Henry Halfmoon

by Huck Warwicks

  But it’s only a matter of time before their base hunger for spirit feed drives them back to the white, hazy forms that drift up and down the city streets. And I’m waiting for them when they come down.

  Oddly, Fritz hasn’t spotted any fog wolves in quite a while. They’re quite rare, it seems. Even more rare are the skeleton giants. I’ve only seen those once.

  Fritz says that there are darker, more dangerous demons out there that I’ve yet to face. He says I shouldn’t get too cocky about my scythe prowess, yet. I’ve not truly honed my skills, not tested my abilities.

  He’s been around a long time, Ole Fritz. All angels have. Their births predate the creation of the world. In fact, Fritz claims to have been a part of the process.

  “I came up with the idea for tornadoes,” he proudly says. “God liked them. He said He could see their usefulness, but asked that I stay away from His garden with them. Also, it was made clear that I wasn’t to cast them at Man, which at first, I was bummed about. But later, Man blew it with God and was thrown out of the Garden. When that happened, Man lost some of his ‘protection’ privileges, and I was allowed from time to time to experiment with my tornadoes and test them against Man’s cunning. The tornadoes won every time.”

  “Can you still cast tornadoes?” I ask, wide eyed. That could come in handy at some point.

  “If I’m called to reap a large group, like several people in a town, or maybe just one specific family living in some trailer… sure. It’s a tool in the toolbox, that’s all.”

  Groovy.

  Fritz continues, “But I have to be careful with the tornadoes, bruh. I’m only allowed to reap those whose time has come. I’m a faithful servant of Heaven. I take orders and don’t ask questions, like an employee almost.”

  “You ever think about quitting? Going rogue? Or maybe working for the U.S. military? They could use a being with your… skillset.”

  Fritz shakes his cowled head. “No way. I prefer to stay in the good graces of my employer. I’ve worked hard to climb the ladder. When I was a young reaper, I dreamed of being assigned to this city… an endless harvesting field of human souls. That was the dream. And now, I’ve achieved my ambition.”

  “So what’s your title? The New York Reaper? Brooklyn Boogieman? Manhattan Manslaughterer?”

  “I wish. No. I’m only assigned to Manhattan natives. Those born here, who will also die here.”

  “That’s it?”

  “It’s more people than you think, bruh!” Fritz fires back, irritated.

  It occurs to me that there must be thousands of death angels all over the world. There’s not just one Grim Reaper. “So… what about Egypt? You know, in the Bible, the whole event at the first Passover? That’s the first angel of death I remember reading about. Was that you by chance?”

  “I wish.” Fritz is growing annoyed that I keep stealing his thunder. “That was epic. She really set the bar high that night.”

  She? Okay, turns out that not all death angels are dudes. Though now that I think about that for more than two seconds, it makes total sense. Women in general are much more cunning, deadly, and hardworking… all wrapped in a sweet candy shell, too.

  If I were hiring for the position, I’d start with the ladies.

  Fritz and I catch the subway and head back to Greenwich Village. We’re looking for Shipley. If we can corner him somehow, perhaps he can clue us in to where the Red Woman is hiding. But before we head to the professor’s apartment, Fritz wants to stop at my place above Village Vapes.

  “I have a surprise for you, bruh.”

  “Awww…” I say in a cutesy voice, “you remembered my birthday.”

  “Not exactly. But just as good.”

  We step off the train in Greenwich and into a horde of unsuspecting gargoyles crowding the platform. The terrified looks on their faces when they see my blade, glowing with their collective name Algolim, is almost as gratifying as the sound they make when I slice their wings off. The flock of demons scatters in every direction. Fritz steps back and lets me swing wildly away into the mass of panicked devils.

  Kill count: twenty-eight. My best yet. A record for a single fight. Geez! This feels good.

  As we ascend to the street above and move through the Village, Fritz and I continue our conversation about death angels. All the while taking random swipes at gargoyles that don’t see us coming, or decide to try their luck and feed on a demon hunter.

  “So… where were you before New York?” I ask.

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “Oh come on, buddy! Why not? You afraid to tell me for some reason?”

