“I knew embracing the truth of who—what—I am would change my life forever. Either I’d love this new version of myself, or spiral into madness. But doing nothing felt like it would kill me.”
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My whole life I’ve wondered if I was broken. I walk a tightrope of sanity, careful not to veer off. At first I taught myself to ignore the faces that stare at me as I walk to and from school. Eventually, my curiosity got the better of me. I hoped that maybe I’d feel better if I got to know my demons, rather than let them fester.
Tommy, for example. A little boy riding his tricycle used to frighten me when I’d walk to school. But one day I decided to say hi. I didn’t treat him like some kind of monster, though the black blood dripping down his pale face made that difficult. He just said hi back, and I never saw him again. I later found out Tommy had ridden too far from home at night and was struck by a car. I think he just wanted someone to talk to.
Even if I am crazy and he was just some kind of hallucination, it didn’t seem harmful to learn about him. Thicket Grove, however, I have yet to truly investigate. I avoid looking into those woods if I can help it. Sad, hungry faces often stare back, obscured by the shadows of those twisted branches. I feel their empty black eyes watching me, judging me for ignoring them. Following that brand of crazy might send me tumbling from my tightrope.
But now, I’m sharing my curse with Hannah and JJ, I found an actual dead body in the swamp which is surely doing wonders for my sanity, a middle-aged doctor in an old mansion told me I’m some kind of ancient being, not to mention monsters are real, and yet for the first time I feel like I’m on the right path. Yep, I’ve dive bombed from my comfy little tightrope. But Dad always told me if you’re going to fail, fail spectacularly. So, I’m standing in front of a door preparing to speak to the man who could teach me to fly.
I need to talk to Dr. Ward. It’s all I’ve been able to think about all day. I barely even interacted with anyone at school. Even with my dad’s notebook and Hannah and JJ’s help, I need a guide. The large wooden door to the library is cracked open and I know once I step into this room, I’m giving up on any hope of normalcy. I’m embracing my truth and accepting whatever consequences come. I’m done ignoring my demons. I’m done pretending I’m normal.
“Why do I keep coming back here, Ward?” A muffled voice echoes through the door.
I slowly push the door open just enough to peek my head in. Two men stand in front of Dr. Ward, hiding his face. The first man wears a brown blazer and his messy blonde hair is thinning. The second man wears a gray button up and a visible gun holster on his belt. They must be detectives.
“I wouldn’t dream of knowing, Hart,” Dr. Ward replies.
“Every time something awful happens in those woods, your name eventually comes up,” the man in the brown blazer says. “Every other month I’ve got the same case. A fisherman, a hunter, or a kid missing or dead.”
“They’re dangerous woods,” Dr. Ward’s voice grows more pointed. “Maybe if your department did a better job of keeping people out, your days would be easier.”
“Then tell me what you were doing in those woods Friday night,” the blonde detective demands.
Dr. Ward releases a frustrated and tired sigh. “Can a man not go for a walk?” He finally asks.
He seems smug, like he's had these conversations before. He probably has. People get lost and die in those woods all the time, and if Dr. Ward is a constant suspect then he must be used to it.
That said, I can’t think of any way Dr. Ward could get himself out of this. He can’t just say he’s a reaper hunting a monster. They’ll brand him as a psycho and probably take away his medical license. They’re going to find a way to pin those deaths on him and lock him away. Dr. Ward has always been there for me since my dad died, I have to do something.
“And did you incur any injuries on this walk?” The man in the gray button up asks with a younger more professional tone.
“What makes you think that?” Dr. Ward replies.
“You were seen leaving the woods covered in blood,” the blonde detective barks. “Am I going to get another missing kid report on my desk, Ward?”
I push the door a bit more to get a better look at their faces. The door creaks slightly. My eyes suddenly lock with Dr. Ward’s. His face shifts with concern. The blonde detective follows his line of sight and finds my face peering into the room.
“Grooming your next victim?” the blonde detective asks.
