’ or maybe, ‘With the shedding of my mortal blood! I accept this contract and rise anew!’ There wasn’t even a thunderstorm outside.

“Alright…” she finally whispered. “I’ll do it.”

Death had no more words to share and watched. In the weight of the moment it seemed he wished to apply no additional pressure.

“I accept…” she said a little louder, reaffirming the choice in her mind. She lifted her hand from her wound, blood dripping through her fingers. “I accept! I’ll become your apprentice!” she finally shouted the words and flung her hand at the contract.

Splatters of blood instantly seeped into the fabric and disappeared. However, at the very bottom of the scroll she saw her name appearing in cursive exactly the way she would normally sign.

Finally, she got some flickering lights as she looked around the room.

Death reached out his hand and materialized his scythe into his grasp. “Morrigan Livingston! Welcome to your new life! Er… EXISTENCE!”

The last thing she saw was Death swinging the scythe at her.