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  Fritz steps back as I clip the arms off a gargoyle. It lands face first into the fog, wings flapping ineffectively. I drive the tip of the Harpe into the back of its head.

  “Embarrassed,” Fritz says meekly. Yes. Death angels can be meek when they’re embarrassed.

  “Dude… you’re an angel of death. You have power beyond anything most humans can comprehend. You have nothing to be embarrassed about. Just tell me. Surely you can trust your best friend, right?”

  “Petting zoo goats.”

  “Wha…” The smile curls at the corners of my mouth.

  “Only females,” Fritz adds.

  I’m pressing my lips together as hard as I can to suppress the laughter. I don’t want to hurt his feelings. But it’s too much to keep a straight face at.

  “Female petting zoo goats? Wow.”

  “In Wisconsin.”

  “Bahahaha!!!” I double over and roll into the fog. I can’t take it.

  “You’re not helping, bruh!” Fritz snaps at me, his embarrassment manifesting as anger.

  It takes at least a full minute for me to compose myself. We continue our walk in silence for a while and just before we enter Village Vapes, I ask, “Female petting zoo goats in Wisconsin, huh? (biting my lip to keep a straight face) So, how did you go from (I fail to conceal the snicker) that, to reaping human Manhattan natives? Seems like a pretty big promotion to me.”

  “You don’t want to know…”

  “Ohhhh, yes I do! And you have to tell me. I’m your best friend…”

  “You’ll just laugh more,” Fritz cuts me off.

  “No, I won’t,” I lie with all my might. “I promise.”

  “Maybe some other time, Son of Halfmoon.” I know he’s being serious when he calls me that. So I let up and decide to come back to that topic later.

  “We’re here. Like I said, I have a surprise for you.” Fritz leads the way to the apartment above, excited to show me… something. We breeze through the door of my apartment, and nothing has changed at all from what I can gather. There’s a thick roll of fog over the floor, that’s my new normal. Everything in the room, though a tad blurred and hazy in this dimension, is in its proper place. Just like I left it.

  Fritz glides over to the futon, beside which, on the floor, is the glowing blue Seal of Pers… oh, wait, it’s called the Trinity Seal, now. He points his long, skeletal finger at the portal.

  “Step inside.”

  Based on our recent dialogues, and a clearly established penchant for practical jokes, I hesitate.

  “But… I’m dead, Fritz. I don’t exist in the physical world anymore, remember?”

  “I realize that, Henry. Probably better than you do. But there are a few… hacks you don’t know, about the bridge between realities. If you will permit me, my friend, I would like to teach you something I think will be a blessing to you… and your mother.”

  My mom? I’ve been so caught up in my new death state, and our quest, that I didn’t think two seconds about her. Then it hits me; the news of my death will be ringing in her ears soon, if not already. The thought of my mom’s grief over me is overwhelming. Suddenly, I don’t want to be dead anymore. I want my body back. I want to jump on a plane and be close to her.

  But it’s too late for that. Her heart is breaking and there’s nothing I can d
o to bring her peace. I’m gone from her.

  Fritz motions once again, gently coaxing me towards the Trinity Seal. So, I step in.

  There’s a quick blinking of the light in my eyes, a flash that something about me has changed… or the world around me has changed. But when I look around the room, I can see no difference. The dim light, the blanket of fog on the floor, and the slight blur of objects. It’s all the same.

  “Well?” I ask my guardian death angel. “Was that a misfire? It doesn’t look like it worked, whatever it was you were trying to pull.”

  Fritz giggles. Yes. Death angels giggle sometimes, and it’s spooky as heck, just so you know.

  “It worked, bruh. And it will work every full moon.”

  “What worked?”

  “Well, why don’t you go downstairs into the Vape shop and find out for yourself!”

  Fritz follows me out of the room, down the stairs and into the back entrance of the store. As soon as we enter, everyone in the room, both patrons and the shop’s employee, turn and stare at me.

  They can see me?!

  The employee, who recently heard that I had gone missing, pulls away from the customer and cautiously comes over to me.

