• The Daughter of Our Good Friend, the Reaper
    By Thatz Line


    A few nights ago, around 11:45 at night, the Grim Reaper decided to pay me a visit for various reasons. He told me that he couldn't stay long, but he decided that it would have been nice to pay a friend a visit, and as it turned out, he chose me from among those few. So, being a man who desired to be a good host, I gave him a spot by the fireplace in my reading room to sit. I offered him some wine, which he accepted heartily. We began talking, and somehow the conversation switched to my neighbor's grief over having a lost a child only recently. I recall asking him if he ever had a child at one time, expecting a casual "No, I haven't. Have you?" type answer. What I got was something of a surprise to me, but nonetheless it gives me something to write about. He said that he did have a daughter, although only recently did she too pass away. I thought that to be rather odd, him being the Grim Reaper, and when I told him so, his response was simply, "Then why did you ask?". I explained that it was for mere conversation, and we sat in silence for a short while. Not long after, he asked if I would like to know about his daughter, which I admitted that I did. The following is the best that I can recall of his tale.
    There was a fairly old couple in London, who were the grandparents of a young girl. Her parents had died in some accident (the Reaper had seemingly forgotten what it was exactly), leaving the child in the care of her grandparents. One night while the girl was in their possession, they supposedly had a simultaneous heart attack, and left the girl alone in the world. Those who know what the Grim Reaper does for a living, however, can immediately tell without hesitation that this was not so. They were scheduled to die, as most of the Reaper's “victims” are, and while they slept, he simply touched them, and the part of them which was destined to fail first took it's course. In several short seconds, after looks of pain edged their way onto the couples' faces, and the sheets quivered from the defibrillating heart, their souls, their Dying Breath, was unleashed. Perhaps this is what awoke the sleeping child several rooms away. The Reaper, preoccupied with a small routine prayer that he provides for all those he fells, did not seem to sense the girl enter the room. It was until she grasped onto his cloak that he looked down on her. She couldn't have been more than three years old, in a small pink nightgown and a large stuffed rabbit tucked under her left arm. Her hair was a golden brown, and her skin quite pail, so that the moonlight that shone through one of the bedroom windows seemed to make her face glow with a light blue hue. She never looked up at him, but only at the bed where her grandparents lay motionless. The child was something of a surprise to the Reaper. Most of those whom he killed were either old enough for their children to be leading lives of their own, or pathetic incompetent losers who either found no interest in marriage, or simply couldn't get a date. Nonetheless, the child's presence was unforeseen. In most cases, should the child be a newborn, he would have come back in about three days to see if any of the deceased's relatives took to it's care, and if no one had, he'd slay it and simply move on, as he had for ages. But this particular child, young enough to still have innocence, and old enough to have a fairly intelligent mind that came with it's imagination, no doubt, was a rare exception. What was more, is that she could see him, or at least enough of him to know where he was. The child was unafraid of him, quite uncommon amongst most people. But most of all, it reminded the Reaper of a child he once had when he was human, so very, very long ago. She was about this girl's age, and the Reaper loved her to an extent that no man today will probably ever feel for a child. But of course, fate has it's fatalities. This girl before him, who was tired to the point where life at this moment was but a dream, was an almost exact resemblance of his first daughter, rosy cheeks and all (at least, from what I had been told). Most of us can imagine what would have come next. A quick swing of the scythe and the job would have been done, decision made, and he would just walk out the door feeling like he saved the world that night. However, this is sadly not quite the case. Oh, he most certainly felt as though he did a world of good, alright, but the child did not die. For if she did, what story would I have to tell? After all, this is “The Story of the Girl Who Became the Grim Reaper's Daughter”, not “The Story of the Girl Who Almost Became the Grim Reaper's Daughter”. No, dear friends, I repeat, she did not die, but instead, he picked her up (as he decides if he kills when he touches a victim, not every time he touches something), and walked out into the night, promising a new change in his life for his mortal daughter, so that he may not be lonesome all the time, and may at least have someone to converse with that can actually relate to his life (unlike yours truly, who can only vaguely imagine what it must be like to live life at twice a slower speed and be forced to kill all those who have lived out their rented days). What is more, however, is that he wanted to share the feeling of love once more. No one ever said anything about having a partner in his job, just so long as he did it when ever he was told.

