Samael, Angel of Death

Something brushed my face.  I groaned, eyes fluttering open.  My back ached and I felt bruises blossoming along my arms and ribs. 

It was dark- so dark, I couldn't see a thing.  I groped through the blackness.  Something covered my body, velvet-soft, shielding me from the wind.  The air smelled like musty books and heavy wine, and the ground beneath me rose and fell to the steady whirring of some hidden thing.

Finally cognizant, the nightmarish memories came flooding back to me- the horse and its phantom rider, those gleaming red eyes...

The hearse.

“Oh, God,” I choked.  I reached out, finding the wooden frame of the vehicle and the heavy curtains drawn over its sides. 

I was inside the deathly carriage.

“Actually, God has nothing to do with this.  More like: 'Oh devil! I've been abducted by a fiend!'  At least that's what I assume you think me, unless you fainted because I'm so dreadfully handsome.  I understand- my looks are disarming.  Cabernet?”

I gasped, hearing that dark voice so close to me.  “Where are you?” I demanded.  “Stay away from me, or I'll-”

“You'll what?  Swoon me to death?  Or perhaps bore me to the point that I lose consciousnesses.  Because so far, you've proven to be quite boring, little mortal.  I've had better times with rocks, quite frankly.  At least they don't try to drive knives through my heart.”

He was mocking me.  Anger burnt across my cheeks.  “Boring? You shouldn't even exist!  You kidnap me, scare me senseless, and now you expect me to entertain you?  I may not know who the hell you are, but I sure know what you are: you're deranged.  Let me out of this death trap, now!” I yelled.

He laughed maliciously.  “You're flustered- I love it when humans get angry.  It's like watching a mouse trying to take on a lion: ill-equipped and puny, all it can do is squeak.  You can't fight, so you whine.”

“Rot in Hell, Corpseboy,” I spat, lashing out at the shadows around me.  Cool hands grabbed my wrists; immobilized, I screamed in anger.

“Ooo, and what a feisty little mouse you are,” he teased.  “Feisty but foolish.  You certainly don't have the good sense young women are supposed to, wandering through the woods in the dead of the night, unescorted and defenseless, for the sheer pleasure of danger?”  He laughed deeply.

“Seems suicidal, just like insulting your captor with pathetic names.  Corpseboy?  Corpses are festering piles of rotten flesh.  Skeletons, however, are stripped bare to the bone, prim and clean; they're much easier on the eye.  Beautiful, even.”  His grip around me untensed, guiding my fists to my lap.  “There, I hope you're comfortable.  You can't enjoy burgundy unless you're completely relaxed.”

“You expect me to enjoy wine when my death is imminent?  What kind of kidnapper are you?”

“Kidnapper?” he said incredulously.  “Who said anything about kidnapping?  What if I just wanted your company?  What if I just dropped by to say hello, only to have you faint before I could introduce myself?  Any gentleman would have made sure you were alright.  I've been waiting for you to wake ever since.” 

He paused, and I heard the clinking of glass and the swish of liquid.  “And what do I get for my kindness?” he mused to himself.  “Spite.”

I stared out dumbly at the darkness.  “So you're saying you've done me a favor, and I should be grateful that you've abducted me?  Fat chance, Bonesack.” 

“See, pure spite.  Unadulterated malevolence.  Fine, I'll just drink your glass for you, Callie Parker-

“Wait. How do you know my name?”

I could swear that I sensed him grin.  He sipped lightly and sighed happily.

“Great, just fricking peachy!  What else do you know, hell, who are you?  Did you stalk me through the woods?  Track down my personal information?  Is this some supernatural identity theft- are you in need of some skin?” I choked, panic returning.  This was all so wrong.

“You're spewing nonsense.  Why would I want to be you, when I'm so gloriously me?”  

“You say 'me' as if you were Lord of the Universe.”

“I'm lord of many things- who's to say I don't reign over the universe as well?”

“I'll be the judge of that, Corpseboy.  'Cause from what I've seen so far, you're only lord of the psychopaths.”

“Oh, that's right- you haven't seen much of anything, have you?  I always forget, human eyes are so weak...”  A pair of gas lamps hissed into existence along the hearse's interior.

I was perched atop a plush seat of red velvet where a coffin should lie.  A gold-embroidered blanket enveloped me, gleaming in the crimson light that poured from the lamps. Encased in red glass, they cast eerie shadows across the black curtains and the hearse's ebony frame.

