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Story: Grim Reaper To Be
By: CyberFairy17
Rating: T
Summary: The Grim Reaper, who is so old that he's turning into a rotting bag of bones despite all the Miracle Bone Grow the mages of the Underworld/Afterlife keep casting on him-- has desired to retire. His scythe arm aches after just a few swings and when it's cold out.
So after this continues, the council of the underworld decide they need a new grim reaper.
But where are they to find this new grim reaper? they wonder. Everyone in the the underworld has a designated job. Everyone else is dead and have either passed on, or are lost souls.
So they finally find a mortal who looks like he has potential. So they bring him in...
One problem they did not foresee-- this guy is absolutely terrified of death.
But now he's stuck with the old grim reaper as his mentor.
This guy is NOT a happy camper. What's he to do? He doesn't want the job, he's techiniqually dead, and can't return to the mortal world.
Chaos/hilarity ensues.
-----
Hello, everyone! Thanks for checking out my story Grim Reaper to be.
This story is rated T for slight swearing, slight violence, and a slightly perverse penguin. lol. It's mostly a humor story, and the idea just struck me randomly one day.
I also want you to know that there are 2 parts to the introduction, because it's kinda long, but not at the main plot of the story yet. It won't take too long, though.
Thanks to Morticai for the inspration for this story.
Enjoy! (And please review when you're done! I worked really hard on this. Thanks!!)
“He’s next?” a shadowed figured asked casually, glancing at the three papers the person beside him had just handed to him. Even in the poor light, the papers he was holding were obviously documents, or at least looked like one. Printed on each was information, plus a portrait.
The first portrait was of a short, fat man with beady black eyes. The second was of a tall, lean man with short, jet black hair, and narrowed golden eyes. The third was of a boy who looked around sixteen, with wider, sparkling, but also gold, eyes. He had russet colored hair, and a lanky frame.
“Yes,” a low female voice replied in a business-like way. “Lower Secret Court proctor, Cain, is seeing to it.”
“And that’s him...?” he replied, adjusting his glasses slightly and peering down into the looking glass for a better look.
“Yes. His human alias is currently Gary.”
“Gary, eh?” He laughed. “Suits him. When’s GR to arrive?”
“Any minute now, sir.”
“Ah, let’s see how he’s doing then, shall we?”
The sun shone as a dull orb on the horizon line, yet the sky was sparkling and surprisingly clear. The air was as crisp as a dangerously thin layer of ice, and as sharp, too.
Suddenly, a cold, cutting wind howled through empty air. It’s icy fingers clawed across a snow-swept plain viciously, and two lone dots on the snow made haste to pull their heavy winter coats closer around them, protecting them from the abrupt onrush of flurried snow, which soon danced around them, then out of sight.
“Quite a day, eh, Bob?” The taller of the two huddled figures asked, readjusting his scarf.
“It sure is, Gary. A beautiful, crystal clear day in Alaska. Perfect for oil drilling,” the second, more pudgy one replied, straightening and admiring the sky with small, black eyes.
Gary, a tall, quiet man who looked around the age of twenty-eight, watched the sky as well with narrowed, thoughtful golden eyes. He didn’t even shift as another icy breeze stirred his ear-length, jet black hair.
Bob, short and slightly pudgy, and around the age of thirty-four, stared at the sky with more of an awed expression, a cup of coffee clutched between thickly gloved hands.
As the silence dragged on, the shorter one glanced at the taller, who didn’t seem to notice. ‘Or,’ he thought, ‘because he doesn’t want to.’
At that last thought Bob gritted his teeth slightly. Although Gary was tolerable, his silence and searching gaze was rather unnerving at times. He did everything quietly, and Bob had to wonder why Gary would apply for a strange job such as oil drilling.
‘ He’s creepy, and I got stuck with him! ‘ Bob continued in his head, his grip on his coffee mug tightening.
‘He has such a weird way of doing everything! I remember when I was teamed up with him,’ he continued, now looking into the brown swirling liquid in his cup. ‘He stood there, dressed like a business man, not someone ready to go out oil drilling. He also just nodded silently to me, one of the few acknowledgements from him that I got, and proceeded to do his thing, and let me do mine.’
Now, Bob didn’t mind this at all, but when he asked his taller companion something, he was so slow at reacting, if he reacted at all. He just continued focusing on whatever had caught his attention with those sharp golden eyes.
‘Is he slightly deaf or something?’ He had, at one point wondered. ‘No, probably not.’
Bob continued his thoughts over his curious friend for awhile, then grew restless.