“Careful, Hart.” Dr. Ward’s face turns red. “You walk a thin line. It’s a very long way down.”
“Is that a threat?” Hart asks, staring up at Dr. Ward with his teeth clenched.
Dr. Ward relaxes and replies, “Merely a doctor's advice, detective.”
The man in the gray button up places his hand on Hart’s shoulder, preventing him from taking the conversation further. They both turn towards the door, and me, and begin their leave. I step into the room to get out of their way when a sudden edge of bravery overtakes me.
“I know why he was covered in blood,” I say.
The color in Dr. Ward’s face drains. Hart stops and smirks. His face is rough, with a prickly stubble that covers most of it. His piercing green eyes look to me with anticipation.
“Is that so?” He asks.
I lift my hoodie over my head to pull my arm out from under it. It’s still covered with the bandages I wrapped this morning. The wound is slightly healed already, but my skin is covered with yellow and purple bruises, and the wrap covers most of my arm so it looks worse than it is.
“He found me in the woods and stitched my arm.” I’m careful with every word. “I was bleeding everywhere, so it was probably my blood.”
Detective Hart’s face shifts to disappointment. “And why did your arm need stitches?” He asks.
I look to Dr. Ward, whose face is only slightly relieved. I can feel him begging me not to mention reapers, monsters, cryptids, or anything of the sort. I could say a bear, but it’s the middle of winter. What animal would be out right now?
“I saw this deer in the woods,” I finally say. Dad used to warn never to pet a hungry deer in the winter. They aren’t always as nice as they look. “It had huge horns, but it got spooked and jabbed my arm.” It’s a vicious lie. To an officer, no less.
Detective Hart scans my face for what feels like an hour. Then, he finally straightens and looks to Dr. Ward.
“Ever the good samaritan, aren’t you?” The detective groans.
Dr. Ward smirks. “As charged.”
“And what did you say your name was, sweetheart?” the detective asks.
Shit. He’ll tell Mom. Mom will lock me up in my room permanently, and probably blame Dr. Ward.
“She didn’t,” Dr. Ward replies for me. “If you’ll excuse us. As you can see, I have an appointment.” He gestures to me with a canny smile. “Be careful in those woods, detective, people keep going missing.”
The blonde detective growls and charges out the door with his partner, who gives me a courteous nod as he leaves. I watch the two of them march down the hall muttering between each other, then I close the door and look back to Dr. Ward. He exhales with relief then looks at me and shakes his head.
“That was very foolish of you, Autumn,” he scolds. “But I’m thankful. Maybe now they’ll give me some space.”
“How have they not seen the monster out there?” I ask. “Haven’t they searched those woods?”
“Well,” he pauses, thrown off by my line of questioning. “The creature seems to prefer the dark. They search in the morning, and often with at least ten men to sweep the area. Any animal would avoid that, monster or no.”
He combs his fingers through his disheveled gray hair, then rolls up his sleeves and pours himself a glass of whiskey from a decanter. Dr. Ward towers over me. His thick arms and broad shoulders consume the width of the staircase as he begins to climb the spiral steps.
“Coming?” He asks without looking back.
I bite my lip and smile. I’ve never dared climb the stairs. I always figured his more private collections were up there. I quickly follow his shadow up the steps.
“You sure know a lot about their search parties,” I note.
“Well I ought to shouldn’t I?” His voice echoes through the tower as he replies. “My prey is in those woods, I should know who enters them and when. That is your first lesson, Autumn, master your domain. That is…” He turns to face me at the top of the stairs, blocking me from entering or even seeing much of the room behind him. “If you’ve come to embrace who you are.”
I pause for a moment. There was a part of me that wondered if my last meeting with him was a dream. The magic of it all felt so unreal.
“I have,” I finally say.
“And what are you, Autumn Everly?”
“I am a reaper.” The words make my spine tingle, like I’m taking my first step toward a life of my own making.