He sat beside me, cloak of shadows veiling his face and hands.  I sensed him smirk at my unmasked awe.  He shifted closer, tendrils of darkness snaking from his cloak across the velvet seat.  His raiment gleamed crimson in the lamplight and seemed to soak up the feeble heat it provided.

How could a being so monstrous have a vehicle so classy? Despite the fact that it was altogether macabre, the owner seemed to have taste beyond his apparent affection for burgundy wine.  He held the crystal-cut glass with a white-gloved hand and reclined languorously like a sleepy king, completely at ease in his morbid deathtrap.

“See, I am a gentleman, Callie Parker.  What heartless kidnapper has style?”

I scoffed.  “As I've said, a deranged one.  And wait- how do you know my name?”

He laughed wildly.  “I absolutely love humans- sweet Devil, you have no idea.  Of all the strange things you've witnessed tonight, the one that disturbs you most is the irrelevant fact that I know your name.  I know everyone's name.  It comes with the line of business.”

“What?  Abducting defenseless girls?”

He sighed.  The lamps flickered with his exhalation.  “Once again, I rescued you.  I took the time out of my busy night to make sure you were safe, not lying dead in an abandoned churchyard.  Of what use could you possibly be to me beyond amusement?”

Flustered, I balled my hands into fists round the fabric.  “I wouldn't have fainted if you'd left me alone.”

He paused, cloaked head turning towards me like a hunter locking onto his prey.  “Left you alone?” he whispered, voice sharp as knives.  “You called to me, Callie.  Graveyards are my domain, forgotten places my home, yet you roam through them like they belong to you.  You gave offerings to the crow, my sacred bird, and sought out  places where only the dead should linger.  Tell me, aren't you drawn to that church?  To the beauty of the ruins, imagining a time long gone?  Ask yourself why.  Why do you wander through these woods, when the world of man is dreaming?”

He shifted closer, waiting for my response.  Baffled, I looked down at the scratches on my hands.  He'd put gauze on them. 

Good question.  Why did I do these idiotic things?  Shrinks would have a field day psychoanalyzing me...

“You can't explain it, can you?”

I recoiled- he made me sound like a madman.  I might be eclectic, but I wasn't insane.  Compared to him, I was the picture of sanity.

He looked at me somberly.  The carriage stopped.  He glanced at the velvet-black curtains and a breeze picked up, shifting them aside.  A copse of fir bowed in the wind, ringing the ghostly lake I'd spent so many summer nights swimming in.  The grassy banks were littered with leaves and a rotting dock slanted into the water, coated with pond weed and algae.  An ancient skiff bobbed gently, tied to a stooping willow and hidden by its weeping boughs.

Corpseboy opened the carriage door.  He landed silently with effortless grace.  He offered a gloved hand.  “Care to join me?” he whispered, red irises gleaming. 

I fixed him with a steely gaze, crossing my arms in defiance.  “I didn't call you, and I have no desire whatsoever to follow you.”    

“Then who were you hoping to meet tonight, Callie?  To whom do you think this forest belongs?  Because it certainly isn't yours- you're just a guest in the cathedral of the woods.”

“No one!  I told you, I don't know who the hell you are or what you want.”

He sighed, turning his back to me and looking up at the moon. “I have as many names as the wind.  You can call me Sam, I suppose.”

I looked at him with disbelief.  “Sam?  I expected something more, oh, I don't know- nefarious.”

He laughed.  “Nefarious?  I mean you no harm.”

I scoffed, slamming the door shut with a rebellious thud.  “Sorry, but I'm having trouble believing a talking skull has good intentions.”

The air became cold as ice.  He turned on his heels, cloak whirling furiously.  “Talking skull? Oh, that,” he chuckled, drawing his hood back slightly and bringing his face into the light.  The grinning skull shook with laughter.  “Do I scare you, Callie Parker?  Because underneath that pretty flesh, you're just like me.”  He drew closer.  “Do you know what the word grimnir means, Callie?” he asked, drawing his fingers across his stony brow.

“Like grim?  Yeah.  Creepy.  Like you.”

Unfortunately, my attempt at insult slid right off his thick skull.  He intoned: “In its archaic usage, it referred to pagan priests who wore masks to represent their gods.  It means 'masked', Callie... the Masked One.”

The blood froze in my veins.  I reeled backwards, crashing onto the plush seat  “I know what you are!”

“Yes, love?”

“You're the Grim Reaper,” I whispered.

“The one and only!” he exclaimed, mock-bowing.