Winter Winds That Shake the Soul

“But- but you don't exist!  You shouldn't- it's impossible.  Oh my god, help me,” I panicked, scurrying into the farthest corner of the carriage, putting as much space between him and me as possible.  I closed my eyes and pulled my knees to my chest.  “You don't exist, death isn't alive.  It's a thoughtless force of nature- it isn't sentient!”

He scoffed.  “Oh, pity, so I'm not real?  And here I was all this time, laboring under the delusion that I existed, when it was all just a lie.  Hand me a handkerchief, I'm sniffling.”

“Stop mocking me.  You're supposed to be silent.  Death doesn't have a sense of humor.”

“Says who?  My job would be depressing if I wasn't.  Now open your eyes, little mortal- you have nothing to fear.  I'm not here to collect your soul.  Not yet, anyways.”  His  voice was soothing, almost musical, and it charmed my fear away.  Cautiously, I opened an eye.

 I inched forwards, slipping out of the blanket and tightening my coat around me.  He opened the carriage door and offered me a hand.  I took it and leapt down, surprised to feel fingers beneath his glove.

“I've heard of padded bras, but gloves? Really?”  I said sarcastically, expecting to feel bones slender beneath.

“What?” he asked, confused.  “Oh! You still think this is me?” He motioned to his grim visage.  “Now Callie, think back on what I've said.”

My mind drew a blank.  “Uhh...”

He sighed.  “You're quite slow, aren't you?”

“What- no, I'm not!  I'm just a bit taken aback by this freak show I've been forced to star in.”  I glared at my kidnapper.  “Sorry if I can't remember every little thing you say, Corpseboy.”

“I'm the Grim Reaper, the Masked Reaper.  Follow me, little lamb? Or are you still lost in the pasture?”

“I'm not a sheep, idiot.  Don't patronize me- hey!” I exclaimed as he grabbed my hands impatiently, thrusting my fingers against his bony cheeks.  “Eww! Let go of me!  What the heck are you doing?” I protested, recoiling at the feel of the skull beneath my fingers.  But his grip remained firm, forcing me to trace the cool bone as his hands guided mine to the hollows beneath his brow. 

“Feisty, aren't you?” he laughed harshly.

“Sure I am,” I spat through gritted teeth, fighting my disgust.  “Can I have my hands back now, please?  Jeeze, how do necrophiliacs find this attractive-”  He pressed my index fingers under the hollows of his eyes, shutting me up as I squealed in disgust.  Shocked, instead of finding maggots or rotten brains, I felt warm skin beneath the skull, as if...

“It- it's a mask!” I gaped.  “But how- why- what?...” I trailed off, utterly confused.  Confusion turned quickly to anger- I pried the mask from his face.  “How dare you trick me into thinking that hideous thing was real, that any of this crap existed!” I screamed, glancing at the heavy disguise in my hands, so life-like it could've been on the shelves of forensics lab.  It was as if a skull had been sawed off at the brow, and the inside was moist, like living bone.  With a shriek of disgust I hurled it at him,

He watched patiently, hood darkening his face. I roiled: “Do you get your kicks out of scaring girls? You pathetic excuse for a man.”

He caught the mask effortlessly and tossed it into the hearse.  “I wouldn't do that if I were you, little girl,” he warned.  “You don't know what I'm capable of.”

“What?  Giving mental wards a run for their money?  Because you are bat crap insane.”

“Your life's getting shorter by the millisecond, Callie.  At this rate, you'll be dead come morning.”

“The words of a serial killer.”

“You don't want to anger me, Callie.  I'm not pleasant when my temper flares.”

“You weren't pleasant to begin with.  You're psychotic.”

“That's it.  I'm cutting out your tongue,” he said, voice flat with anger.

“With what?  My knife, which you stole-” I shut up instantly as a huge scythe materialized in his hands.  It appeared out of nowhere, towering over me with a wickedly curved blade.  He bore it as if it were light as a feather,  then stroked the edge fondly.  In the blink of an eye the stranger grew monstrously tall.

“Lovely,” I said faintly.

“It is, isn't it?” he said adoringly, twirling his scythe like a baton.  “She's my lady.”

“That's so... charming.”

Quick as lightning, the blade was pressed against my throat.  I gasped, feeling the hair-thin edge dig into my flesh ever so lightly.  “And you know what's even more charming?  A dead girl.  Especially if that girl was a pain while alive.  They're beautiful as corpses- just like a rose.  Blood-red and silent as the grave.”

“I actually pre- prefer freesia.  Roses are cliché-”

“Did I ask which you preferred?” he said cuttingly.

I gazed up at his shadowed face.  “No,” I whispered.  “I was just trying to lighten the conversation.”