Dr. Ward smiles and turns back toward the center of the room. The second floor isn’t what I expected. There are books, of course, but so much more than that. On the wall are swords, rifles, pistols, daggers, and stakes. On the shelves are vials of salt, sulfur, oils, and liquids. In the center of the room are displays holding old artifacts encased in glass. I wander from display to display, trying to understand their importance. Most of the items are small and seemingly unrelated. A stopwatch, an old dagger, a small finger bone, a tattered doll, a jewelry box, each labeled only with a different person’s name.
“What are these?” I finally ask.
“Attachments,” he answers. “Human beings are material creatures. They associate such importance to objects in life, and in some cases, after death. Spirits can attach themselves to these objects allowing them to travel with the item, plus they make for great hiding spots.” Dr. Ward opens the case and takes out the small jewelry box. “This was from an old house not far from here. After six unrelated people committed suicide in the home at different times, I decided to investigate. Turns out, a spiteful phantom was invading the minds of any who entered her domain. She would show them their deepest regrets, fears, and sorrows until they couldn't take it anymore.”
“What did you do?” I ask.
“I destroyed her,” He replies, admiring the box.
“So these are more like trophies then.” I raise an eyebrow.
“I guess you could say that,” he replies and places the box back in its display.
“So she was too scared to enter her portal, then turned into an evil life-sucking ghost,” I conclude. “That sounds about right.”
“Portal?” He asks curiously.
“Yeah.” I realize there's an entire vocabulary of terms I invented on my own. I really need a book of reaper terms. I’ve always named everything myself as I discovered it. “The thin glowing thing that appears when someone dies.”
“Ah,” he nods with amusement. “Rifts. When a life has ended, the veil opens up, spilling energy into our world to beckon the soul to the next plane.”
I drop my backpack while he answers, and dig for a notebook and pen. I flip through to find a blank page and start filling it with notes.
“So is the veil dangerous? Why don’t they all enter it? Are they just scared?” I fire one question after another.
Dr. Ward smiles and sets his whiskey down on a long wooden table. “Many of us fear death, not just because of the sudden absence of life, but for the fear of what comes after. We go through life faced with decision after decision. Some of those decisions we come to regret later in life.” He wheels a ladder across the wall of bookshelves. “Regret is a powerful curse. It can redirect your entire life’s trajectory into ruin.” He climbs the ladder and pulls out a long leather tube covered in dust. “But our true fears are the regrets that come far later in life, when it’s too late to make amends. Worse yet, the regrets we discover after our lives have ended, when we look back at the whole of our lives and are displeased. Those regrets are the monsters that await us on the other side of death’s door. And that is a door none of us are eager to open.” He opens the leather tube and carefully pulls out a rolled up canvas. “But as a reaper, you will walk between the lines of life and death every day. You will face the regrets of every soul who looks upon you, and you will face their monsters. That is your charge until your time comes to open your own door.”
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Dr. Ward sets the scroll on the table, places paperweights over the corners and unrolls a beautiful hand painted art piece. The painting is old and worn. The colors have faded behind a layer of brown varnish and cracks splinter across the surface, but it is undeniably both beautiful and haunting.
Three ominous figures stand at the center of the composition, adorned with long hooded cloaks. Their white skeletal faces are devoid of any emotion. Deep black eyes are painted darker than any paint I’ve ever seen. The left figure is cloaked in a rust brown cloth, and his face is directed down toward the bottom of the painting. The figure on the right mirrors the left, looking up and wearing a dusty gray cloak. The center figure stares back at me, its empty black eyes nearly following me as I move. It wears a cloak coated with gold leafing. At the bottom, though much of it has faded, I can make out the shapes of hands reaching up from the bottom of the painting, grasping at the feet of the three figures.
“The grim trinity,” Dr. Ward says.
“They’re reapers?” I ask.
“Some claim they were the first,” he continues. “They represent the three tiers of reapers that exist.”
Dad’s notes mentioned that reapers come in different kinds. This must be what he was talking about.
“What are the tiers?” I ask.
He points his finger at the reaper with the brown cloak. “The tellúrii is the most common reaper. They are connected to the energy that surrounds us, able to tap into the echoes of the past. They can reap these echoes to channel their weaving.”
