There’s a reason the spirits call to me. There’s a reason I never feel alone in darkness. I can feel the desperate memories of those long forgotten. I am a reaper. But am I still human?
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I tell Maggie about Dr. Ward, Dad, and—well, me. Her reaction is far removed from my own.
“You’re an angel of death!” Maggie shouts. The bathroom light flickers as I spit toothpaste into the sink. “That’s wicked cool!”
“I’m glad you’re excited.” I dry off my face and walk back to my computer. “He wants me to train and help him hunt that thing in the woods.”
“Oh my god. This is your training montage!” Maggie stands beside me, radiating with joy. If she had any eyes, her giant smile would still creep me out. “This is the part where the hero, you, trains to be a total badass.”
“No, this is the part where I stop seeing Dr. Ward.” I’m not sure if I really mean that, but today was a lot. I don’t even know where to begin on my blog. I should write about the monster in the woods, but I’m leaving out the whole reaper part.
“Oh come on,” Maggie whines. “You told Hannah and JJ you’d help them hunt it. What changed?”
“Yeah, I meant I'd hunt it to gather evidence for the authorities.” Maybe I was a bit more excited when Hannah first suggested it, but with all this new magic, and omens, and shit, I’m out. “That thing eats people, Maggie. I saw it rip a doe in half. That’s a job for the FBI or the military, not me. I still get nervous around boys, let alone monsters.”
I remember I told Ethan he could come over tomorrow. I wonder if I should at least try and look nice. The small mirror on my desk mercilessly reveals the bags under my eyes.
“There’s a boy?” Maggie slides her face into view, wearing a mischievous grin.
“Wha—no.”
“Who is he?” Maggie persists.
“Ethan is coming over tomorrow.” I roll my eyes.
“I thought you said he was dating Jaqueline.” Maggie narrows her eye-sockets.
“Well, no.” I think I preferred the earlier conversation. “They’re not dating, per se.”
“You’re totally stealing Jaqueline’s boyfriend,” Maggie says with a cocky smirk.
“Will you stop it?” I almost shout. “I am not. It’s just for a project. He’s probably doing it on a dare or something.”
“Collector of souls.” Maggie begins counting on her fingers. “Omen of death. Stealer of boyfriends.”
“Maggie, I swear, I’m gonna kill you.”
“Too late. Beat ya to it.”
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“Beware the cannibal.”
“He’s coming.”
“Run!”
“Please, help the others.”
“I’m so sorry, Mallory.”
CRUNCH
I impale a chunk of meat with my fork. Mom pulled leftover carnitas from the freezer to cook for Ethan and I. I honestly can’t remember when Mom even made carnitas, but Ethan seems to enjoy it. His curly brown hair bobs up and down as he chews merrily.
The three of us eat in silence around the small dining table. I normally prefer to eat lunch in my room, but Mom insisted we eat at the table.
“What do your parents do, Ethan?” Mom asks. Here we go.
“Oh—” He quickly swallows. “My mom works at the vet on Henderson, and my dad’s a paramedic.”
“Your parents must be very caring people,” Mom says, almost sounding genuine. It’s hard to tell these days, but I know she’s just putting on a polite face.
“Yeah, I guess so.” He returns a smile. “I don’t see them much, busy schedules and all.”
“So you’re home alone all day?” She asks.
“Not all day. Plus, I have my little brother to look after.”
“You take care of your brother while your parents are away?” Mom glances at me.
“Yeah, he’s easy to take care of though.” Ethan takes another bite.
“That’s very responsible of you.” Which translates to, I wish my daughter was responsible like that. I don’t give her the benefit of rolling my eyes.
My blood begins to boil when I remember what Dr. Ward told me. Dad was a reaper, just like me. Has Mom known this whole time? Why would she keep that from me? Mom and Ethan’s small talk fades into the back of my mind as I imagine how my life could have been different had I just known the truth. That I wasn’t crazy. That Dad could see those same faces that stare back at me in the shadows.
“We have a lot of work to do Mom,” I say, placing my fork on my empty plate. I stand and set my plate in the sink.
