Danse Macabre: Close Encounters with the Reaper

by Nancy Kilpatrick

  Yuki jumped up, fear being contagious. She scanned the room quickly, panic growing until she laid eyes on me, so little, so insignificant, huddled next to her. There was too much white in her eyes and I saw shadows of doubt cross her mind. I could easily guess the questions going through her head; after all, she had brought Death into her house and trapped him there, or so she thought. But it was only a word. Nothing could trap me as I was already in a prison. She couldn’t know I wanted only to please her.

  I sat up, body growing into that of a man, black feathers turning into silken fabric. She quickly bowed down as I changed. My hair reached down my back in blond curls and my skin glowed. I had many shapes but this one was the least frightening to a young Japanese girl. Tentatively I took her hand. The gesture was slow; it had been so long since I’d moved in such a body. I had to think before I talked, unsure how to use my voice.

  “Yuki Dorimu,” I said, almost startling myself, “I will do as you please. I will not answer the call anymore, I will not take the souls to the netherworld. If that is your wish, I shall obey.”

  Her relief was almost palpable. I could see the muscles tensing in her throat. She gave a short nod unable to speak and suddenly she jumped into my arms.

  “I am sorry I captured you. I am so sorry. Please do not hate me,” she said.

  Tears wet my collar, seeping through the silk, and they felt so good. The screams in my head from the tens of thousands which I’d meant to collect vanished in an instant. I’d never thought about not going where I was called before. I’d never thought that perhaps I could be free too. And for the second time that day I smiled.

  “Your sister has returned,” I said to her hair.

  Yuki was still encircling me, arms around my torso. She looked up and into my eyes, her smile beautiful. My heart pumped once again and I had to show her my gift. Eyes sparkling, she held tight onto my hand. The warmth grew into me. I would have liked time to slow so that I could observe it all like I had when she’d been asleep, hypnotized by her breathing. My steps were unsure as I’d gotten unused to the balance of people. The weight and the lack of tail were odd. It really had been a very long time since I’d walked the earth as a human, almost a thousand years.

  I slid the door slowly to show Yuki that her sister was still alive. She had saved her. Kasumi had gotten up and tried to carry their mother onto the bed, but she didn’t have the strength. She cursed the day she had asked for a foreign bed because it was too high. There was only a little blood on her mother’s cheeks and clothes, almost all of it had already poured out, a large quantity had pooled in the bed.

  Kasumi’s heart burned trying to pump something that was no longer there. She looked up at her sister, unable to talk because of the pain. Her eyes were now deep inside their sockets and her face and lips white as snow. Yuki screamed and fell to her knees. The warmth fled from my heart.

  “Kasumi please forgive me. It is my fault. It is my entire fault, I didn’t understand. I didn’t want you to die. I didn’t want anyone to die because of what you did.” Yuki said.

  Kasumi looked at her slowly, eyes unfocused. Her thoughts were incapacitated by her internal screams. Every part of her shrieked abuse, from the organs that had shut down because of blood and oxygen deprivation to those which lay corroded in poison. Two words did escape her lips.

  “Kill me,” she pleaded.

  The horror imbedded in Yuki’s face as she turned towards me froze my very bones. I’d wanted her to be happy, to see my gift to her, but I was a monster. Her fear smelled acidic and my body melted into that of a crow. This was not what she had wanted, but how could I have known? How could I have realized that she never expected pain to be apart from Death? I cowered for a second, under her shocked eyes. Yuki had given me freedom, but for her I was willing to give it up again.

  I rose into the air, brushing past Kasumi and dragging the three souls with me. I heard bodies drop to the floor as I soared past. I didn’t turn to watch. I concentrated on taking the rolled up paper Yuki had carefully placed on the window sill before slipping through the open window into the crisp morning air, and back into slavery.

  * * * * *

  Opal Edgar was born in Australia, and grew up in France. She spends most of her time cramping words on tiny bits of paper she then has trouble deciphering. She has been published in Aurora Wolf, Hungur Magazine and in the anthologies Detritus and Behind Locked Doors. About this story she says, “I found a stranded baby crow in the park last spring, and during the few days I kept it at home I was reminded of how much I wanted one as a child so I could teach it to speak and perhaps so it could tell me its story.”

  The Angel of Death

  By Lawrence Salani

  Oh, Angel of Death, what sorrow in your touch; sorrow not for the departed but for those that mourn. Your harvest forever plentiful while we, who remain, forlornly await tomorrow as we watch the putrescent misery of your parting. We stand helpless in your cold shadow and pray may you be swift and do not linger, for like a pitiless tyrant you would have us implore your mercy as you gloat over our suffering. Indifferent and indiscriminate in your choosing, countless have fallen and followed you into the unknown darkness: the great, the wealthy, the beautiful, the young and old are but dust blown on the winds of Time into your nethermost abyss. What secrets you could whisper that only the dead may hear as, ignorantly, we observe the signs of your passing.