  “Hey Henry! I thought I heard you got into some trouble. Aren’t you supposed to be in the hospital right now?” he says in a thick Middle-Eastern accent.

  I can’t believe it. They can see me! That means my mom might be able to see me again as well.

  The gift of Hope.

  Good Ole Fritz.

  “Nah. They uh… let me go. Kind of. I left early this morning.”

  Quadib, the Vape shop’s sole employee, scratches his head and breathes a sigh of relief. “Geez. You look like death. Are you feeling all right?”

  I turn and look at Fritz, a giant smile radiating my gratitude for this gift. Obviously, the other people in the room can’t see him. That would cause pandemonium to break out. But I can see him.

  And I love him.

  I put my elbow on the counter and lean sideways to get comfortable for a quick chat with Quadib.

  “Actually, yeah. I feel gr…”

  THUD!

  My spirit body passes through the glass case as if it’s made of vapor itself. I fall to the floor and kick up a puff of fog.

  When I lift my head high enough to see above the white vapor of the spirit world, all I see is the back of Quadib sprinting away in a confused panic.

  “Jin!” he screams as he runs down the street. “Jin. Jin! Help! Police! Help! Jin!”

  Fritz giggles again. He reaches down and helps me to my feet, saying, “Now, let’s go see Shipley, bruh.”

  Chapter 28

  I called my mom last night. Thanks to Fritz. While the moon was full, I could hear her and speak with her. It was an emotional call. She had heard the news about my death from a local policeman who had been ordered to go to our home with the message. Fortunately, the officer was a member of Mom’s church and had the good sense to pick up the pastor on his way to the house.

  When she first answered the phone, it sounded like decades of her life had been drained away from her. She sounded old, tired. Her vitality quickly jolted back to her when she heard my voice. She screamed in terror, dropping her phone, and wept. Believing that she was going crazy, the sound of my voice was a torment to her, and for a moment, I felt as if I was a demon. I called her back again a few times and finally, she answered.

  I explained everything—the ritual, the betrayal, and most importantly, my postmortem conversion to her faith.

  And that brought her comfort. It brought her hope. Also, I told her that Fritz had spared me, breaking the rules of his death angel commission, and joining me on my quest to stop the Beast. She listened with intensity and at the end of the call, she prayed for my success and poured out her thanks to her God. My God. Yeshua.

  Just before the call ended, I told her about Fritz’s gift, and how every full moon, she could expect a call from me. And one day, even a visit, if seeing an apparition of her son wouldn’t put her in a loony bin.

  So after I stop the Beast, I’ll have a date with Mom.

  Just before the full moon sets, Fritz and I head to Shipley’s place. As we stand at his overlocked door, I strain my ears to listen for any sounds from within, and am surprised to hear voices. Not just Shipley, but another voice. And I know that voice somehow! I turn to Fritz.

  “Here’s the plan. I go in and spook off whoever is in there with the professor. After he’s gone, I’ll have a chat with Shipley.” I grip the Harpe, raising its blade to my face. “See if I can’t get him to tell me where the Red Woman is hiding.”

  “You can’t reap humans, bruh. Remember the rules? If you violate the Harpe with human soul stain, I won’t be able to keep you from the Pit.”

  The warning is noted.

  “Shipley doesn’t know that, I’m sure. You just watch my back while I’m in there. Right now, I need you to be a little less reaper and a little more guardian.”

  Fritz nods in approval of the plan, and I step right through the locked door and walk into the room. Shipley is in his wingback chair, puffing away at his pipe. His back is to me as he faces his visitor, who sits in the matching chair facing Shipley… and me.

  The visitor springs to his feet, his shadowy form jolts into action. The fog rolls around his feet, and he stands in a guarded position ready for conflict. He’s solid black, the silhouette of a large man. The chair behind him looks as if the fabric is alive, and after a closer glance, I realize that it’s covered in shiny black cockroaches. I’ve seen him before at the church in Uptown. This was the being that ripped Pastor Elliot’s mind and caused quite a scene a couple months ago. Most likely, this is the same being who drove the homeless man into the cafe when all of this started.

