Don't Fear The Reaper (6 page)

THE MAN IN
THE RAINCOAT
who had been watching the house of the Death’s chosen one,
moved through the alleyways, instinctively knowing where he was going without
paying any heed. The rain had eased and sometime before midnight he’d left his
position by the streetlight and headed back where he’d come.

His shoes
click, clacked
on the concrete, loud in the alleyway.
The towering buildings on either side concealed any light from the streets
getting in. Dark shadows reigned supreme in the hollow backstreet, and nothing
more. A fitful wind harried small funnels of discarded litter along the rutted
surface.

Tonight, however, the man in the raincoat walking briskly and heard the
sounds of hastened scuffling somewhere in the bowels of the night. He halted
and stood motionless, ears prickling, trying to pick any minute sounds that
would give away the predator’s exact position.

Raucous laughter disturbed the dark alley and shattered the silence.

The man in the raincoat moved forward then stopped again.

‘What the fuck was that?’ one male voice asked, startled.

‘Fuck should I know.’

‘You’re the one with the torch, man.’

A cone of yellow radiant light pierced the alley and passed the man in
the raincoat’s face.

‘Whoa, shit!’

‘Hey, man. What the fuck ya doing standing there, like Michael Myers?’

The man in the raincoat, sodden from the downpour earlier, remained
motionless and silent.

‘You got shit in your ears or what?’ the one with the torch barked,
strutting towards him with a confident swagger. He shone the torchlight
directly into the man’s face and involuntarily quivered at the sight. For the
man in the raincoat had shiny, scarlet eyes and didn’t wince at having the
unnatural light pointed at him, as anyone else would.

The other man who only appeared in the background as a silhouette
approached the scene playing out in the heart of the alley, where water dripped
and plopped into puddles from exterior drainage pipes. ‘Who the fuck is this
guy, man?’

‘He’s no one,’ the one with the torch said. ‘Just some deadbeat who’s
gonna get his arse kicked if he doesn’t start talking real soon.’

‘What’s with his eyes? Looks like Freddy Kruger’s worst nightmare.’

‘Contact lenses. This one thinks he’s hard, love him.’ Then the one
pointing the beam of the torch turned to the unmoving man and said, ‘You got
five seconds to either turn around and go back to whatever shit-hole you
crawled out of or you’re gonna be having your next meal fed to you in a
hospital.’

His friend brayed laughter.

Then the man in the raincoat laughed too.

‘Oh, you think that’s funny, do you?’ the one with the torch asked.
‘Yeah, gonna be real fuckin’ funny when you’re sucking my dick.’

His friend, gripping his sides, turned away, stumbling over a cardboard
box and fell down on his arse, unable to control the fit of mirth overwhelming
him.

‘Adam,’ the man in the raincoat said, getting Adam’s attention in a
heartbeat. ‘Why would you want me to suck your dick when Josh was doing it
before I was passing by? Surely you don’t think that you ought to be rewarded
with two blow jobs on this night, do you? To say that you and Josh are talkin’
bollocks wouldn’t be an insult but a matter-of-fact. So, please, be a good
little poof and continue as you were and allow me to pass. That’s not a
question, Adam. That’s sound advice. One way or the other, I will be getting
past very shortly whether you permit me or not.’

The beam of the torch had momentarily dropped and illuminated the puddle
black surface of the alley before Adam could find it in him to raise his arm
and point it at the man in the raincoat. ‘How…? Who the hell are you?’

‘That’s up to you and Josh,’ the man in the raincoat said in an unwavering
voice. ‘I can be a man passing you two while you were gobbling one another, or
I can be the beginning of the end of you.’

Adam’s arm started shaking uncontrollably. The torch made flickering
effect on the man’s lined, rugged face. The man in the raincoat waited no
further and rested his hand on Adam’s hitching chest and pushed him gently to
one side and walked past. Then he stopped and looked over his shoulder, his
features concealed in the dark shadows.

