It was on a dark, and rainy night in Toronto. In an apartment about halfway up the building sat a man in his mid-20’s on a plush black couch reading through an engineering textbook, his spectacled eyes rapidly darting across the page.

Short and slight, his build barely mentionable. His few defining features betrayed his vaguely British descent. Green eyes, dark brown hair and a bit of stubble.

He is not aware of my observation. It is not quite time yet.

Looking down at an hourglass with a carefully inked name, and accompanying number. There is other information etched within; The essence: A myriad of details of this individual’s life are contained here.

This particular individual is running out of time. This hourglass however is unusually large, as if to hold a great deal of life, yet it has so little in it.

Curious for one so young.

No matter, what little sand it has… It has run nearly empty. Mere minutes remain.

I looked at my attire, a recent development amongst humans was to wear clothes that they dubbed fashionable, I had taken to quite like “Suits”. My brothers have no such class. It was wet, for I am a sucker for the nostalgic process of it all.

It is time.

I knock at the door, briefly taking a moment to adjust my suit.

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Glancing up from his book, Alice heard a quiet triplet of knocks from his door. Sighing as he gets up, he puts his book aside.

“Hello? Who’s there? Bentley, if that’s you I’ll have the rent for you at the end of the week!”

Looking through the peephole installed in the door, he sees a drenched man in an expensive looking suit and top hat, looks to be in his mid-forties or so.

Opening the door, he peers out at the man, who looks at him with the briefest tip of his drenched hat.

Addressing Alice, “You wouldn’t happen to have anything to help an old man dry off?”

“Err… Yeah. I can grab a towel. Come on in while I grab it.” Stepping away from the door and leaving it open for the man. Stewing in his own thoughts, he walked over to grab a tea towel from the tiny kitchen.

Turning to walk back, the man was standing abruptly beside him.

“I have come to collect you Alice.”, the man takes Alice’s arm in a vice like grip. He holds the hourglass in his other hand, and observes the falling sand.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Alice, peering into his face abruptly notices the flash of lightning, outlining stark features that look sunken, and dead. Panicking, and having read more than a few too many fictions looks him in the eyes and says: “Uhhhh! In that case, I challenge you to a game a chess. If I win, you'll let me go.”

“You would dare?” He lets Alice go. “It makes no matter. Time is meaningless to me; Should you win, I might give you some extra time. I collect everyone eventually. There will be consequences for this challenge. Win or lose."

He gestures, and Alice finds himself standing in a pitch-black room, with naught but a light projected from above, a chess board and a pair of chairs. Darkness dominates in all directions otherwise.

Alice looks at the table for a moment before choosing a chair, sitting in front of the black pieces.

For a few tense moments, it seems as if the Reaper wouldn't be sitting. A quiet laugh issues from the dark.

“How polite of you.”, and then takes a seat himself. “It is rare that any would give up the white. A fool perhaps?”

The Reaper raises his Queen’s pawn and then advances it forward twice. Looking up, “Your move Alice.”

Alice matches his move.

What follows is a tense set of moves between the two in silence. Nothing but the sound of sand can be heard.

It goes on like this for several minutes. Alice agonizes over a move and the Reaper meaningfully places the hourglass on the table while he does so. Alice looks up at the Reaper for the moment, and calmly raises a knight to capture a bishop. The first piece taken.

For a brief moment, it seems as if the sand ceased flowing in the hourglass, only to continue a fraction of a second later.

The Reaper looks up, shaking his head slowly.

“That was a mistake.”

What follows is several moves resulting in a flurry of lost pieces on both sides. It isn't until the Reaper looks up and taps the hourglass. “Check”, he says, with a hint of disdain in his deep voice.

Alice looks back, and is forced to sacrifice a pawn. A small bead of sweat falls down his brow.

The Reaper continues mercilessly taking pieces, until finally, Alice allows himself a glance at the hourglass.

He notices that the sand has ceased falling entirely. There is only a single grain remaining, as if frozen.

Steeling himself, he moves his Rook into a truly precarious position forking the Reapers king and his remaining bishop.

Looking up at the Reapers expressionless face, he can see a face entirely lacking passion. An ancient entity far beyond caring. Something inhuman, and vaguely beyond comprehension.

“Check.”

Tense moves follow, and all that remain are a few pawns and the two kings.

Until finally no pawns remain, just two kings.

The Reaper leans back in his chair.

“Now that is interesting. You did that on purpose didn’t you? Don’t go thinking you are the first.”

He pauses.

Alice shakes his head. “No, but I noticed your lack of terms for a tie. Has anyone actually defeated you?”

The Reaper shakes his head. “I have played more games of chess than seconds you have experienced.”

“Only one has ever defeated me, and she could barely be called a mortal.”

“I can however name a few who have tied with me. That however, does not matter. The terms were simple. Victory for a soul.”

“By these terms, I can neither release nor collect your soul. You mortals seem to strive to complicate things all the time.”