After another moment, the silence was broken.
“Speaking of oil drilling,” Bob continued, grunting slightly, taking his eyes off the sky, “We should get back to work. We don’t have all day.”
His voiced echoed eerily through the air, causing Gary’s eyes to narrow further, but not reply.
Turning around without waiting for a answer, Bob waddled back over to the drill towering silently a few feet away from them. The gigantic oil rig, stuck out like a sore thumb, oddly obstructing the view of the landscape and sky.
As Bob stepped onto the platform to start up the drilling again, he noticed Gary hadn’t moved, and called out,
“Hey Gary! Come on! Let’s move! We have to start now or never!”
That seemed to snap the other man out of his trance. He turned around silently and started walking slowly toward the rig. He then suddenly stopped short, staring at the ground.
Bob started to become annoyed, and called out again, struggling to keep the anger out of his voice,
“Gary? Gary! What are you doing?! Let’s get going so we can start this baby up!” He patted the drill affectionately, but impatiently as well.
‘Why does this happen so often?’ Bob thought angrily as he glared down at the man below. ‘What’s his problem?’ Bob rolled his eyes. ‘ His creepy, and I got stuck with him! I bet my LIFE next thing he’s gonna say something grim about this whole job. And I bet my life he’s just trying to scare me off. Jeez, All I want to do is get paid and get out of here!’
Suddenly Gary, who still hadn’t made a sound, suddenly looked up at the fuming man above him, who visibly shivered at his gaze.
‘God, that gaze is so nerve-racking.’ Bob shuddered, but held his gaze with Gary’s in a what seemed like an endless stalemate.
Finally, Gary blinked, shoved his hands in his pockets, and scuffing the ground with his foot experimentally, asked, nonchalant,
“Are you sure this is legal?”
Bob thought he was going to explode in fury. All that wait, for such a stupid question?! They had been through this conversation before!
“I’m pretty sure it is!” he snapped, but inwardly, he wasn’t so sure. Was it really? They had said it was, but these days, you can never be too sure with the government...
“I don’t think this is very safe,” Gary continued, still nonchalant.
“Of course it’s not very safe!” Bob snarled. “We have a chance to freeze to death, and an even greater chance of getting caught out here if you don’t MOVE!”
“But I thought you said it was legal.”
“I said I was pretty sure.”
“But that’s not positive.”
“Neither are you!”
Gary sighed. “That’s beside the point. Anyway,” his foot tapped the ground again. “Don’t you know? This ice is unstable. If we drill here, it could break.”
“What’s Cain doing?!” he whispered furiously. “He’s not supposed to say that! If he messes this up, we’re doomed!”
“Don’t worry, Cain knows what he’s doing, Cyrus. He’s just playing with that fool of a mortal. He will be dealt with soon either way, and we’ll get the proper test results,” the woman said steadily as Cyrus slumped into a chair, hand across his forehead.
“I hope you’re right, Iniko.”
“I know I am, Cyrus. Look,” she pointed to the mirror, and Cyrus hastily got to his feet and eagerly bent over the mirror,
“ Mr. R has arrived.”
Cain, currently known as Gary, smirked as the man he was “working” with turned an interesting shade of purple. What a fool this man was. This was fun, but he began to sense a little to much uncertainty, so he knew now it was probably time to stop. ‘even though’ Gary rolled his eyes. ‘ All I’m saying is the truth.’
“Whatever,” he said out loud, then added, unable to resist, as he stepped up on the platform, “Boss-man.”
Bob twitched. That’s the only way he could describe it. He twitched. His mood and day were ruined by his “teammate”.
He knew, if he tried to say anything, he’d probably blow the entire continent up. At least Gary was now following orders, so Bob kept his mouth shut, yet managed to mutter,
“Good. Now let’s go.”
As the drill started up, as did the icily glittering sun, “Gary” glanced at a far-off point on the horizon, the smirk never leaving his face.
Here he comes.
Wait. Cosmic rift?
The penguin stared curiously towards the horizon line. Yes, the sun on the horizon was fine just a minute ago, but now it looked like a huge seam in it had opened, and it was all purple-ish blue swirls inside. What in the...
The poor, rather smart penguin did not have enough time to finish that thought, because at the moment, a shadow fell over it, and its view of the sun was swallowed up by a dark, tall, slightly bent over figure with glowing eyes...who seemed to holding what looked like a reaper’s sickle.
Wait.
Reaper’s sickle?
The penguin gave an almighty squawk! and scrambled backwards. To late, the sickle rose into the air and arced down with a mighty sweep, and the penguin was no more.