  Like a sun’s final burst as it dies, the life of an ant is extinguished by an unaware child while playing on a clear summer’s day. And amidst the multitude of the dead in a vast, lonely graveyard, an ant struggled on a moss-covered tombstone, and life seemed futile and incomprehensible. The concrete angels stared blankly, frozen in a moment of perplexed wonder as they stand over the silent graves guarding the wilted flowers left by a mournful hand. As the shadows of evening lengthen, the greyness of twilight slowly thickens while the willows that grow amongst the tombstones rustle eerily in the evening breeze.

  The thick, soft whiteness of the lilies that Nigel Truman placed on the grave before him glowed in the semi-darkness, their fragile beauty still radiant with life. The quiescent twilight had bought with it imagined movement around the weathered and crumbling gravestones. Night life moved ominously amongst the black shadows. Although never actually seen, creatures slithered and moaned behind the weathered and moss-covered sandstone slabs.

  Suddenly, something huge moved in the tree branches above! The rustling of the foliage startled the lone figure into wakefulness. Quickly, he looked up in fear, but could see nothing in the darkened mass of leaves. The coldness of night began to engulf him, and, as Death spread its diseased wings over its dominion, darkness slowly enshrouded the earth.

  Oh! Death, how deep your pangs are buried!

  The memory of the unexpected tragedy was again an open wound. And as the blackness slowly surrounded him, memories cascaded into Nigel’s mind like a waterfall of broken glass.

  It had been nearly twenty years ago, yet while standing in the gathering darkness before the silent, weed-covered grave, he recalled the sound of the waves and the howl of the wind as memories of that accursed day returned.

  The unusually high waves that the turbulent weather had produced pounded the weather-eroded coastline. As Nigel and his four companions walked towards the rocky shore, seagulls shrieked amidst the turmoil sounding like the cries of lost souls amidst the raging sea that swelled before them. Turbid clouds hung on the horizon heralding a storm, too far away to be of concern, so they decided to experience the fury of the ocean at close hand.

  At the time, they were all attending the same college and were all friends, his closest companion being Paul. The mystery of Death was a subject frequently discussed amongst themselves, and Paul often stated that if he died before the rest, he would return and let them know what existed in the afterlife. They always laughed at his words for they were
young with long lives ahead, and Death seemed unimaginable. That day was another adventure of fun and freedom, but little did they know the consequences of their imprudence as the five youths walked along the slippery, weed-covered boulders toward the pounding surf.

  The rocky platform was situated beneath a cliff face accessible by way of a set of steps carved from the stone. In more favorable conditions, this was a favorite spot for fishermen, but today it was deserted. Incredible green waves broke against jagged rocks spraying foam high into the salty air, the sound of their force reverberated along the rock ledge. Advancing as close as they dared, they watched the mighty ocean as it surged before shattering angrily on the unyielding rocks. Unaware of the potent force of nature, they were all watching massive breakers forming in the distance when an unexpected wave, much larger than the others, smashed against the ledge. In that moment, Nigel looked up; it seemed as if the sky had been covered by a massive, green hand. Before any of them had time to realize what had happened, the mighty hand swatted them, leaving them like five tiny insects drenched and prone on the wet, slippery rocks.

  Nigel regained his senses quickly and looked towards the churning water; Paul was being dragged over the ledge by the foam and caught in the turbulent ocean.

  It was impossible to do anything; the force of the waves was too strong to attempt to assist him. The four youths could only stand at a safe distance, stunned, not knowing what to do as the waves continued to churn and break along the rocky shoreline.

  It felt like a dream to Nigel, as if that moment in time had never existed.

  Once they recovered from the initial shock, the full import of what had occurred was realized. Quickly, they telephoned for help but were advised that because of the chaotic weather conditions, nothing could be done until the storm passed. Later, emergency rescue patrols searched for a week, but Paul’s body was never found. Eventually, the search was abandoned.

  The following week was borne with grief by Paul’s family and close friends. The pain in their eyes filled Nigel with anguish, and his weary days dragged by shrouded in sorrow. Death had swiftly taken its due and left its legacy. Disbelief filled him. Even while Paul’s remembrance service was being arranged, he could not accept that his friend was gone.

  Over the years, images of that tragic day became jumbled in his mind. Amidst those thoughts was a more painful knowledge — the tragedy could have been avoided.

  On the day of Paul’s remembrance ceremony, the sky was a beautiful, clear blue, and the calm sea disturbed only by a few gentle waves breaking along the rocky platform on which the small congregation had assembled. Twenty relatives and close friends had gathered to lay a wreath on the rocks where Paul had been tragically taken. A priest from the local church conducted a service to commemorate a life that had been taken so early. Seagulls squawked incessantly as they circled the group of mourners and the grieving parents were supported by their relatives and close friends. The priest’s voice drifted lethargically over the lapping water as the group sadly stood around the wreath of flowers and reflected on the unfortunate loss.

