Don't Fear The Reaper

by Lex Sinclair

  Also, there was the distinct dense fog and a luminous spreading and shrouding of the terrain they’d travelled in their wake.

  Larry had died in that sinister fog. That had been as real as anything. Therefore there couldn’t be any argument that the Reaper was real and so was the dark man.

  Anthony shook his head forcefully; agitated by the cycle of notions drilling holes in his brain where he couldn’t stop contemplating everything that had transpired ever since his visions of the end of the world.

  He fished out some loose change and crossed to the far wall to the vending machine and purchased a can of Tango and a Snickers bar.

  As he was finishing his small snack Jennings appeared from the top of the corridor approximately forty yards away and headed towards him carrying an envelope. Anthony reminded himself to not take his temper out on the doctor; it wasn’t his fault. Not at all. He chastised himself for snapping at Jennings who was clearly a man of benevolence. He raised his hand hoping to make Jennings feel at ease.

  ‘I got the letter,’ Jennings said, lifting his hand with the envelope in it.

  ‘Thanks.’

  Jennings sat down and noticed the Snickers wrapper and the can of Tango by his feet. ‘Oh good, you had something to eat and drink. I was getting anxious about you starving yourself. I know the last thing you want to do right now is to be eating or drinking, but there’s no use depriving your body of essentials.’

  Anthony admitted he did feel a little better.

  Jennings proffered the envelope. ‘I haven’t opened it. It’s got nothing to do with me. I didn’t even know it existed until Nadine made a point of it. It must be important for her to remember during labour though.’

  Taking the envelope out of his hands, Anthony agreed. Then he tore it open and unfolded the sheet of paper and read his sister’s neat, slanted handwriting.

  To Anthony,

  If you are reading this letter alone, then I have met with the Grim Reaper and am screaming somewhere in a dark place far, far away from the world where we knew each other. You may still consider yourself an orphan, but know you are my brother and the uncle of my child (if he survives).

  I know you’ll remember how I told you my dream of the darkest of figures. Something not of this world. Perhaps supernatural. Stronger than any other living creature. Indestructible. I told you about when it made a motion and drew the razor sharp scythe across its abdomen. I knew then that my pregnancy meant more than I first realised it to be.

  My pregnancy was a miracle. Of that I am one hundred percent certain. But the miracle birth of my one and only child wasn’t a gift to me. It was a gift to the world. A child even more special than any other born into the world. The child was neither mine nor Larry’s. This – if I am right and the child survives the birth – is a child of God’s.

  There are far more mysteries than the human mind could ever imagine, but none so prominent than the mystery of Good versus Evil.

  A child was born on 6 June this year – 2006. That child will grow in an underground lair with many of the world’s hierarchy members. This is the child of pure, unadulterated evil. The child will, like all male children, grow into a man. And not just any man. But a man that’ll make other evil men such as Richard Ramirez, Ted Bundy and Jeffery Dahmer look like saints in comparison.

  But if my son (I decided to find out the sex before the birth), if he survives, will be the light. He will need protection and shelter. I am delighted that you and your friend managed to discover the bunker beneath the church you preach at on the property of your home, as I told you. It is you who must protect Sapphire from harm. You must nurture him and raise him as if he were your own blood.

  The Reaper and its followers are eager for the apocalypse. The Reaper wants to reap the souls of the soon-to-be-dead and needs the evil one to aid it in accomplishing this feat. Men of extraordinary powers, under the influence of the Reaper will come to keep the world buried in the deepest depths of eternal darkness.

  God spoke to me. I don’t mean literally. And I am writing my sixth draft of this letter, so I am not deluded or acting upon a hunch. God or something has communicated with me to pass on this message before my untimely death (it is really weird to know how and when I am going to die. I ought to be frightened to death, but I am actually quite calm). God, or whoever or whatever, has told me that my unborn child has been chosen as the one to give hope to those left behind and to lift the spirits of good people who fear the Reaper.

