The Reaper's Opus Read online

The Reaper's Opus

  By Zach Tyo

  Copyright 2014 Zach Tyo

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

  For Ronda and Jensen, whose love, understanding, and confidence brought this dream to life.

  Table of Contents

  Foreword

  Autumn Leaves

  Crossover

  Pandora's Cabin

  The Gypsy's Coin

  About the Author

  Foreword

  Charon, Thanatos, Hel, the Ferryman and the Grim Reaper are a few names you have given me throughout the millennia. In many cultures I'm depicted as a demon, an angel of death whose sole purpose is to lurk in the shadows and await the right time to enact the universe's final plan for you. The stories of my work are told to children to frighten them into falling in line to avoid my touch. No matter what name you come to know me, understand that there is a bit of truth to my nature.

  From the day you are born, a small part of me is born as well. From your first breath I am there with you. When you take your first steps, say your first word, and have your heart broken for the first time, I am there. Finally when you take your last breath we meet; after a lifetime of mortality, we come face to face. I come to you, not as an imposing monster, but rather a loving father that has watched you grow and shared in your achievements. My only goal is to help you let go of your mortal fears, and usher you into your final rest.

  Most of you cross over with little interference, accepting your fate. There are, however, a few stories over the eons that have special meaning for me. Stories of mortals that have tried to fight their fate, tried to fight me—or stories of mortals whose crossing over has been so profound it warranted notation. Know that this is but a small portion, and there will be several more volumes on the way.

  Autumn Leaves

  I pull the jacket around me tightly and take cover in its warmth against the bitter autumn cold and wait. What could be keeping her? I think to myself as I glance at my watch and realize just how long I’ve been staring down the driveway, awaiting the fiery redheaded child I sent for groceries nearly four hours prior.

  She refused to allow me to take her in the coach; I attribute that to one of the many gifts of youth. While I see the hour walk as being a chore—one that can easily be halved by taking the ten minutes to prepare the horses for a quick jaunt—she sees an opportunity to dance, sing, and revel in the beauty of autumn leaves. I can’t remember the last time I truly looked at the leaves with anything more than a sense of mild indifference.

  I turn away and approach the door, wanting some warmth from the hearth. I suddenly hear a voice above the hiss of the wind, and I turn quickly to face down the driveway again. I feel a pull in my cheeks as my smile grows and my worries begin to subside slightly. The fiery red hair that hangs to her shoulders bounces to and fro as she bounds her way up the driveway.

  My smile wanes as she gets closer and I see the mark on her right cheek, one that was not there when she left. I rush down the stairs and drop to my knees, pulling her to me. “Child, what happened?” I pull away and brush the deep red mark with the back of my hand; I can already feel a tear in my eye.

  “Mommy mommy, come quick!”

  She pulls away from me and tugs at my arm. I brush the tear away before it can fall; she is so insistent that I obey her and allow her to drag me along towards the main road.

  The thought that she is dragging me towards whatever caused the nasty bruise crosses my mind as we pass the halfway point of the driveway. I don’t even have a chance to ask her where the groceries she was to have picked up are.

  The scene at the road is one straight out of a nightmare. Something must have spooked the passenger carriage’s horses for it to have overturned with the force required to reduce it to splinters. I swear I can still hear the horses’ hooves thundering in the distance.

  “Stay here, child; mommy will be right back.” I inch towards the carriage slowly, fearing the horror I will surely find. I call out softly, and then slightly louder, praying somebody will respond. I hear nothing, and proceed to what I assume was the back side of the coach.

  My worst fears are brought to life as I see the young girl lying face down along the side of the road. I approach slowly and grip her shoulder, shaking her gently in hopes that there is a little life left. I give up after a moment and begin gently turning the girl over.

  The bruise on her right cheek causes me to jump to my feet and look back towards the driveway. The sight I see fills me with a terror I’ve never felt. There is a coach parked in the middle of the road and a man standing next to my daughter. I run to her side, pick her up, and hold her away from the man.

  “Are you ready?” The man sounds kind, fatherly even.

  I suddenly feel calm and at ease at his words, and I release my grip a bit. At first glance the man seems normal, even the coach he is driving bears no special mention. Somehow, though, I know what he is here for.

  As if answering his command a man appears from the wreckage and approaches the coach. I assume he is the driver from the overturned carriage, coming to answer the call. He doesn’t glance our way; he only climbs into the open door and vanishes into the blackness of the interior.

  I turn to my daughter, who is smiling at me. Though I feel pain in my heart, I also feel a type of happiness from the carriage and I know it’s bound for Heaven. “It’s your turn, child. I will always remember you.” I do my best to hide my sorrow, my pain. I want her to stay with me, be my child forever, but I know what is best.

  She holds out her hand for me to follow, and I lose control. I sob uncontrollably as I shake my head: “I’m sorry, baby, I don’t get to come on this trip.”

  The man by the coach clears his throat. I break my daughter’s stare and glance at the man. He is pointing to the carriage, specifically to a woman’s arm protruding from underneath.

  I look back to my daughter. She smiles at me as everything begins to take hold. “The man was nice and let me come find you, mommy. He said that if you didn’t come back you would be here forever. I would have missed you.”

  She grips my hand and we climb into the darkness...together.