Chapter 30 – The Wind Through the Keyhole

By morning, Morrigan wasn’t entirely sure if she slept or not. If she did, it was sporadic but at least she didn’t dream. If she did, she was sure she would have had nightmares. After getting dressed and coming out into the hall, she heard whispering, Death and Noir deliberating with hushed tones. Curious, she took careful steps down the hall.

“I know, I know, but give her time Noir.”

“Master, I wish to trust your judgment, but think about last time…” Noir’s voice lowered like he was sharing something extra confidential, and Morrigan couldn’t quite make out the words.

Their talking about me, right? Morrigan thought, taking a step forward.

“No, this is not the same,” Death’s voice rose. “Morrigan may be troubled but—”

Her foot found a creaky floorboard, which halted their conversation. Death looked over his shoulder from the couch, and a red glow in his eye sockets disappeared. “Ah, Morrigan, you’re awake.”

Morrigan looked past him, at Noir who sat elegantly upon the coffee table. The cat seemed to regard her with disapproval.

She sighed and turned towards the kitchen. “Talking about me?” she asked.

Death got up and followed her. “Don’t misunderstand, we were merely discussing your progress and how best to support you,” he said, his voice calm and even.

Morrigan stopped and leaned against the kitchen counter, her arms crossed. “And what’s the verdict? Am I a lost cause or just a work in progress?”

“Noir has concerns, understandably so. But we both believe in your potential.”

Noir came in next, taking a seat by Death’s feet. “My concern is for the balance and your well-being, Morrigan. It is clear the emotional toll is crushing you.”

“Well, sorry!” Morrigan spat. “Last week the biggest thing on my agenda was deciding what outfit I would wear to a party. Now, I’m worried about killing half a dozen people every day.”

Noir's voice rose. “You don’t listen! You grow defensive over any smallest remark and you keep making the same mistakes!”

“Well I’m still learning! I never wanted to be a reaper in the first place!”

“Yet, you signed the contract!”

“Oh yeah, big choice I had there.”

Death stepped between them. “ENOUGH!” he yelled, eyes glowing red. It was enough to silence both of them instantly. The fact he was normally so calm and composed made it that much scarier when he lost his cool.

Morrigan dropped her haze to the floor, then started walking back to her room. “Forget it. Where’s my list?”

“Please wait a moment,” Death said, “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

She looked over her shoulder.

Death’s skeletal fingers came up to his chin in a thinking gesture. “I decided it would be best for you to take the day off.”

Morrigan sighed. “Bet that was Noir’s idea, huh?”

“No, it was mine,” Death said. “Reaping is difficult to adjust to, but on top of that you’ve had some tricky cases already. Not to mention the confrontation with the demon, and… perhaps a few missteps on your part. But, I know it hasn’t been an easy time for you.”

“Reapers can take days off?” Morrigan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“But of course, it’s not as though we’re slaves. We can choose our own schedules too. As long as overall we are meeting our quotas and honoring the purpose of our existence here. That’s why my reaping is always morning to mid-afternoon. Another reaper handles this area at night.”

“Hm, well alright,” she shrugged. “Guess I’ll stay out of your way today, then.” She wasn’t sure if it was a relief or if she felt… abandoned? Was that the right word? What if Death was coming to the conclusion she couldn’t make the cut as a reaper after all? Would that mean he would just send her to limbo?

“Morrigan, this isn’t a punishment. It has simply dawned on me you have not had a chance to stop and breath, to really process your new existence. I think you should take a break until you can come to terms with certain things.”

“So it's not just today you want me to take off?”

“That, I have not yet decided.”

She paused, then said, “I see… Well, guess I’m going back to bed then.” She continued on to her room without another word.

As she flopped back on the bed she thought about the conversation she had walked in on.

I wish to trust your judgement, Noir had said.

Morrigan may be troubled, Death had said.

That added up to… Noir wanted Death to un-reaperize her, which would mean being sent to limbo. Right?

It kind of hurt to think that Noir thought that way about her. Yeah, she screwed up more than once, but despite their constant bickering, she had thought Noir cared about her.

Also, there was something else…

Think about last time… Noir had said.

No, this is not the same… Death had responded.

What did that mean? What last time?

