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Death's Challenge

A dark and gritty short fiction story.

By Daniel MillingtonPublished about a year ago 14 min read
3
Credit: Jake Ingle

Dressed in casual dark blue jeans and a greying white top, Marcus stands on top of a mountain as it floats high in the sky. Staring out into a light blue void that surrounds everything. No land or sea can be seen and although it appears to be daytime, there is no sun. A train revolves around the base of the hill, circling it in a never-ending loop.

Turning his head to the only other person on the hill, he smirks before turning back to look into the abyss.

“Have you ever thought about changing your appearance? Modernizing it a bit and being a little more, subtle,” he says ensuring to emphasize his last word.

A short huff comes from the other person. A skeletal figure of a man, barefoot and wrapped in a black robe with his hood pulled back. Bald, his face sunken in and the pale, almost translucent skin is pulled taut against his bones as he leans on his infamous scythe.

“There is nothing subtle about death,” responds the Grim Reaper.

His voice, tinged with age is like a quiet rasp and yet still seems to project as though he is speaking in a large cavern.

Marcus looks down at the train as it comes to make another pass around. The Reaper walks over and rests a bony hand on his shoulder.

“She will be awake soon,” he says.

Taking a deep breath in, Marcus turns to face the collector of souls, “Let it begin then.”

. . .

Catherine stirs slowly as if from a deep slumber. Propped up in a seat, her eyes struggle to adjust to the bright lights of the carriage. Every chair is filled with people lost in their own thoughts, all staring forward. Panic begins to well in the pit of her stomach. How did I get here? She thinks. Come on Catherine, think. What is the last thing you remember? You were sitting in a car, and Marcus was driving. Ugh, why can I not remember anything else? Take deep breaths, come on stay calm, and then I can get off at the next stop. Deep breaths, three seconds in, and slowly release as the yoga instructor said.

She checks her pockets for her phone, train ticket, and anything, but they are empty.

. . .

Marcus turns to death as his frustration begins to seep out.

“She has been sitting there for near half an hour now, when will this test start?”

“Patience,” is all he said, and yet there was such a finality in his voice that Marcus decided not to press him anymore. Turning back to the train, he let his senses reach out, visualizing the inside of the carriage like the Reaper had told him to.

. . .

She had asked the man across from her where the train was heading but had been ignored as he carried on staring forward. Nothing about this seemed right. The décor of the train was a simple modern style with metal seats, plain walls, and white lights. All around seemed sterile and spotless, and yet, there was the smell. Old and musty like the inside of an antique furniture store. She did not want to think about the windows. One side was a rock face that seemed never ending and the other was just blue. Nothing but blue as though someone had painted the background and then forget to add the rest in. It left an unnerving feeling in her stomach.

Getting to her feet she went to ask a woman a few seats down but was met with the same blank stare. She waved her hand in front of the woman’s face, but she did not even blink. Panic begins to creep back in as she does the same to someone else who also ignores her. Feeling overwhelmed with the rising fear, she shouts out, a desperate shrill of a sound but no one even so much as flinches.

Collapsing onto her knees, Catherine begins to cry until a small pair of feet, wrapped snug in dark blue shoes, comes to a rest in front of her. Looking up, she sees a young girl, no more than 10 with long curly blonde hair down to her shoulders, holding out her hand. She allows herself to be guided back to her seat where the girl sits down at the side, staring directly into her eyes.

“How come the rest do not answer me?” says Catherine.

The girl takes a nervous glance around.

“They are dead,” she whispers.

Her voice is sweet and childlike, but the cold edge to those words chilled Catherine. As soon as she said it, the heads of the other passengers snap around and stare directly at her. The scene is horrifying as their gaze locks on the girl, eyes wide, unblinking.

Catherine stands up and takes a step back. “What is going on? Why have they done that?”

The girl’s response is quiet with an edge of fear in her voice. “You are not supposed to speak about it around them.”

“About what? Death?”

The people, all at once, stand up. The light in the carriage seems to dim as they take a single step forward. Catherine begins to plead for the girl to get behind her but is met with a childish chuckle.

“Death, death, death,” the girl shouts.

They all turn to advance on her, mouths open as high-pitched screams erupt from every one of them. An old man, dressed in khaki-colored cords and a tartan woolly jumper raises his arm high, knife in hand, ready to strike down.