“The meal was delicious, Miss. Everly.” Ethan offers a kind compliment. I'm not sure if he's just being polite or if he's never had carnitas before.
“Where are you going?” Mom asks.
“To my room,” I reply. “We need to work on our project.”
“Leave your door open, mija,” she demands.
“I know,” I groan.
I walk Ethan upstairs to my room, then leave the door open about six inches. My room immediately feels dirty and I start finding little things to tidy up.
“Your mom seems nice,” Ethan says, touring the room.
I raise an eyebrow. He has no idea how wrong he is. Suddenly, my heart drops, and a chill crawls across my skin. Long, thorny antlers twist in the shadow behind Ethan and climb high to the ceiling. The monster. It can't be. How the hell did that thing get in my room? The blood drains from my face.
Then, in a blink, it’s gone. No. It was just the shadow of my dying plant hanging on the wall. I catch my breath before Ethan notices. I toss the vines around, just for good measure, to ensure the shadow doesn't return.
“Cool room,” Ethan stares at my wall of horror movie posters. “I haven’t even heard of some of these.”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “Look, I know you’re just going to tell all your friends what it was like to partner with the weird witch girl, so you can drop the act.”
“Woah,” he lifts his hands in defense. “It’s not like that. I just needed a good partner.”
“Then, of all the people, why would you intentionally pick me?” Did I actually just say that out loud? I am really on edge today.
“Man, you really don’t like yourself, do you?” He asks softly.
“What’s to like?” I mutter. Get a hold of yourself, Autumn. “Sorry,” I say. “It’s been a difficult week. Let’s do this. Did you bring the sticks?”
“Uh, yeah.” Ethan drops his backpack on my bed and unzips it. “Right here.”
“Great.”
I know he said he needs a good grade on this project, but I really suck at physics. He may have been better off with Jaqueline.
“So, any ideas?” He asks.
I shrug. I grab a few popsicle sticks and press them against each other to build one large column. “Can’t we just glue a bunch of sticks together for supports? How complex does it really need to be?”
“Well,” He takes the sticks from my hand and arranges them into a triangle. “I know supports need support. Three is better than one. That way they can share the load.”
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
I can’t help but think about Hannah and JJ. Getting them involved in this mess could get them killed. Every haunted building I’ve ever entered, every ghost I’ve ever faced, I’ve done it alone. Now, I have two spectators who could end up like Mallory and Trevor.
“Well, what if alone is easier?” I ask, grabbing the sticks back. “Relying on others is how you get let down.”
“I mean, structurally speaking,” He narrows his eyes. “I’m not sure that would work—oh, we’re not talking about bridges are we?”
“Sorry,” I sigh. “You’re right, let’s use triangles.”
“You seem like you have a lot on your mind.” He sits on my bed. “How about this. You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine. Deal?”
“No, I—”
“I’m worried about my little brother.” He interrupts me.
I pause a moment, a bit stunned, then ask, “Why?”
“He tries so hard to be like me.” He grabs another stick and fiddles with it.
“And that’s bad?” I sit on the bed beside him.
“No, it’s just—” He pauses. “I have no idea what I’m doing.” He looks at me. His soft green eyes dart back and forth between mine. “What if I make the wrong choice? And I set him on a course for failure?”
“You’re not responsible for your brother’s future, Ethan.”
“Aren’t I though?”
“Well,” I think for a moment. “My dad had a lot of things he struggled with. I wanted to be just like him. But he kept a lot from me. He never told me that he… had issues.” Now’s not the time to unpack the whole reaper conundrum. So, issues it is. “It would have been nice if he had just told me what he was struggling with so I could help or at least make my own decisions.”
“So if I just told him how much of my life baseball consumes,” he says. “Maybe then he’d consider if it's actually what he wants.”
“Ah,” So that’s what he plays. “You play baseball.”
“Yeah. You didn’t know that?”
“I knew you played something, ‘cause you look—” I stop myself. “Like you play baseball.” I pat his shoulder. It’s as firm as it looks.