  Sapphire is our only last hope. He is the light that’ll forever outshine the evil darkness.

  Please take care of him. Prepare vigilantly for the worst. Expect the worst. Because when the End of Days is upon you it’ll be far worse than any vision or nightmare you’ve ever had. Worse than my own.

  The future is not predetermined. You must find the courage and strength to be stronger than you’ve ever been before. You must never give in to your fears or the darkness. You must raise Sapphire with those beliefs from your heart if he is to have any chance of being the world’s salvation. You and Sapphire must survive otherwise all that is good in the world and those who’ve left their mark shall not even be a distant memory. You must survive or we shall not even exist.

  Know that I love you. And if you accept true love anything is possible, even the things people consider the impossible.

  You must act in haste and with care.

  You must! I’m counting on you.

  Love Nadine xxx.

  Anthony read the letter twice, scarcely believing the foresight Nadine had been bestowed and the imperative pleas and demands for him to forget about her and his own pain and to do something greater than himself. To do something that required full selflessness. Something magnanimous.

  The words full of meaning and love and passion were his sister’s, and yet the incredulity of the message drowned him in silence.

  ‘As I said, it’s got nothing to do with me, but is everything all right?’ Jennings said, breaking Anthony’s reverie.

  Anthony folded the letter up and faced the doctor, bemused. ‘Did my sister’s baby survive?’

  Jennings smiled broadly. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I am all he’s got in the world. Take me to him, please?’

  Jennings put an arm around Anthony’s back and together they rose and headed to the cot where Nadine’s baby slept.

  *

  A young female nurse with freckles sat in the room where Nadine should have been resting after giving birth. Anthony deduced that she could be no older than thirty if that. She looked rather shaken and exhausted. Yet her gorgeous green eyes gave her the appearance of an angel.

  Jennings sidled past Anthony and gestured to the cot where a red-faced dark-haired baby lay asleep, face scrunched up and hands balled into fists. ‘This is your nephew,’ he said, proud.

  ‘And Godson,’ Anthony added.

  The nurse, who still hadn’t spoken, got up out of her chair.

  ‘No. It’s okay Angela. You don’t have to leave,’ Jennings said. Then he glanced at Anthony. ‘Does she?’

  Anthony shook his head. ‘Is Angela the only other member of staff present who helped Nadine give birth?’

  Jennings nodded. ‘’Fraid so.’

  Anthony proffered his hand for Angela to take. She glanced furtively to Jennings as if for approval, then shook hands. ‘On behalf of my sister I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you both for this miracle,’ he said, pointing to the sleeping baby. ‘You did great, all things considered. I guess I ought to be grateful for that much at least.’

  Neither Angela nor Jennings smiled. Instead Angela said, ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Anthony puffed out the air from his cheeks. He force a grin, bearing the death of Nadine and trying to be positive. ‘Listen, I could do with getting access to the baby store. I’ll need some more clothes and a cot. Also, some advice or baby food to assist me to raise Sapphire would be greatly appreciated.’

  Jennings’ lips curl
ed into a smile induced by surprise more than anything else. ‘That’s the baby’s name?’

  Anthony told them both that it was the name Nadine gave her son if he survived the complications during labour.

  ‘That’s a very nice name,’ Angela said.

  ‘Very unusual too,’ Jennings added in approval.

  ‘I agree with you both. I just wonder where she got it from.’ He sighed. Then added: ‘I guess we’ll never know, huh? One of life’s many mysteries.’

  Jennings and Angela exchanged a glance. Then Jennings said, ‘I could give you a booklet about newborn babies. But a lot of it is basic, common sense things. And although we don’t know where the keys to the baby store are, you have our permission to break the glass and go and get what you want. Or you could stay here with us?’

  Anthony raised an eyebrow. ‘You two are staying here?’

  They nodded in unison.