“Why must teleportation from the Underworld to the Human World be so painful? My old bones won’t be able to keep up with it!” Death continued to rant as he pulled his black robes tighter around him, and adjusted his hood.
“And why must it be so damn cold?! Oh, my aching bones...”
“Excuse me, sir,” a timid voice wafted up. But Death paid no heed as he rolled out his long black sleeves, trying to cover his bony hands as much as he was able. It looked ridiculous, and the grim reaper does not like to look ridiculous, but hey, desperate times called for desperate measures...
“Honestly! If they just allowed me to have warming spells for this old bag of bones,” Death continued to mutter to himself, one hand on his hip as he surveyed the view. “But nooo...you, Mr. Reaper, can’t have warming spells, because last time you set yourself and the whole funerary procession on fire...”
“Excuse me.” The voice once again came, a little louder this time.
“And now I got my scythe stuck in the ice. Great,” Death once again ignored the voice, tugging on his scythe that was currently lodged in the snow.
“Hello!?” came the voice.
With a gigantic pull, the scythe finally came loose.
“Finally,” Death said, satisfied with his work...for the moment.
“Now, for the coup de grace...”
“WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM?!” came the shrill cry.
“Eh?” Death looked down.
There, in the snow, was a very pissed-off/disgruntled looking penguin, who was transparent, and currently glaring up at him.
“Hey...” Death said slowly, pointing curiously at the see-through penguin. “Aren’t you...didn’t I just...?”
“Yes, you rotting pile of bones! I’ve been trying to get your attention for five minutes! Now, if you weren’t so damned oblivious...”
Death sighed tiredly. ‘Here we go...’
“What do you want, penguin?” he asked.
The penguin, all politeness gone, hopped angrily up and down as high as he could, trying to get in Death’s face. Unfortunately, since penguins aren’t the greatest jumpers. he didn’t he past Death’s hips. But that didn’t stop him from being indignant, no it didn’t...
“Look, buddy,” the penguin said, pointing a wingtip accusingly at the grim reaper, “If you don’t help me get to heaven, I’m going to peck someone’s vocal chords straight to hell!”
“And what,” the grim reaper answered, leaning on his scythe and giving the penguin a look very much akin to raising an eyebrow, “Makes you think I’ll help you do that, with that attitude problem of yours?”
“My threat,” the penguin answered smugly.
“Well yes,” Death looked thoughtful as he placed his index finder on the cheek of his skull thoughtfully. “That would be a good threat, IF,” he emphasized, looked down at the penguin, “one, you weren’t dead, and two, I actually had vocal chords.”
“What makes you able to speak, then?” the penguin asked angrily.
“Trade secret,” Death replied simply, no challenge in his voice.
The now even more so disgruntled penguin just fluffed his feathers up and said nothing.
What is taking him so long? Cyrus wondered, looking anxious.
“Woah woah woah, buddy,” The penguin stammered, eyeing the scythe warily. “No need to get hasty! I’ll do it on one condition.”
“Condition?”
“Yeah,” the penguin smirked, waddling next to the grim reaper and standing next to him, looking up, as the reaper opened another gate to the Afterlife very much akin to the one he had come out of before. “Could you book me some of those...what are they called...play-something magazines? Because they are damn—“
“Just go,” the grim reaper rolled his eyes, and with a mighty push of the back-end of his scythe, dumped the penguin into the portal.
The portal made an odd slurping sound, and seemed to consider spitting out whatever it just received, but after a moment, it zipped itself back up in a second, returning equilibrium to the area.
“I’m glad it didn’t get stuck again,” Death muttered. “I wouldn’t know what I’d do with an annoying, slightly perverse penguin following me around.”
Suddenly, something vibrated in a pocket of his robes.
“Oh, what now?” he sighed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a black cell phone with a skull and crossed-scythes engraved upon it, not to mention a few bloodstains.
Flipping it open, he peered at it. On the mini screen, “Death Date” I.D. came up, along with a picture and the name “Bob” under it. Location: Alaska, ??? km. to the North.
Scrolling down the page with a fingertip, he noticed something else.
“What’s this?”
An hourglass appeared on the screen, the bottom glass of it nearly full to the brim, and the top part of the glass nearly empty. A red “X” flashed across it. Then a mechanical voice came through the phone.
“Mr. Reaper, this man is about to permanently expire. We request that with due haste you make it there as quickly as possible. Thank you.”
“Oh,” Death blinked, snapping the phone shut. “Right. I had forgotten about him.”
And then he realized something else.
“Uh oh.”