“Weaving?” I ask. I’ve seen that word a few times in Dad’s notebook. I think it’s what they call the magic powers like creating a shield or sword.
“Have you ever considered what a soul is made of?” He takes a sip from his whiskey.
“Energy?” I reply, unsure of my vague answer.
“Threads of energy.” He sets his whiskey glass down and pulls at a loose thread on his sleeve. “Reapers are sometimes called soul weavers. We extract those threads.” He pulls the thread further and further, twisting it around his fingers. “Then weave them into new creations of our own.”
“Like a sword,” I conclude. It’s beginning to make sense I think, or I've completely lost my mind.
“Precisely,” he says with a smile. “tellúrii can only siphon the loose threads of energy that surround us. This energy often accumulates in active areas and projects visions of the past. We call these—”
“Echoes,” I interrupt him.
He nods his head. “Your father was a tellúrii,” he says softly.
My chest stiffens and goes cold.
“And a damn good one at that.” He snorts. “He could flip through moments of the past like a book. He could even push more energy toward a rift, allowing a spirit to spend a little more time in the living world before its door closes.”
It takes everything in me to stifle my tears, hearing stories about a side of Dad I never knew. Dr. Ward reads my face and decides to move on. He places his finger over the gray cloaked reaper.
“Lunárii,” he says. “They can reap echoes much like the tellúrii, though they can’t weave them with the same finesse. However, they have access to a far more potent source of power.” He gestures his hand back toward the display cases. “They can reap spirits.”
“They can siphon ghosts?” I ask, partly in shock. A shiver runs down my spine just thinking of allowing another spirit to enter my body.
“Yes,” he crosses his arms and walks toward the window, casting white light around his broad silhouette. “A lunárii, like myself, is like a carnivorous plant, luring unsavory spirits in and consuming them. It allows me to power my weaving for long periods of time. Lunárii were often used as divine soldiers in the dark ages.”
“So, there are other reapers then.” Excitement builds in my chest with the thought that there could be others like me.
“You walk a lonely path, Autumn,” he says with a stern glare and my heart drops. “Few of us remain.”
I look back down at the painting. “What about the golden one?”
Dr. Ward walks back toward me. “That is a solárii. They don’t exist anymore.” He shrugs. “Or if they do, no one is willing to find out.”
“Why not?” I ask, staring at the two black eyes in the center of the painting. What could possibly be more powerful than consuming a spirit?
“They all got themselves killed,” he sighs. “Or were hunted down by power hungry zealots.” He rolls up the painting and stuffs it back in the leather tube. “That bloodline died out a long time ago.”
“So, which one am I then?” I ask. I assume I'm tellúrii like Dad. I hope I am, at least. Eating ghosts is not on my bucket list.
“That is what we need to find out,” he says with a flicker of enthusiasm. He grabs a coat from the rack and an old leather mailbag, then heads toward the stairs. “Come with me.”
I follow Dr. Ward down the stairs and out the library. We walk through the back of the large house, passing by room after room. He nods and smiles at residents and nurses as we pass them. Then we exit the house through the back door and into the garden.
The garden is decently kept, though most of the color has faded under the snow. On warmer days the flower beds are rich with happy yellows, blues, and pinks, and residents can be found gently rocking in the swing under the tree. But today, as the winter air chills in the afternoon and the fog settles over the treetops, all is still and quiet.
“Where are we going?” I ask, stifling my concern as we walk towards the woods.
Thicket Grove borders the home, much like my own house does. Dr. Ward’s estate has direct access to the one place I have no intention of entering.
“Somewhere unpleasant,” he replies without looking back.
My steps slow, and I stumble a bit as his words crawl into my head. He isn’t normally this cryptic. I remind myself this is the same man who gave me the best gifts at every birthday, who cried with me when Dad died, plus he’s the only one who can teach me how to use my powers.