At the same time, Catherine, who was temporarily stunned with shock at the deafening sound, rushes forward to grab the girl before putting her arms around her and placing her back to the knife. Clenching her teeth, she waits for the inevitable.

Nothing. Silence once again floods the carriage. Opening her eyes, Catherine looks around to find it completely empty. No more people, just blood splattered across the walls and chairs, and the little girl stood in front of her.

“What happened? Where did all this blood come from?” she asks.

The girl holds her hand and begins leading her toward the door.

“The others did not try to protect me.”

. . .

“What in the world was that? This was supposed to be a test, not a horror movie!” says a visibly shaken Marcus.

The Reaper turns. “She surprised me, very few people try and defend her.”

A glumness washes over Marcus’s face as he sits down on the grass, his mind flooding with memories.

“She has always been like that.” He says. “Sacrificing herself for someone else. We both had dreams you know. She wanted to be a jewelry maker. Had her designs all sketched out, all her plans ready, and everything. The spare room was going to be the start of her little empire.”

“And did she make it?” asked the Grim Reaper.

“No… I had pitched an idea that won me a contract so I needed an office space to work in. Before I could say anything, she was already thinking about how the spare room could be laid out with my desk in it. Over time, I got more and more paperwork, printers, storage, etc. She was pushed further and further out of the room till she simply gave up and decided to help me instead. You know, she never once complained about it, not once. How selfish can one man be?”

“There may still be time,” replied the Reaper.

“I hope so, she deserves it more than most.”

They both look down at the train. The final part of her test, one which Marcus feels in his gut will be the hardest for her. How he now wished he had been better. Wished he had supported her more and given her the life that she had wanted. As they say, hindsight is a bitch.

. . .

“How did you die?” asks the young girl.

“Honestly, I am not sure. The last thing I remember, me and my husband was traveling in a car and then…oh. I remember swerving, we spun off the road but all is blank from there. So, I am dead?”

“Maybe,” replied the girl.

Sliding the door open, Catherine walks through to find herself in an old-fashioned carriage with a dark wood interior. Plush purple velvet chairs line the side and a worn patterned red carpet covers the floor. Lay on one of the chairs was a young boy, no more than two years old, partially covered with a tablecloth and an arm hanging off the side of the chair.

The young girl walks over and picks his arm back up to rest it on his chest.

“This was my brother.” Says the girl.

“Was your brother?” asks Catherine. Unable to take her eyes off the lifeless form in front of her, resting peacefully as if in a deep sleep.

Tears start to fall on the girl’s cheek as she points to the door at the other end of the carriage.

“That is your way out, back to your life”.

“As simple as that?” asks Catherine. “Why don’t you come with me?”

The girl turns back to her brother.

“I cannot. He said I must stay and serve my punishment.”

“Punishment?” Catherine’s voice begins to rise. “Punishment! You are a young girl, what form of monster would put you through such a thing?” She realized she was shouting as anger now burned through her.

“Come with me, we can go together.” Catherine tries pleading with the young girl but she is now taking a step away. “Come with me and we can both move on, then you do not have to keep being murdered.” She regretted that last word as the young girl winced, and broke out into a quiet sob.

“I am murdered because I am a murderer.”

And with that single statement, the girl had stunned Catherine to complete silence.

Taking a deep breath, the girl looks at Catherine, her face full of raw emotion as she says, “He cried a lot. Momma didn’t like it when he woke up her. She would get angry and tell me it is my fault for not looking after him properly. I tried playing with him but he was so hungry that he would not stop crying. I used a pillow to make his cries quieter. He stopped after that.”

Catherine’s heart breaks and without questioning anything, she grabs the girl and hugs her tight.

. . .

On the top of a mountain, in the presence of death, a man weeps. Not for the girl, but for his wife. For how kind and how forgiving she is. For how she is always there for someone in need and for how she will sacrifice her life for anybody else. He weeps because deep down, he knows she will never leave this girl alone.

. . .

Catherine manages to regain her composure and this time; it is her guiding the girl to a seat. They sit quietly for a while, watching the never-ending passing of the rock face outside the window.

“You know, I have not asked your name yet,” says Catherine.

“It is Emily, I think. I have been here a while and some things I cannot remember.”

“How did you get here,” Catherine asks but then immediately regrets the question as Emily looks cautiously around.

“Momma was not happy. She said I should join him. I was crying like my brother was so she made me just as quiet as he is. Now we are both here but he doesn’t wake up as I do.”