  ‘We’re going to take refuge in the mortuary in the basement floor,’ Jennings said. ‘Who knows, we might survive if it’s not as bad as people predict.’

  ‘I got a safe place,’ Anthony said. ‘At least I’m hoping it’s safe. It’s back home in Wales. I need to gather all the essentials I can though before it’s too late.’

  Angela swept the strand of hair that had dropped into her eyes. ‘Why don’t you go and load your car up with baby stuff from the store and we can give you a couple of oxygen tanks to take with you. How’s that sound?’

  Anthony regarded them both, serious. ‘You do that for me on top of what you’ve already done? If we all survive I want you to know I’ll be forever in your debt.’

  ‘Better make sure you and the little one survive then,’ Jennings said, winking at him.

  And they all laughed.

  15.

  NATALIE HAYES came to, her face throbbing with a dull ache. She blinked away the temptation to return to her unconscious state and peeled her face off the steering wheel. Daylight surrounded her. She couldn’t have been out for long. And although in her current state what had befallen her husband in Tesco was distant, it would soon draw nearer the more she became alert.

  Bone-weary and dizzy, Natalie yanked the handle and slid out of the driver’s seat and buckled at the knees. The door kept her vertical. She knew what had to be done in spite of the realisation that on this very day – 25 December – she’d become a widow and had the misfortune of witnessing her late husband’s cruel death.

  It was ironic, she thought, that after all the work in Jesus’ name that her husband the bishop should die on the day Christ was born. In spite of frosty chill freezing her exposed flesh, Natalie’s innards boiled as though she’d been lying on top of a radiator for hours. She knew what was expected of her, even now when her world had crumbled into shards in front of her. First of all she had to place all the gruesome images of what had transpired at the superstore aside and unload the contents from the back of the transit into the bunker.

  She was glad to having something productive to do and keep her mind busy. Also, Natalie was aware that what they’d got from Tesco wasn’t enough. If Anthony was returning with his sister and her baby she’d also have to loot a lot of baby supplies. In the Bible, stealing was not only unlawful but a sin as well. At this moment in time though as far as rules and structure went there were no rules. As far as committing a sin, God, Jesus and all the spiel in the Holy Bible and she’d learned in Church could fuck right off.

  Natalie was a mouse.

  The man with the gun was far more frightening and dangerous than a cat was to a mouse. Nevertheless, Natalie had to summon the fortitude to now venture out on her own and obtain more provisions. That was the only way she had any hope of survival. Standing around the church feeling self-pity and asking God to help was as her husband said “as useful as chasing Mars bar wrappers in a tornado”.

  The world was a big, mean vicious place to live. Life was crueller than anyone or anything else. No one or nothing could outdo life. But it wasn’t about being stronger or smarter than life. It was about taking everything bad that life threw at you, no matter how much or how bad, and keep resisting the urge to give in. That’s what losers and quitters did. When something was hard to do the losers and quitters of the world threw their arms up in the air in disdain. The winners were the ones who persevered when times were their most difficult. They took the pain. They took the failure and kept their heads down and their feet moving forward. That’s what Natalie had to do now. She had to keep moving forward. Keep focusing on what she wanted to accomplish more than anything else. She could do all her crying and mourning for John later.

  And if she died anyway? At least she could put her hand on her heart and say, ‘I never gave in. I didn’t give life the satisfaction of it brining me to my knees. I didn’t lose my integrity.’

  With that unwavering thought buzzing through her mind, creating an adrenaline charge inside her, Natalie got behind the wheel of the transit and headed for the next superstore. She was determined now more than ever. It’s what John would have wanted. No, scratch that. It’s what John would have expected of her.

  Natalie drove to her intended destination with the courage of a soldier.

  *

  Vince Lawton heard the white stallion snorting and shuffling its hoofed feet. Then, seconds later the sound of the trunk at the rear of the carriage being lifted open and something hollow clattering other hard objects.