  “Malfik,” I sputter with cautious contempt.

  “Halfmoon…” the demon spits out my name like a four-letter word.

  Shipley bumbles out of his chair and turns to face me, Malfik standing at his left shoulder. The look on the professor’s face is both terror and confusion at first.

  “I thought you’d gone on to Hell, Mr. Halfmoon…” He eyes me up and down, trying to piece together how I managed to avoid the Pit. More than once, he eyes the Harpe.

  “I didn’t realize you had company, Professor.” I raise the Harpe to my lips and whisper, “Give me Malfik, I pray.”

  Bright blue sparks sputter to life and quickly scrawl the demon’s name across my obsidian blade. And before anyone in the room has a chance to read it, I rush forward, spin to my right in a full circle to pick up momentum, and bring the Harpe slashing down near Shipley’s left shoulder. Malfik jumps back and evades my blade by an inch. With a shrieking howl, he charges at me and closes the distance between us. He pushes backwards, placing his black, putrid hands on my own, locking my ability to swing the scythe. I feel the tickle of a thousand tiny cockroach legs scampering up my arms.

  But I don’t let go.

  As his black face pushes close to mine, I see the reflection of blue light… light from my eyes bouncing off his dark, inky face. I remember that I now bear the Seal. I’m a believer now. Shipley yells something as I struggle with the shadow man in a tug of war for the Harpe. He’s insanely strong, and he flings me back and forth to yank the scythe from my hands. I recall the first lesson I ever learned from Shipley… names have power.

  “Malfik!” I cry out, hoping the utterance of the ancient name will dispel the evil being from the room. But my command falls flat, ineffective. In fact, Malfik laughs at me.

  “Yeshua!” I scream in his black face. It’s the last name the devil expects to hear from me, and with the yelp of a kicked dog, he lets go of the Harpe and falls backwards into the fog.

  With a deep animalistic growl, the demon rises like a black column to his feet, his rage palpable and his shade deepening. But before he’s fully erect, the obsidian blade of my scythe comes straight down on his head, splitting him like a razor through a black bed
sheet. His screams dissipate as both dark halves of his form disintegrate into a swarming mass of cockroaches.

  “No!” Shipley shouts in frustration and defeat. The infestation crawls through the fog and into his burning fireplace.

  Malfik is no more.

  I turn to the professor, the Harpe held menacingly towards his face. The light from Malfik’s name vanishes, and I take a threatening step towards the old man. He steps backwards and falls into his wingback chair.

  “Where is the woman?”

  “I’ll never tell you, whelp,” Shipley hisses.

  After another moment of angry silence, I ask again, “Oh, I think you’re wrong, Professor. You’re going to tell me where she is.” I move the top edge of Harpe’s blade right up under the old man’s chin.

  “She’s dead, boy; it’s too late. The Child has arrived.”

  “You lie. It’s only been two weeks, not nine months…”

  “She didn’t survive the delivery, of course. How could she? They never did in the old times. When the Nephilim were conceived and birthed, the mothers always perished.”

  “Are you telling me that the Beast was fully gestated in under two weeks?!” I’m not buying it.

  Shipley says nothing. He’s spinning his web of deceit around me once again. I can tell from the way his beady little eyes shift, betraying his massive mental faculty concocting another grand scheme to get him out of his current predicament.

  “Indeed. The Child is special. Superhuman, if you will. No. Better than human… angelic. Godlike! And he’s here already.” The professor pauses and eyes my blade as it hovers at his face. “From what I understand, you can only reap the names on your Harpe. I don’t see my name on your blade, Henry Halfmoon. Do you see my name on your blade?”

  Perhaps eternity in Hell is worth this moment. I can barely keep my arms still, and the shaft of the Harpe tingles in my hands. The only thought that tethers me to my right mind is that of my mom. If I snip this old man’s soul from his body, I’ll never see her again. Trembling with rage, I pause our conversation and call for Fritz, who passes into the room and looms up behind me. The look on Shipley’s face when he sees my guardian death angel is almost as satisfying as if I had just cleft him in twain!