  The tide had commenced to come in; small waves had begun splashing over the rocks. It was then that Nigel noticed a large piece of driftwood floating in the distance. The ceremony continued uninterrupted but, as the shape drifted closer, other members of the group began to notice the object until all eyes were no longer on the priest but directed towards the ocean. The priest finally noticed that the crowd’s attention was focused elsewhere and he, too, turned to where they were staring. Suddenly, a scream from one of the women echoed across the cliff face. Astonishment fell over the gathering, for the black object was not flotsam but a dead body. As the crowd stared in wonder, the body continued to drift towards the spot where they were gathered until it became lodged amongst the boulders below the rocky ledge. Its arms swayed backward and forward disturbingly amongst the lapping waves making it seem as if it were trying to climb out of the water and onto the rocks above. The horrified women turned away while some of the men descended and, beneath the raucous screeching of the gulls swooping from above, pulled the body from the slippery rocks.

  The corpse was finally lifted onto the platform and the blueing, cold flesh made Nigel feel weak. But the greatest shock was reserved for when the body was turned over on its back. Paul’s mother collapsed, and an agonized moan arose from her husband. The remainder of the gathering turned away in horror and revulsion; the badly mutilated body was Paul.

  With an unbelieving look on his face, the priest blessed the body while someone from the crowd covered the face with a coat. The remainder of the gathering had filed hastily up the rocky staircase to summon assistance.

  The vision of Paul’s mother, clutching pitifully at the rusty, iron rail that lined the stairs while being supported by friends and relatives, flooded through Nigel’s mind as he looked upon the lonely grave of his former companion.

  Death, your blow was as a dagger through our hearts; must you now twist the blade to further the agony? What other abominations have you perpetrated to amuse your twisted wit while we wait in ignorance for your pleasure? You lead us back into the serene oblivion before life began, but what fate have you reserved for those who refuse to follow?

  Absorbed by the memories of the past, Nigel was unaware of the darkness that had slowly thickened around him. The tombstone contrasted with the darkness; its cold, marble whiteness proclaimed its sterile message of remembrance to any who bothered to read it, for now, not even Paul’s parents visited regularly.

  His water-logged body had been quickly buried, but a peculiar atmosphere permeated the burial. Not many people had attended the interment and those that did attend left quickly when it was over, for there had been a strange chill in the air of the graveyard.

  Looking down at the effulgent lilies that were on the grave before him, he watched their soft whiteness begin to turn brown and the long green stems wilt until only a shrivelled, decayed mass remained. Startled, he quickly glanced around the graveyard. Darkness surrounded him and fear washed through his body. The iron fences that sectioned off some of the graves seemed taller, the ornate arrow points twisted and swirled in the ghostly blackness. His body felt numb and his legs would not move. Things scuttled in the darkness and hid behind the tombstones, watching.

  Something brushed the back of his neck sending a tingle through his body. He spun around to empty darkness. Scattered throughout the yard were the black silhouettes of the enormous trees that grew amongst the moonlit statues and gravestones. What resembled inhuman shapes seemed to form in the blackness.

  A whisper drifted through the churchyard, an intangible sound that floated on the night and slid between the trees. Nigel listened but heard only a kind of incoherent babble in the distance that he strained to make sense of. These sepulchral voices mocked his sorrow, confirming that death is inevitable and, like countless before him, he would eventually succumb to the final caress.

  Twisted, bare trees reached for the moon, their skeletal fingers desperate to grasp this ghostly light reflected from the dead orb, struggling to catch the last rays of life. The dead surrounded him, and it seemed as if he were the only living thing on the planet. The shadows moved, and the incessant babble continued, and it occurred to him that even in death there is no peace.

  Tree branches moaned in the night breeze as Nigel slowly made his way through the darkened graveyard along the willow-lined path that led to the exit gates. The murmur of voices rose in volume until they overwhelmed him, a pandemonium of wild screams as if the pit of hell had been opened and the agonies of the damned filled the night sky. But, the second he stepped through the gates, the chaos stopped. A palpable silence engulfed him.

  The darkness along the lonely back street was broken only by the murky street lighting. He looked at his watch, surprised at how quickly the time had passed.

  Ahead, the street lights appeared to mer
ge into the distant darkness, the perspective of the road seemed broken and distorted. A surreal, sickly feeling overcame him. The safety of the main road was an eternity away and he quickened his pace in an effort to reach the flashing yellow headlights.

  But as he looked into the receding distance, he could see a dark silhouette approaching. Fear surged. The black form drifted in and out of sight as it passed street lamps and into shadow.

  Nigel began to regret that he had not been aware of the lateness of the evening and of his pensive reflection on the past in the graveyard; this area was not safe after nightfall. As the figure drew closer, he saw it was a teenaged boy and, to his amazement, the boy who stopped on the other side of the road resembled Paul.

  “Nigel!” cried the figure. “It’s me. Don’t you remember?”

  Nigel stared in disbelief. “But you’re dead. It’s impossible,” he finally said.

  “No, I’m alive. Can’t you see?”

  “But I was at your funeral, all those years ago. How could you still be alive?”

  “Come over here, I’ll show you. There’s no need to fear.”

  Sceptical at first, Nigel slowly walked across the road.

  “Come with me Nigel, I want to show you something, the most beautiful thing that you will ever see.”

  “It’s late, and I need to get home,” replied Nigel, but the excitement at having seen his friend again, after all this time, made him procrastinate. Staring into Paul’s eyes he felt suddenly warm inside, and his doubts and fears melted away. An intense need to see and to know overwhelmed him.