We reach the border of the woods and Dr. Ward doesn’t hesitate as he enters the shadowy threshold. The sour smell of stale stagnant water, algae, and wet earth squirms into my nostrils. I stop just at the edge.
My body refuses to move, like I’ve hit an invisible wall. I look to Dr. Ward, who continues walking deeper and deeper into the dark woods. I look back at the house. The fog has already begun to consume it, and I feel as if another step would take me away from this world.
“It’s time to face the darkness, Autumn.” I look back into the woods to search for Dr. Ward. I barely make out his silhouette standing in the distance. “You can no longer observe from the light. Are you a reaper, or aren’t you?”
I feel panic begin to pulse through my veins like ants crawling across my skin. My breath quickens and my heartbeat thumps against my throat. I look into the woods, searching the shadows. Every twisted branch feels like a spindly arm waiting to grab me. I feel a thousand eyes glaring at me, waiting for me to turn away and run.
“Don’t be brave,” Ethan’s words echo in my head. “Do it scared.”
“It’s alright, you’re not alone,” Hannah’s words join his.
I close my eyes and inhale. Then, as I release my breath, I take a blind step forward. I open my eyes and march deeper into the woods to catch up with Dr. Ward. Together, we walk through the woods on a path that looks to be traveled often. The grass is pushed down and the dirt is compacted, snaking between the brush and mud.
“People see things in these woods,” Dr. Ward says, clearly noticing my eyes darting around. “They get turned around and lose track of time.”
I think back to when Hannah kept wanting to explore these woods well into the dark. I remember it got dark fast. How long had we been out here?
“Yeah, and it smells like a gas station bathroom,” I joke to hide my discomfort.
He offers me a gentle smile, then looks ahead with some delight. “Ah, here it is.”
As we pass under some hanging moss, an old abandoned building comes into view. It’s small and rectangular, with one corner dipping into the swamp water. Moss and vines wrap around the entire structure like Thicket Grove is consuming it, pulling it into the earth. Its ridged square structure is built from thick stone blocks, giving it a castle-like feel, and rusted iron bars cover every window.
When I pass a house in Greenfield that is haunted, I feel a weight. It pulls on my eyes, my jaw, my shoulders, and my lungs like a blanket of dread. That weight hits like a wall every time I enter Thicket Grove, and the deeper I walk into it the heavier it gets. Whatever this building is, it feels like a barrier of pure hatred.
“Cedar Hollow Jail,” Dr. Ward says, standing beside me.
“Woah,” I reply. An old abandoned jail in the middle of a swamp is kind of cool, in a macabre kind of way, but I can’t shake the tickle in my spine begging me to turn around. “Why are we here?” I ask.
Dr. Ward steps forward over the tall brush without replying. I purse my lips and reluctantly follow behind him. As my feet press into the snow, I can feel the texture change from soft grass and mud to packed stone and dirt. This must be the edge of the Cedar Hollow ruins. I look into the woods to see if any other buildings are near. The brush and moss are thick. If there are any other buildings around, they’re heavily obscured, though I wouldn’t be surprised if the jail was built some distance from the rest of the town like Greenfield’s prison. No one likes living near criminals nor the cage we lock them in.
The entrance to the abandoned jail is a narrow archway with a single thick wooden door. Surprisingly, the door still stands strong, though it has lost much of its color and decay has begun to eat away at the base. Dr. Ward pulls out a shining machete from his leather mailbag. I step back at the sight of Dr. Ward holding such a blade. It’s just not an image I ever expected from such a gentle giant. He chops at the vines that cover the door, then pulls the heavy door open.
As the door groans, its echo flies through the stone building like a flock of birds. I half expect some actual birds or some sort of animal to fly out, but none do. Come to think of it, I don’t see a single living creature around. No squirrels, birds, rabbits, not even a cricket. It’s quiet.
“Do you feel that?” He finally asks, his voice echoing from within the door.
“Soul-crushing anxiety? Yeah,” I reply.
He smirks slightly then walks deeper into the jail. “Come inside,” he says.