Morrigan sat back up. Were they talking about her, or something else? She had no idea, but she kind of wanted to confront them on it.

Instead, she walked over to the bookshelf in her room and kneeled in front of it, looking over the titles. It all looked like relatively modern stuff, she even saw some author names she regonized. Stephen King, Tolkein, Autumn Knights, Sanderson, Micheal Buckley…

“Morrigan,” Death called from the hallway. “We are leaving now. We’ll be back this afternoon. Please feel free to make yourself at home.”

She ignored him and grabbed the first volume of The Sisters Grimm, then flipped through the pages. This was one of the first book series she ever got deep into reading, back when she was still in first grade. Back then, she couldn’t understand the older sister, Sabrina, at all; how she couldn’t accept being thrown into a new world of magic and adventure. Morrigan would have wished for nothing more than to be whisked away from the life she knew. She definitely related more to the younger sister back then. Now, she thought she understood better how Sabrina felt. There was safety in a world that was familiar, that you could understand. Lost of that, its impossible to know what will happen and where you stand, so it’s only natural to deny that truth.

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Morrigan closed the book and looked at the spine. It was worn with creases, and it was clear the book had gotten its fair share of use. She put the book back and then listened for the sound of Death’s car leaving. She could vaguely make out the crunch of gravel under the tires, and when she was sure he was gone she left the bedroom.

No reaping today… she guessed it was a relief after all, but now she didnt know what to do with herself. She ended up pacing around the living room, occasionally grabbing a book off one of the many stacks and flipping through. Most of the books out here in the livingroom were at least a hundred years old, probably much older in most cases. She wondered why the ones in her room were more modern? Had Death stocked that bookshelf specifically for her? Come to think of it, the guest room wasn’t dusty at all and the linens had been fresh… so had he been expecting her to come live here the whole time? She wasn’t sure if she should take issue with that or not.

She sighed and closed the book, retiring it back to its stack. Looking towards the stairway, which she had not yet been up, she wondered if there would be anything interesting up there. Figuring there was nothing wrong with looking around, she went upstairs. Besides, Death did tell her to feel free to make herself at home.

There were four doors in the upstairs hall. The first led to another bathroom, the second… drum roll… more books! This room was even messier as some of the stacks further back into the room had no path to get to them. She closed the door and then went on to the third room. When she tried the handle she found it was locked. “Hmmm… onto door number four, then,” she said to herself. “Is it going to a game room? A pool table, or an old pinball machine? A week’s vacation in the Bahamas?” she turned the knob and looked inside. “Nope! More books!” This room was just as bad as the last one, the area completely filled.

Come to think of it, I guess Death is kind of a hoarder…

She looked back to the locked door, wondering what was behind it.

No, if there is something in there he wants private I should respect that… she thought. Then again, he knows I have a skeleton key and he never said anything about staying away. Maybe he just locked it on the off chance there was a break-in?

She smirked, then quickly ran downstairs, snatched the skeleton key off her nightstand and ran back up. She brought the key towards the lock, and it started changing shape just as always. However, as she got closer to the keyhole it was suddenly like trying to push two opposing magnets together.

“The hell?”

The key just kept trying to slip to the side, so she held it with both hands to steady it and tried to push it through the force that was repelling it. However, the closer she got to the keyhole the stronger it became and she soon realized it was impossible.

She gave up and looked at the key. “Can open any lock in the world, huh? Except for one, apparently.” She returned it to her pocket, then kneeled down as she closed an eye and tried to look through the keyhole. Too dark.

Then as she tried the knob, she realized the door would wiggle a little. She pulled and played with it, a smirk coming over her face.

There’s more than one way to open a locked door, you know.

With that thought, she ran back to her room, looked through her bag until finding her credit card then ran back up to the locked room. She took a moment to ponder over if she should do this. The fact some magic was repelling the skeleton key was proof Death didn’t want her to go in there. At the same time, she was wondering just how much she should really trust him? Death had power over her, even if he was kind to her. For the sake of self-preservation she figured she should know all she could about who she was living with. That was only smart.

She slid the credit card into the crack, pulled up on the knob and wiggled the card and the knob simultaneously. Eventually, she found an angle for the corner of the card to slide down into the latch, then leveraged the card by rotating it up and back, then lifting and pushing the doorknob.