At that moment, the old man from before appeared in the doorway, knife already in hand, staring wide-eyed at the girl.

Emily stands up and turns to Catherine before saying, “You need to go now. I need to go back to the other carriage. You cannot stay here any longer or you will be stuck here like me.”

Catherine’s face was a blank mask, placid and emotionless as she watches the man slowly walk towards them. Marcus had always said she had a great poker face and this was the ultimate challenge to that. Sweat formed on the back of her neck causing a shiver just as the man glanced away. Before she knew it, she was picking the girl up and running for the door.

Her mind clouded with sheer panic as the high-pitched scream of the man pierces her brain, drowning out the now gleeful laughter of the girl in her arms. Sliding the door aside, she leaps into darkness.

. . .

Marcus’s thoughts snap back with such a force that it sends him backward onto the grass.

“What happened? Where has she gone?” Marcus yells.

The Grim Reaper turns his back to him.

“The girl was not meant to go, they are trapped in limbo,” he said.

Rage quickly builds within Marcus; his fists clench up.

“But she left the train, you said she needed to leave to be brought back!”

The Reaper sighs and simply shrugs. Marcus explodes and lunges forward punching with all his might only to find his hand flowing through the Reaper as if he were not even there. Tumbling forward, he hits solid ground, grazing his knees on the hard surface.

Looking around he sees he is now in the middle of a road; tire marks running across its surface leading into the trees at the side. This is where he crashed the car. They were arguing over how little time he spent with her and he did not see the car coming till it was too late. Marcus broke down.

Struggling to speak as tears overwhelm him.

“Everything she did, she did for me, and I killed her,” he says. “See how she protected the girl; see how she would not leave her. She deserved so much better, so much better.”

Marcus notices the whisp of smoke coming from the trees. Stumbling forward he sees the car with his wife’s body pressed up against the glass. Sensing his presence at the side of him, Marcus turns to face the Grim Reaper. Staring deep into those gaunt eyes, he knew the was only one other option left.

“The girl cannot leave as you need someone to take her place and my wife cannot leave because she has a hold of the girl. You have no option Reaper, take me instead,” he says.

The Grim Reaper places his hand on Marcus’s shoulder. His voice is deep, echoing through Marcus’s mind, probing every inch.

“Your thoughts are now mine, you cannot lie here, there will be no deception, do you speak the truth, do you truly wish to sacrifice yourself for eternity under my servitude.”

“Yes.” There is no hesitation and no falseness behind Marcus’s words. “I will do whatever you want and re-live any hellish scenario you think of for the rest of eternity. Just let the girl and my wife live, they deserve it more than me.”

Pain starts to flood Marcus’s body causing him to drop to his knees and as he looks up into the Reaper’s eyes, he sees for the first time, genuine warmth. The taut skin shifts across the bones as this eternal collector of soul smiles.

Off to the side, he hears the bang and clatter of a car door being kicked off. His wife crawled out before reaching back in to grab his body and drag it with her. Blood trickles slowly down her face where she must have knocked it during the crash and her clothes are filthy as she continues to drag him out of the forest.

Confused, Marcus looks back at the Grim Reaper. His body aches all over and he is so drained he cannot find the energy to speak.

The Grim Reaper continues to smile before saying, “Her life was not the only one on the line. You do not remember how you got here, do you? This was not just her test.”

Marcus’s mind begins to drift, he notices the scenery begin to fade away, replaced by a white light that burns his eyes until everything became blank.

Opening his eyes, struggling to focus due to the bright light of the room, Marcus sees wires coming from a machine, beeping at the side of him, leading down and into his arm. Dazed, he looks around to see his wife, the most beautiful she has ever been, fast asleep in the hospital chair at the side of him with a young blonde girl on her lap. In his mind a voice whispers.

“You passed”.

The End

HorrorShort StoryFantasy
3

About the Creator

Daniel Millington

A professional procrastinator that likes to weave short stories ranging from thought-provoking fiction to imaginative fantasy. Delve into worlds that twist your soul and bring magical creations to life.

I also like cake.

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Outstanding

Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!

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  1. Compelling and original writing

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    Well-structured & engaging content

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Comments (1)

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  • Dharrsheena Raja Segarranabout a year ago

    Whoaaaa! I absolutely loved the concept of the Grim Reaper! You did a fantastic job on this story. I loved it so much!

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