He smiles and shakes his head. “Your turn.”
I look out the window. The light rain outside resembles TV static over the view of Thicket Grove’s twisted trees. I know it lurks out there, hiding in the shadows. Someone could be wandering those woods right now without a clue of the danger they’re in. And, somehow, I’m supposed to be their savior.
“How do you be brave?” I finally ask.
Ethan chuffs and looks down for a moment. “Wow, that’s a big one.”
I press my lips together in an apologetic smile.
“Well,” he continues. “When I was fifteen, I confronted my dad about smoking.”
“Does he smoke a lot?” I ask.
“Less now, but it was like three packs a day.” He stands up and paces around my room. “I was so scared to say anything. I was terrified of how he might react. But I knew if I didn’t say something, no one else would. I knew I’d hate myself later for not doing something when I could. So, I just… did it scared.” He stops and looks at me. “So, maybe, don’t be brave. Just do it scared.”
The room falls quiet for a moment.
“He’s cute. I like him.” Maggie’s voice sends a shiver down my spine.
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Ethan leaves after the rain dies down. Our popsicle stick bridge isn’t winning any awards, but it’s a good start. I wash the dishes while Mom sits in front of the TV with her laptop, sending email after email. I want to ask her about Dad. I want to know what other secrets she’s kept from me, but I don’t even know how to start that conversation.
I finish the dishes and head back toward the stairs. I pass by my parents’ room and notice the door cracked open. Mom can’t see me as she furiously types up her next email. Maybe I can find some answers myself.
I press the door open slowly. The TV chatter dampens the subtle creak of the hinges. The lights are turned off, but the windows fill the room with a soft gray-blue hue. Their bed sits in the center of the room, flanked by two small nightstands, both backlit by windows. Mom’s side is obvious. Her nightstand is cluttered with tissues, jewelry, and junk. Dad’s is almost empty. A layer of dust covers his watch, a beanie, and a notebook.
I pick up the notebook and flip through the pages. His handwriting makes my heart shudder. It’s just a calendar book. He was terrible at remembering dates. This little book probably helped him. On October 31st, Halloween is crossed out. Under it, ‘Spooks’ B-Day!’ is written in big letters.
I smile and gently put the notebook back where it was. I open the closet to find it packed wall to wall clothes. Mom should really get rid of some of these. She barely has room for her own outfits. I dig through the pile of shoes and clutter on the floor, but find nothing.
Mom could come back here any minute. This search may be useless. I don’t even know what I’m looking for. Where would Dad hide something if he didn’t want Mom or I to find it? I return to the nightstand. I’m not sure I want to know what’s in the drawer, and I imagine Mom would share my discomfort.
I slowly pull open the drawer. On top are a few hunting magazines. I remove them and set them on the bed. Beneath them are a flashlight, a handgun, and a large rectangular box that fills up most of the drawer. ‘Autumn’ is written across the top of the box in Dad’s handwriting.
Without a second thought, I grab the box, put the magazines back, and leave the room. I peer over into the living room. Mom is still buried in her work. I quickly take the box upstairs and close the bedroom door.
“Well, Ethan was fun,” Maggie says.
I ignore her and lay the box on my bed. It’s about nine inches long, six inches wide, and a couple inches tall. And my name is written across the top. My name. In Dad’s handwriting.
“What’s that?” Maggie asks.
“I got it from my Dad’s nightstand.” I say, staring at it.
“Ew. Why would you go digging in there?”
“Wait.” A thought suddenly crosses my mind. “You’re always home. You’ve never heard Mom and Dad mention anything about reapers?”
“Not that I can think of.” She pauses to think for a moment. “I mean I wasn’t really looking out for it. I never went sneaking around your parent’s room. What they got up to was their business.”
“Ew.” I close my eyes.
“You asked.” Maggie shrugs. “So, what’s in the box?”
“No idea,” I say, unmoving.
“Well, I'd help you open it, but…” Maggie passes her hand through the box a few times, only slightly moving it.