‘Oh, by the way, Adam – your mother already suspects you of being gay.
She doesn’t mind but wishes you stop doing drugs in your room. She found a
stash of weed in the top drawer of your bureau. I’d get rid of it before
someone else finds out and grasses you to the police.’

And with that Adam and Josh watched in amazement as the steam billowing
out of the vents in the bricked walls swallowed the man in the raincoat
completely.

*

The
man in the raincoat got to the end of the alley, descended the three steps to
an unmarked scabby blue door and rapped on the metal. Five seconds later the
peephole opened at head height and from the dimness within someone scrutinised
the caller.

‘Who calls at this hour?’ the gravelly voice of an elderly person asked.

‘Number 3,’ the man in the raincoat said.

From the other side of the door bolts were retracted, locks were undone
and the latch was taken off its hook before the big, rusty door opened outward.

The man known as Number 3 stepped back, allowing the door to open, then
entered the closed-in corridor that reeked of damp and was covered in cracks
and fissures running up the walls, branching off into other cracks.

Number 3 led the way down the short, cramped corridor to the black,
timber door and knocked upon entering.

The room beyond the threshold was bare, save the oak desk, three leather
upholstery chairs and Persian rug. Four gooseneck bedside lights were
positioned around the room in each corner. On the oak desktop two candles
burned, flickering amorphous shadows across the crumbling walls.

The elderly man closed the door behind them and left the three men to
their private business. Number 3 took the vacant chair, which groaned beneath
his weight. He regarded the other two middle-aged men, both nursing a glass of
Scotch. Both had the same shiny, scarlet eyes where the whites should have been
as himself.

The gentleman at the desk had lank, grey hair and was clean shaven. The
other gentleman to number 3’s right had a moustache and short, thick black
hair. He nodded in greeting to number 3.

‘Care to join us, number 3?’ the man seated behind the desk, known only
as number 1, asked.

Number 3 nodded with assent.

Number 1 poured a short glass from the bottle. ‘Number 2 and I have some
acceptable news we’d like to share with you. But first, indulge us by giving
details of how the prince of darkness is doing. Have you seen him with your own
eyes yet?’

Number 3 accepted the glass and took a thirsty sip. Then he rested the
glass in his lap. ‘I haven’t caught sight of the little one as of yet. The
father is alarmed of my constant presence. He made reference to the weather
upon seeing me the first time. The second was when I thought all the skin on
his face would fall off when he saw me standing, watching him through the
window several hours later.’

Number 1 nodded approval. ‘The chosen one’s father died in an automobile
accident a week ago in the fog. The mother is frail, breakable. She can be
destroyed. The Reaper has shown us the way, but we must enforce its wishes.
Number 2 is set to go and seek an opportunity while the chosen one is still in
his mother’s womb. But we must be careful. This is paramount, above everything
else. Is that understood?’

Number 2 and number 3 nodded in unison.

Shifting uncomfortably, Number 3 pulled the tail end of his raincoat off
the seat and let it fall over the arms, dripping. ‘What about the meteorite
shower? Isn’t that the first, unequivocal sign of the new age? If we aren’t
successful killing the mother and child won’t the meteorites take care of that
for us?’

Number 2 silently agreed and turned his attention from Number 3 to Number
1, awaiting the response.

‘The meteors have already been detected as we know by an amateur
astronomer somewhere in the States. Unforeseen incidents have occurred which
buy us time. But soon the Earth all over will feel the wrath of global
devastation. Countries will be wiped out. Others, like this old nation will be
destroyed but not completely.

‘Whether we deal with the mother and the chosen one now or during the
aftermath is not paramount. What is vital is that it’s done.  And even if it’s
not, I ask you two fine gentlemen, what will a man born of this world do when
he realises his destiny and decides to confront Death?’

The uplifting pep talk filled with confidence and bravado assured number
2 and number 3, for their lips curved upwards in mischievous smiles.