Cautiously, I oblige. The backside of the door is fitted with rusted iron brackets and a large locking mechanism. It’s old, practically medieval. Inside is overwhelmingly dark, like all of the light is consumed just as it enters through the small barred windows. The damp air is sweet and earthy. Vines climb the walls on the inside and rust flakes off of every metal bar.
“Energy concentrates in places like this,” he continues.
I look up at the noose hanging in the room beside me. The rope has turned black with age. It isn’t an improvised noose of any kind. No. It’s an execution room. I forgot how medieval the world really was in the 1800’s.
“Gee, I wonder why,” I say.
Dr. Ward sighs. “Your sarcasm won’t protect you, Autumn. You must learn to embrace your new reality. Come.”
He continues into the darkness. The earthy musk grows stronger. It floods my nostrils as my vision strains to make out the shapes around me. There’s another smell though, something sour. I know that smell. Or I think I do.
“Echoes are unpleasant,” He says, his voice ringing against the iron cell doors. “Not because of what they are, but because of what they represent. They never lie. They are photographs of our greatest triumphs and our darkest sins.”
“But how do I reap them?” I work up the courage to ask the question that’s been plaguing me. “I tried in the cemetery. There was this woman, but when I touched her—” A shiver crawls across my scalp as I think of my hands covered in blood.
“You resisted,” he says.
Dr. Ward pulls open the iron bar door of one of the cells and steps inside. The ground is covered with mud and moss. Vines spiderweb across the wall and converge on a central point, where a ragged human skeleton slumps against the wall. Its skull is black and tan, hanging at an unnatural angle. I now recognize the sour smell as death.
“What the fuck is that?” I back away from the cell. My back slams against another cell door.
“A corpse,” he replies bluntly.
“Yes, I can see that, but why the fuck is it here?” No, I don’t care about that. “Why am I here?”
“To reap, Autumn. Death is all around you.” He gestures his hand to the cell behind me.
Slowly, I turn around and spot another bundle of bones in the corner of the cell. Bile rises into my throat. It takes everything in me to push it back down. I ball my hands into white-knuckle fists and exhale. I want to shout and leave this wretched place, but I remember my dad’s notes said I need to connect with an echo to reap it.
“Who are they?” I finally ask.
“Souls long forgotten,” Dr. Ward says solemnly. “Murderers, rapists, thieves, or perhaps falsely accused. But I suspect they still have a story to tell.” He steps out of the cell and extends a hand.
Reluctantly, I place my hand in his. He gently pulls my hand and walks me into the cell. My eyes dart around the room, desperately trying to avoid looking at the bones that sit against the wall.
“Close your eyes,” he says softly.
“I’m good,” I reply.
He looks at me with disappointment. I take a deep breath, and close my eyes. Nothing happens. But I shut out the urge to say anything. I just breathe. A moment passes, and the utter silence of the room begins to feel like I’m in a much smaller room like my closet, enclosed in a four by four space. I’m not claustrophobic. In fact, I used to hide in my closet as a kid. Not to escape ghosts, but to escape the world. In my little safe space I can shut out the world. For a moment, this feels like that.
“You’ve spent your entire life at a safe distance,” Dr. Ward says. “But there is no such thing for a reaper.”
Dr. Ward releases my hand. The silence of the room begins to amplify. Somewhere, buried deep under that silence, is another sound. A ragged unsteady breath. But it isn’t mine nor Dr. Ward’s.
“You are a lamp in a dark forest. Like mosquitos, the dead are drawn to you.”
The breathing grows louder. I can hear the air scratch against their dry throat.
“All your life, you have tried to hide this light to protect your soul.” Dr. Ward’s voice falls into the distance as the breathing grows louder. “But what you don’t realize, Autumn, is your soul is a blazing fire.”
“Hhhhel-p.” the breath turns into a desperate whisper.
“So let them in, reaper. Let them burn.”
My silence is shattered as the sound of scraping metal vibrates the walls around me. The cell gate slams with a deafening bang, and Dr. Ward locks it shut.