I take a deep breath and slowly remove the lid. On top is an envelope with ‘Happy Birthday!’ written across it. My hands shake and I feel my eyes begin to swell. I bite my lip and pick up the envelope. Inside is a horror-themed birthday card with a masked man holding a knife. ‘Want a slice?’ is typed out across the front in big, bloody letters.
I open the card and horror music suddenly starts playing, echoing off the walls of my bedroom. I slam the card shut and a note falls out. I pick it up slowly, knowing it's a note just for me. I sit on the bed and unfold it.
‘Happy birthday, Spooks!
I know this is a weird gift, but it will make sense later. Hopefully, you’ll never need it, but it’s time I taught you a few things. I know life hasn’t always been easy. You see things no kid should ever have to see. I spent a long time deciding whether or not to tell you the truth. Too long. And you’ve had to endure it all alone.
I’m sorry for that. I should have told you sooner. I'll probably trip over my words explaining this in person. So, here goes nothing.
You and I can see ghosts. Yes, I know about Maggie. I’m glad you have her actually. She’ll take care of you. But she won’t be around forever. Every spirit must move on eventually.
That is where we come in. You are a guide for spirits into the next life. I’ve filled this box with everything you’ll need to get started. Your training starts today.
Love,
Dad
P.S. keep this between us weirdos. Your mom will kill me if she knows I gave you a weapon.’
Tears stream down my cheeks. My breath shudders, and I put the card down. I wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt.
“He really could see me,” Maggie says softly.
I laugh through my tears. “Yeah.”
I look down at the box to see what weapon would have made my mom so mad. Inside is an assortment of random knick knacks. Three thick iron nails longer than my hand, a container of salt, a silver ring, a notebook, and a long metal rod coated in gold.
I take out the gold-plated rod. It’s heavier than it looks. Ornate engravings wrap around the sides, creating hypnotic geometric patterns. On either end are reliefs of human skulls. It’s beautiful, whatever it is. It’s about eight inches long, and fits comfortably in the palm of my hand.
“That looks kind of like a hilt,” Maggie says. “Like from a sword.”
I pick up the notebook and flip through it. It’s filled with old notes from my dad, like a how-to guide. I find the page labeled ‘Hilt’.
‘I had the hilt made special for you. It’s a focus. It’s incredibly dangerous if not handled with care. I know you skipped all of the other pages to read this. Go back and read the other pages first.’
I skip through the lecture until I find what I’m looking for.
…connect with your last reaping. Weaving is like a waltz. You both need to be in step. Feel their emotions…
I stand in the center of my room and hold the hilt out in front of me. My last reaping, whatever that means, must have been Mallory. I close my eyes and imagine her. Her pink butterfly clips stand out in my mind. I could feel her fear when she was close to me. She was desperate for any help. But in the end, just as she crossed over, I felt hope.
Suddenly, static ripples over my skin. I feel the blood vessels around my eyes swell. Warmth floods my body and rushes toward the hilt. A bolt of white-hot static fires from the hilt, bursting the lightbulb above me. Tiny lightning bolts smack around my room. Shit. I really should have done this outside. Then, the hilt bursts with glittering light. Particles of glowing dust swarm around the hilt and link together, forming a long silver blade. A large shimmering butterfly opens its wings over my hand like a guard.
Then, after only a second, the light flickers and vanishes. The hilt returns to its original harmless state and loses its warmth. I immediately notice something inside me feels different. Like a part of me is somehow missing now.
“That,” Maggie comes out of hiding. “Is a lightsab—”
“Don’t fucking say it.” I stop her.
“Autumn?” My mom calls from downstairs. “What was that?”
“Nothing, Mom.” I try to sound as calm as possible, ignoring the busted lightbulb and scarring on the walls. “My books just fell over.”
I look back at Maggie. We both giggle with excitement. This feeling, is it hope? Joy? Maybe it’s just something other than helplessness. I pick up the notebook.
“Thanks, Dad.” I look out the window. “Time to become a superhero.”
“Fuck yes!” Maggie shouts.