Ordinarily, the three men if observed would have without doubt been
considered as mad members of a sinister cult, nothing more. However, in spite
of their bleak surroundings and implausible talk that a sane person would have
instantly described as gibberish, the men knew of things no other human could
possibly know, unless they were clairvoyant.

It was then that all men remembered the fable depicted to them in their
dreams on the eve of June 6; the dream that wasn’t really a dream but a message
from Death. Even upon waking, all three men were undeterred by finding
themselves in their beds in their homes.

Death had approached them in the glorious starlight on an endless vista
on a phosphorescent white horse galloping across flat terrain. The Grim Reaper
appeared in all its soul-trembling splendour, but came to them not to take
their souls across the sea of time into another realm to have their eternal
fate decided. It came to a halt before each of them in their separate visions
and spoke without speaking and attempted to make each of them wiser than
previously.

Number 3 could still envision the fable in his mind’s eye the way a movie
connoisseur could bring to mind and recite a famous scene from their favourite
film.

In the fable three men of no relation travelled across time to the sea of
Hades to find their passing over thwarted by the absence of a bridge or
footpath to the other side. Vexed by this impediment, the three men cast their
gazes into the velvety waters that mirrored their reflections with intricate
accuracy. In the near distance to where they sought refuge, the men noticed a
precipice of red, crumbling stone. They decided to swim in the waters to the
boulders to see how far away they were from reaching their destination.

However, as they proceeded to plunge themselves into the opaque waters,
the same towering figure materialised on the bank, facing the three men, slowly
twirling the long-handled scythe that twinkled in the moonlight.

Startled and disturbed by the sudden appearance of the Grim Reaper, the
three men ceased movement and retreated. Death asked them why it had travelled
across time to the next realm and what they intended to achieve if it permitted
them to cross and at first they remained quiet. The first one said he sought
the most beautiful, curvaceous and sultry women to fornicate with and give him
the most amazing orgasms for ever and ever. The Reaper had heard this prayer of
lust and desire for so long that he could smell it and sense it long before the
individual opened their mouths. It permitted the man to sink into the depths
and swim for the crag.

Then it faced the second man who spoke of desires to be a prominent
figure in the world and to be rich and successful; to be cherished all over for
his amazing talent. The Reaper wasn’t the slightest bit surprised by this
desire, for it could not think of the number of times it’d been asked to bestow
this to an unsavoury mortal. Again it permitted the man to sink into the now
rippling depths of black sea and swim industriously for the crag.       

When it turned to face the third man, the Reaper could not predict the
man’s desires like he could his acquaintances. The man standing before him
looked on in a placid manner that couldn’t be deciphered by Death. For the man
showed no desire or fear, and that unsettled the Reaper. No man before it had
ever been without a trace of fear, save this man.

The Reaper finally asked the unassuming man what he desired upon crossing
the black sea and returned to Earth. The third man said he wanted to serve the
Reaper for one time, and one time only, then to be permitted across the black
sea, past the crag and to wherever souls of the dead went to be judged.

Astonished at this request, the Reaper agreed, eyeing the third man in
awe. Then rather than watch the third man swim across the black see to the crag
in the distance, the Reaper revealed a golden footbridge that had been
invisible to all three men until now. It pointed with its long, skeletal index
finger towards the bridge and watched as the third man crossed the black sea
far quicker than the two men before him. 

The Reaper watched the man as he crossed the golden footbridge with
undeniable respect and admiration.

Upon awakening that morning, number 3 realised then he was no longer an
ordinary man – but a man with extraordinary gifts…  

He wasn’t sure how he knew this. It was like going to sleep on a Sunday
night knowing the following day would be a Monday. However, it was a lot more
complicated than that. The order of days was set in stone. The transformation
he felt was something he couldn’t convince anyone of (not that he had any
desire to share this knowledge). He couldn’t begin to articulate it other than
to say he felt a presence of something invisible but tangible nonetheless. No
strange voices in his head whispered to him, as though he suffered with
schizophrenia. Nothing like that which could be explained by a psychiatrist.
Yet what he did now he did for a greater cause.