  Trepidation had become Vince’s closest acquaintance in the ten minutes or so he’d been seated on the velvety cushion bench in the rickety old carriage. The noises from directly behind him increased this emotion to the point where he either passed out or abated the terror piercing his mind and body once and for all.

  Deciding on the latter, especially as he still had his assault rifle pinned to his ribcage, Vince pivoted on the bench and with trembling fingers parted the dark-purple drapes that offered the rear window and gazed out.

  What he saw did not abate the terror inflicting him but augmented it to a plateau he never knew existed. This was worse than anything else. And he’d just killed close to fifty citizens in cold blood. This was the terror he read about in those EC comics when he’d been a boy and then gone straight to bed after lights out.

  Beyond the window the Reaper had lifted the lid of the trunk and was tossing the decapitated heads of Vince’s victims atop the pile of fleshless skulls. The head of one rolled and its cavernous eyes met Vince’s gaze.

  A cry of undeniable horror escaped him before he could do anything to prevent it.

  The Reaper raised its head and stared at him. Its eyes, like two taillights glowing, burned with fury. Vince snapped his head around and pretended he hadn’t seen the Reaper staring at him. The image of its skull and the impossibly wide grin sneered at him with malevolence in his retinas.

  Clunk! Pause. Clunk! The sound of heads still wearing their horrified expressions bouncing off the fleshless skulls gave him Goosebumps. Vice kicked the side of the carriage. Thanks to his curiosity his fear had tripled. Yet how dare he complain. He was a mass murderer.

  The carriage door was wrenched open by the tall, broad figure. Vince’s muscles flexed. His Adam’s apple did a vertical dance in his throat. He watched with alarm as the figure lowered itself next to him on the bench, pushing up against the carriage due to its monstrous size. It didn’t glance at Vince. Instead it knocked the bottom of the long-handle scythe against the carriage floor. Immediately the white stallion moved forward and the carriage lurched before settling into the steady rhythm.

  The silence was overbearing in such a confined space.

  ‘Just collecting some souvenirs, is it?’ Vince said, scarcely recognising his voice.

  The Reaper didn’t respond verbally.

  Perhaps it couldn’t, Vince thought. I mean how could it? It didn’t even have a tongue. Hence why the Reaper had pointed to the entrance indicating what he demanded of him back in the superstore. If it could speak it would’ve simply spoken right then.


  Probably didn’t even hear me either, he thought.

  Then, as though hearing his thoughts better than the sound of his voice, the Reaper turned methodically to face Vince, peeled open its robe and removed something from concealment and presented it to Vince.

  It was only when Vince felt the weight and rotated the object around so he could see the familiar face of the man he’d shot in cold blood did he realise what it was.

  Then the screaming began…

  *

  Natalie drove in the opposite direction to where she and her John had been. She drove past the infant school, past the local library, some pubs and a pool hall until something ahead made her slow her speed.

  Two hundred yards ahead a man with a demented expression sprinted across the road and hurled a rock through the window of the ice cream parlour. Even inside the transit with the din of the engine rumbling and the distance between her and the ice cream parlour, Natalie jolted in her seat at the shattering of a pane glass window. Glass cascaded in a jagged stream, leaving a tooth-gapped maw as an opening.

  As she drew nearer, Natalie shifted down the gearbox and craned her head out the window to see the man in the interior raiding the store. The ice cream parlour didn’t sell many goods other than coffee, tea, sweets, chocolate, ice cream in cones and pots and other candy delights. The maniacal man was acting on pure instinct, not rationality. When he leapt through the hole he’d made by his mindless act of violence and laid eyes on the moving transit he sprinted towards her.

  Natalie slammed her foot on the go pedal. The engine protested until she shifted into a higher gear. She emitted a yell of terror as the madman’s fists pounded on the bodywork. He was shouting something abusive at her, but the din of the revving engine drowned the essence of that out. Air exploded from her as she exhaled and watched the madman grow smaller in the rear-view mirror. He thrashed his hands at her.