    My friends, if you have turned the page and expected to see something regarding the author, or to see a list of sources, or of those who deserve my thanks, you sadden me with those such little expectations of yours. There is indeed more to tell you than simply how he obtained a daughter. There is oh so much to tell of how he raised her, providing he still remembered how. However, just for pleasure's sake, and for the Reaper's own, I'll skip having to make up this part, as he never did tell me much about the raising of his daughter, save of course that on her eighth birthday, she wished, in these exact words, my skeletal companion emphasized, “I want to kill five gajillion more people than my father, so that he could have a vacation and spend more time with me”. I asked him what 5 gajillion people must amount to, and he said he asked his daughter the same thing, mainly out of silliness, and the result was the common gesture of a child, when they spread their arms out as much as possible and say “This much!”. At this, he himself made the gesture, and we both wound up chuckling slightly, and he skipped the time period from that point on, until she was about fifteen or so, and she could reasonably be by the Reaper's side. Needless to say, of course, her wish of a vacation for her “father” never came true, as the Reaper, poor fellow as he is, is never allowed more than a few hours of rest before someone else beckons to him and his services. During her teenage years (he made a wise and lovely decision to leave out the details of her menstruating period), he decided that he would teach her to use weaponry of any sort, so that eventually, she could choose one as her weapon of choice. Naturally, as most people would have predicted, she at first chose the scythe as her weapon, but found it far to difficult to position it in such a way that she could easily decapitate someone, which is usually the objective (He mentioned though, that she could use it to stab quite nicely, and emphasized a rather large tear in the bottom of his cloak). She later went on to try swords, axes, maces, javelins, claws (she reportedly liked those second best), scimitars, knifes, and even guns and other such weapons. She eventually decided that she liked a certain weapon that hadn't yet been created, with the exception of course, of something that random other people would have thought of as an interesting idea that might have appeared in a movie or something similar, which, oddly enough, was a yo-yo with fixed blades that would dart out when at a high speed, and with a simple tug backwards, would retract as it returned to it's master. The girl was something of a genius in creating machines, the Reaper bragged, and managed to make the device herself. As a surprise to us both (he when he saw it, I when I heard of it) when he said that not only it worked on the first attempt of her creating it, but that she eventually became a professional with it's use in nearly 6 months. About four years later, when she was nineteen, he took her on one of his missions, as he called them, and allowed her to make her first kill. As they were in the open, and she could be seen more easily than he could, he told her not to talk aloud, unless if they were alone, lest she would be deemed insane and would probably arouse suspicion. So much care is to be taken when you are a mortal.... When the job was done, and they were at their home (I've been to it occasionally, but due to the Reaper's request, I am not to mention either it's whereabouts or the details of it, for various reasons), his daughter asked him of how he knew who to kill, and when he must do it, upon which he replied with a pointing to the ceiling and said, “He tells me when, where, and how to do it, as well as what to destroy, if anything. It would be a blessing for the three of us if he could talk to you in the same way”, and by “the three of us” he obviously meant himself, his daughter, and his Master. Several more years passed, and the amount of their murders doubled, allowing for somewhat more time to spend with each other. As in often times, the question came up perhaps once or twice who the girl's mother was. The Reaper mentioned that he thought about telling her that his wife, whom he was forced to kill so many years ago, was her mother, but decided not to, in order to not raise any further questions of that sort. He went slightly off topic a bit then (which was quite alright; this was a friendly, middle-of-the-night, next-to-the-fireplace conversation among us, not some lecture of some scientific experiment), and began to tell a little of when he was told to kill his wife, and how he did not wish to do it, but it was his job, and if he knew what he did now about the loopholes of the system, he still would have done the same, and so on and etc. I'll admit, it was a rather sad side-story that he told, but it involves nothing of his daughter, at least, as far as I know. Anyway, continuing on, he told also that he began to worry about his daughter's wellbeing, mainly in the area of social development. For surely she might get tired of helping her so-called father keep the world's population in check, and desire to do something else like get married and start a family of her own ( he chuckled at the notion of a family reunion, where he would be forced to meet with her husband's parents, and bewilder the Hell out of the whole family, and yet have nothing at all to talk about except his daughter's killing, and his own share of bloodshed). The response from his daughter seemed to please him as he retold this particular tale to me, when she replied that she only desired to kill, as it made the two of them happy. “However”, he sighed as he continued, “I had believed that I planted a tree that cannot be cut when I asked her that question. She began to look at occasional males passing by in strange ways that have become second nature to those of you living. As soon as I first noticed it, I began to enter seemingly eternal despair. I couldn't bear to think that I'd be losing my daughter twice in my lifetime.” I naturally that I knew how he must have felt, although I'm certain that nothing of the sort had ever happened to myself. He paused here for about a minute or so, gazing into the fire, and took a sip (or at least, the closest thing he could to that motion) of the cup of wine I gave him, gave a weak-looking smile and began again.