The door suddenly popped open. Inside was completely dark, but she saw the silhouettes of furnishings. It wasn’t more book storage, that was obvious.

She felt around the wall until she found a switch and flicked it up.

Her eyes widened as she took in the room which was… an ordinary bedroom, though dated. There was a bed, a desk, an old oil lamp, curtains with a flower design on them, and a smaller bookcase just like the one in her own room. She stepped inside and looked at the bookshelf.

These books seemed quite a bit older, though not as ancient as the ones stacked around the living room. One other difference, they were coated in a thick layer of dust. She walked over to the desk, which was covered in dust as well. It seemed that this room hadn’t been used in a long time, but other than that, it was clean. No clutter at all, just like her own room and the kitchen.

“Okay, so he has another spare room. No big deal, right?” she muttered to herself. However, an eerie feeling clawed at her. “Yeah, a completely normal spare room that he took extra care to lock with magic and looks like it hasn’t been used in ages. Nothing weird here at all.”

Her eyes scanned around the room, falling back on the desk. There was a chair in front of it, and three drawers along one side. She walked over to it and reached for the little knob, but stopped. Looking closer, the little metal knob was coated in dust just like everything else, so touching it would make it clear that she had opened it.

Instead, she held the credit card firmly in her palm and worked the corner into the crevice on the underside of the drawer then slowly pulled it open. Inside was a feather quill pen and a bottle of ink, the kind she had only ever seen in movies based in earlier time periods. She used the card to push the drawer closed again.

Drawer number two she did the same thing, and this time she found a single leatherbound book. Except, it wasn’t just a book, there was no title or author name along the spine, just the word ‘diary,’ engrained in the leather. It was held shut by a simple clasp and leather belt.

Morrigan looked over her shoulder as if expecting to see someone standing behind her. There was nothing, and as she listened for any sounds of someone being in the house she found there were none. Her hand reached for the clasp, dust be damned, and undid it then lifted the cover, all while not moving it from its place in the drawer.

It was handwritten with beautiful cursive penmanship that was truly a skill lost to the ages. Here in the digital age, nobody could write like that. She started reading.

January 27th 1694,

Winter is harsh this year, but my skin no longer feels the cold the way it used to. Of all the things I could begin with, this is what sticks out in my mind. But no, not just the cold, nothing feels as it once was. If it were so, then I doubt my duties would come so naturally. I am not that girl any longer. I only need to gaze into the mirror to know that’s the case. Yet, I avoid mirrors, I can’t stand to see the evidence of what they’ve done to me. Noir asked why I smashed a mirror at the market the other day. I’d think it would be obvious why. Truly, for one so ancient there is little he understands.

Morrigan would have smirked at that, but she was way too creeped out to find anything humorous at the moment. She let go of the cover and let it close as she stepped back.

“Who’s is this?” she whispered to herself.

Shaking her head, she threw caution to the wind, and picked the journal up, putting her fingerprints all over it as she opened it to the next page.

January 30th 1694

Death was upset with me today. I took the life of someone too early, and he said it was wrong. I’m not sure that I should care. He needed to die. The man was abusing his child, and I couldn’t help putting a stop to it. I did that family a favor. The woman may have faced legal consequences if she were to have made a move with that butcher’s knife. It is not as though he were not meant to die anyway.

Morrigan froze, taking it in. There was more, but she stopped there for now and closed the journal again.

Would I do the same thing in that situation?

As far as she could tell, this other girl who was presumable once an apprentice reaper was justified in her actions.

She wanted to keep reading, but she had no idea when Death would be back and she did not want to get caught snooping around. She lowered the journal down to the drawer she had gotten it from, but stopped.

How long would it be before she was left alone in this house again and had a chance to read this journal? She couldn’t let it go. It seemed Death rarely used this room, so he might not ever notice.

Using the corner of her credit card, she closed the drawer but kept the journal held against her chest. She then flicked off the light switch as she stepped back into the hall and closed the door. She wiggled the handle, confirming it was still locked.

As she moved to the stairwell, another thought hit her and she went back to the door and tested the skeleton key. The lock still repelled its presence. She checked outside once she made it back downstairs to confirm she was still alone, then took the journal back to her room.