“I was quite enjoying where it was going,” he murmured, taking my chin in his hand and tilting my neck backwards.  My face drained of color.  I sent futile prayers to the stars, feeling the scythe slide against my skin.

“Please don't,” I begged, tears pricking my eyes.

“And why shouldn't I?  You've done nothing all night but whine and give me a migraine.”

“If you're going to kill me, at least have the decency to do it without mocking me!” I said , closing my eyes and steeling myself for what could be a gruesome end.

“You're not going to beg for your life?  No pleading or groveling at my feet?” he gloated.

“Damn it, either slice my throat open or take your instrument of death away from me!”

“You're not in much of a position to make demands, Callie.”  I felt the cold metal slide down to my chest until the wicked point was arched over my heart.  Tremors shook my body and crimson burst across my vision, as if the promise of pain was something I could see.

“I hate you!” I choked through sobs.

“An appropriate reaction.”

“You're going to kill me,” I breathed, not believing it.

“No- I was just going to slice off your tongue because you're  a nuisance.  But now that you suggest it.... dissecting you would be much more interesting.  I just love dead girls.”

“I'm going to hurl if you keep this up, and if I do, I won't be such a clean corpse.”

“I'm the Angel of Death, my dear.  I'm the patron of carnage and all things rotting.  A bit of vomit is nothing compared to spewing blood and steaming entrails.”

“You- an angel?  Yeah right.  Unless you're a fallen one.”

“You don't believe me?”

“No!  Angels don't exist, and if they did, they wouldn't abduct innocent girls and murder them with scythes they've got the hots for.”

I sensed him smirk beneath the shadows of his cloak.  Taking one last glance at his scythe, he snapped it up and swung the blade in a vicious arc.  “Watch your neck, love!” he declared, scythe flying towards me. 

I ducked.  He swiveled the blade so it swooped after me, like a hawk diving after its prey.  I crashed to my knees, shielding my face from the oncoming blow.  The cold metal sung as it sliced through the air, a heartbeat from my flesh-

“There,” he said softly.  I felt the blade kiss my skin, light as a feather, and then its touch disappeared.  Reeling, I opened my eyes and gazed up at him in terror.  The scythe was gone.  His chthonic laughter shook the ground like disembodied thunder. 

I collapsed to my hands and knees.  “This isn't funny at all,” I sobbed.  Tears burned my eyes.  I wiped snot from my nose.  “You're heartless and sadistic.”

“I beg to differ.  Your expressions were priceless.  Did you know that you squeak when you're terrified?”  he said, amused, then offered his hand.  I slapped it away and struggled to my feet.

“Get away from me!” I demanded.  “You make me sick.”

“And what?  Leave you stranded in the woods?”

“I know where I am.  I'm at the lake-” I stopped short, gasping as I realized the lake had disappeared.  Instead we stood in a large glade, ringed by a circle of deciduous trees choked by vines that grew so close they twined together to form a solid wall.  Wild roses clung to their branches and a few late blooms gleamed in the moonlight. 

“This is impossible,” I whispered.  A copse of gnarled apple trees grew near the wall, bearing obscenely red fruit.  And the air- the air was warm, like an Indian summer.  A breeze stirred the golden grass.  Baffled, I stared at my impossible surroundings, searching for some kind of explanation.

A crow cawed.  The bird shot through the air like an arrow, over the trees and towards me.  It landed at my feet, pecking my shoes expectantly.  “This is ridiculous,” I muttered, reaching into my pocket and giving it the last of my Craisins. 

The crow scarfed them down then alighted on Corpseboy's shoulder, preening its feathers vainly.  Corpseboy stroked its head.  It perked up and hopped closer to its apparent master, then took the brim of his hood in its beak and pulled it down.  The heavy fabric spilled across Corpseboy's back, revealing his face.

My eyes grew wide as saucers.  Limbs weak, I instinctively fell to my knees.  “Who are you?”  I whispered, though it was a struggle to breathe, let alone speak.

“Death, m'dear.  Haven't we settled this already?” he said, grinning wryly.  I flinched at that smile, so terribly out of place amidst the harsh planes of his face.

“But who!”  I demanded.  No one on earth had a face so beautiful it was cruel.  It was as if he were carved from pale stone, with features sharp as knives.  Razor blade lips, cheekbones that sliced across his face, casting dark shadows.  And those eyes- shadowed by muscled brows, their heavily-lashed softness mocked his piercing, narrowed gaze.  He could see through my soul, under my skin and into my heart.

 I felt his eyes burrow through mine like worms in a corpse.  They were heavy as death.  I cringed, shielding them from me.  His unearthly perfection, like an avenging angel, shook me to the bone.