    Much to our relief, his daughter's desire of men did not last long. She somehow became disgusted with the idea of ever having a relationship with a living man (the Reaper claims that he had nothing at all to do with the change), only to help her father in his everlasting career. Around the time she was in her thirties, things began to go back to that undesired phase, it seemed. From what he said, it sounded as though she became involved with a small gang of some sort, and mainly decided to spend more time with them in their “territory”. The Reaper would check up on her occasionally, and the result was usually something that I thought was something quite cheery. He explained, however, that not more than two years later, on one of his visits, his daughter claimed that she would be getting married to the lad who was the leader of this gang. Naturally, it was to be a short wedding, upon which the Reaper, it was decided, should not attend. Old Grim paused for a moment or two at this, stared into the fire, then with a complacent shrug, said in his low, ghost-like whisper, that perhaps it was for the best. “For what could have been any worse than the groom dying at his own wedding?” I doubt I need to describe that he disapproved of the lad, much less approved of the marriage, and therefor probably wanted to kill the groom if he had a chance to do so (which, as you can imagine, is quite often for the Reaper). He then sipped a tad more wine and after a short while, decided to create a separate conversation about the beautiful weather outside, which led to a talk about an older woman (younger than him, of course, just older than me) who thought him to be her dead husband, and started telling him of her life after he died. “'And if I must say, it was a damned good thing you did kick the bucket'”, he chortled, attempting to mock her voice as much as possible, “'because I've met a new man named Henry, and boy is he a man to'...” I figured that at this point he either lost his concentration, or that the hissing sound I heard was his attempt at a “belly laugh”. “Ah well,” he continued after roughly a minute of this hissing. “Back to my daughter.” The very next time he visited her, he claimed that he was in shock. She and her “husband” were living in a rather small apartment, and they barely had enough money to even own what little of a dump that was. The husband was not much of a worker, the Reaper explained, being mainly a criminal most of his life who usually lived with his mother, and therefor could not bring all too much money in, as “he never seemed to be able to keep a hold onto a job”. His daughter reportedly had a child at the time; an eight-month old who was driveling all over the floors, and causing much more racket than otherwise would have been needed. As for the daughter, well, needless to say, she was more of a wreck than what I was anticipating, or at least, based on her foster-father's description, anyway. She stopped killing for a long while, mainly trying to keep a job to support the other two dead-weights, and that made her slightly, how should I say, perhaps, less bonded to the Reaper afterwards. This was only after a year of living with him, my poor comrade explained, and after three months more, she was begging for him to kill both the child and her mate, upon which he gratefully did so (even though he wasn't commanded, which made him more “noticeable” as a consequence). So, at about the age of forty, his daughter was living with him again, swearing on her life that, should she ever meet another man like that again, her first impulse would be to kill him. They went back to their old ways, until, sadly, his
    daughter became around the age of seventy. “She could still kill as though she was the black plague itself”, the Reaper said rather solemnly. “However, she just wasn't as mobile as when she was younger. I was more than fortunate to have not been forced to undergo such pains while I was still mortal”. So, after several more years passed, she somehow managed to earn enough money to afford a small house in Manhattan, where she became known as a Black Widow, as every time she married, her husband disappeared mysteriously. Somehow, the Reaper elaborated, those who called her this, never actually imagined that she was the one who was committing the murders, if they even figured out that the men were dying at all. This lasted for nearly a decade more, with about seven or eight failed marriages to follow, until that fateful day that all (or most of us, in any case) must meet: our death. It was all something that occurred about as naturally as all deaths should, at one time or another. The Reaper, of course, when talking about this, said it quite solemnly and with a melancholy air...but who could blame him? He may have been the taker of lives, but even he can of course have something of a heart. What saddens me the most about her death, although it may have not been something quite passionate, was a choice that she made. The good Reaper told her that she could live for years beyond her age if she so chose, but she did not. She said that she was in greater pains than she ever could have imagined, and that she only wanted it all to end. The Reaper stared into the fireplace more after saying this, which, I might add, currently had no flame within it, and the morning sun was just beginning to shine.

    We sat there for perhaps an hour or more, he looking into the empty fireplace, I looking out into the meadow that accounted for my backyard. I was thinking for a rather long while, mainly about what I should say to comfort him, if indeed that is something that he would have needed, when all I managed to come up with, was a simple question that I was almost afraid to ask, for fear that it might be too personal. He got up suddenly, not too long after, and thanked me for the wine and the chat, saying that he enjoyed it, and that he hoped I was not upset for the usage of the time. I of course replied that it was nothing at all, and that I would be more than happy to do it again sometime (although my eyes told quite a different story, I'm sure). It was as he put his hood over his darkened skull and began reaching for his scythe in the corner that I decided to ask him my question. “Grim,” I started out hesitantly. As I was starting, I noticed that it had begun to rain, and considered changing topics. “I have a slight question...” But decided not to, as this one question was something that was burning in my mind, whether it was the wine or simply curiosity gone frantic. “If you ever had the chance again, I mean, where you killed a couple who had a very young daughter in their presence, would you raise her again, after dealing with all that you had with your first and second daughters? Knowing now, what you didn't know then?” He had paused while I asked this, not moving until I was done. When I had, he grabbed his scythe slowly, turned around, and with what I swear was a smile on his face, said simply, in a low, almost cackling whisper, “Wouldn't you?”. Without waiting for a reply, he walked through the door, as he usually did, and with a remainder of black smoke encircling his exit, left to heaven knows where. I stood there staring at the door, thinking about all that he had told me. I then decided, that for my own sanity's sake, I should get some rest. Therefor, dear friends, I end my tale of the Grim Reaper's daughter. I know it wasn't much of a tale, but regardless, if you weren't interested, you would never have gotten this far. As I now sit in my arm chair, writing this out, or at least, writing as much as I can remember, I can only ask myself why I never asked that question that to this day still burns in my mind: How long ago was his daughter alive? I must admit, though, his answer for the question that I did ask still seems quite satisfying.