Grim Reaper's Bride

This is what I remember:

He stands by the howling void. Chalk white cliffs plummet downwards to the raging sea. The blue-blackness froths beneath him. Wind screams. It is absolute zero.

Shadows fall like dolls into the abyss. There are no cries of pain. Merely silence.

The Legion stands before him. Michael brandishes his flaming sword. His face is raw with suffering.

"Don't do this, brother," he pleas.

His cry falls on deaf ears. It is a corpse that stands before him. Razor thin. Pale as winter snow. He towers over the archangel, still as the grip of death.

He opens his hollow eyes. All Heaven holds its breath. The void yawns, grating its jowls. Its master smiles wretchedly. His flesh cracks like ice as he speaks:

"Either way, I win." His voice is like bitter wind.

The pull of the Pit wraps around the Host like a vise. The weakest crumple like smashed mica. Their shards plummet into the abyss.

Michael's bones shake. His sorrow turns to wrath. He roars, and delivers the killing blow. The serpent is crushed beneath him.

The corpse laughs as the sword pierces him. "Come with me, my brother," he whispers. He takes him by the heel. Lightning strikes fire as they embrace. Michael surrenders himself to his adversary. Finally, the Host is freed.

The brightest stars blaze into the darkness. The void is sealed shut. They leave a graveyard of angels behind them.

Time begins.

Death is born.

"You should run, human girl."

___

My body strained as I ran mad-dash down a twilit path, imagining hounds on my heels. The darkness of the forest transported me to a primal time. Trees whispered ragged like ghosts in the wind. Muscles honed from years of training propelled me onwards as crisp autumn air filled my lungs, spiced with woodsmoke and loam. Instincts awoke and the desperate need to escape propelled me onwards, into the bosom of the woods, away from the impending threat- though it was only a waking dream.

"How do you run so damn fast, Callie!" coach had asked once in disbelief after I'd finished a 5K in 16:30.

"Rabid dogs," I'd replied,

He'd raised his brow a mile high and plastered me with a pitiful stare. It was no use explaining my unconventional techniques to the unimaginative, just like it was impossible to convey the sweetness of danger to the tamed. That beautiful feeling: heart pounding, adrenaline coursing through my veins. There was nothing but me and the darkness. Me and the night.

In the midnight hour, when the flocks of suburbia slept, I'd slip outside, onto the roof and down to the dead end of Halcyon Street. Tonight was no different- I had scrapes up and down my legs from the worn shingles. Thorns from the rosebush were lodged in my palms. Come morning, mom would float about in her dreamy state and dad would be off to work- only Mo would notice the purple stains under my eyes and grin wryly, thinking I'd snuck out to party or rendezvous with the boy next door.

I smiled deviously, imagining my family's shock at my midnight escapades. Straitlaced Callie, the aspiring naturalist, surely not a nighttime wanderer. It never occurred to them to ask where my ever-growing collection of artifacts, feathers, and unusual stones came from. Parents could be oblivious, but mine were incredibly so. I guess that's what I got for being the offspring of a workaholic lawyer and flaky artist, along with a disaster-zone house and gross amounts of freedom.

A crow cawed, knifing me back to the present. Golden twilight receded and I flicked on my spelunker-worthy headlamp, bathing the root-strewn path in yellow light. It laughed, flying from the path on tattered wings and soaring over my head. I reached into my jeans pocket and tossed a handful of dried Craisins its way. My offerings set it into a series of cackles as it swooped down and pecked at the food. Crouching down, I admired it, imagining sketching its dark form in charcoal on blue paper, adding it to the notebooks that documented my nocturnal explorations.

Those were my secrets: maps of the uncharted woods that had no name, wilderness survival skills clipped from books and magazines. Pressed leaves and flowers dried amidst documents of ruins and sketches of wildlife, even a pathetic poem or two.

I could name the constellations. I knew the hidden hollows; I'd visited the forgotten lake and the ghost towns consumed by the woods. I could navigate this forest by heart. It was my heart, in a way.

"Keep out of the forests at night," goes conventional wisdom. Especially if you're a girl. They think us defenseless, prey to rapists and murderers. Instead of teaching us to fight, they give us warnings, forbidding us from the tempting beauty of the world.

They never speak of the fox's eerie cries, of lightning-bugs like will-o'-the-wisps and the smell of sweet, damp earth. Of what it is to navigate by stars and see yourself reflected in a moonlit pool, like some lunar goddess of long ago.

I'd learned how impermanent things really were here- how bluebells wilt moments after being plucked, how a settlement could vanish in the blink of time's eye. There were rusted belongings of Civil War soldiers, forgotten graves bordering an ancient basketball court. Even a small, secluded pond with a rotting chestnut skiff, made of wood now extinct on the Eastern coast. It was beautiful, and a bit sad, how easily things were lost to time.

The crow cocked its head and I cupped a few Craisins, daring it to draw closer. Bold, it hopped over, defiantly plucking the food from my hand. I reached out and stroked its blue-black wing. It jolted back, hopped into the air and flew away through the darkness.

I felt the thrill of coming so close to a wild thing. Maybe that was why I sought the woods, for the rushes only it could provide. I'd seen strange things here, things all the science and reasoning in the world couldn't explain away. Tunes fluted in the dead of night, whispered voices that followed me down the winding paths. Ghostly eyes stared out from the darkness and strange silhouettes sliced through the moonlit sky. There were fires that eternally receded, phantom cries like sound trapped in a vortex of time, and strange scents that tainted the wind.

Tonight was peaceful. The woods slept. I shed my worries like a snakeskin, casting away thoughts of calculus tests and prison- or, as the polite called it, high school. I began to run again, taking a right at a burnt oak down a deer trail.

I remembered the stormy night when lightning had struck the tree. Thunder snapped like the jaws of a lion as it burst into a pillar of flame. I'd watched it sizzle, mystified as the fire struggled against the downpour.

The trail had perhaps been a road long ago, leading to the village church- now rotting wood and a crumbling stone foundation. The dead had outlasted the living; they greeted me with silent salutes, their worn gravestones piercing the air with aged humility. I paused for a moment, eyes lingering on the worn inscriptions.

The vegetation that usually covered them was gone. The marble shone under my light. Knitting my brows in confusion, I knelt down to inspect a cracked stone angel. Her kudzu veil had been snipped away by phantom hands. Clippings littered the ground. In fact, the entire graveyard had been tended to; I could even see the remnants of a wrought-iron fence, once obscured by ivy.

I shivered: No one knew this place but me.

Shaking the fear that pricked my neck, I kicked the clippings onto the leaves and continued. I followed the rusted iron fence, tracing its spikes and whorls. The church's ruins twined with trees at the fence's end, its mossy walls reaching a story into the sky. The stone was slick with evening dew. Veins of quartz gleamed under my headlamp as I clambered in through a glassless window.

The interior was small, strewn with wildflowers, debris and silty dirt. A single stained glass window remained, masking the moon in the milky blues of a harping angel. A great granite slab rested at its center in the shade of a poplar tree. I scaled the rock and lay on my back to gaze up at the stars.

I closed my eyes, soaking in the tranquility of night. I could almost see the rotted pews filled as the priest's ghost delivered sermons to the darkness...

My mind drifted like an old Victorian daguerreotype. I imagined I heard a carriage carrying old-blooded Virginians to church on Sunday. The clopping of hooves intensified and I tried to erase them from my mind. But the vision of a black carriage remained, and the horse's hoof beats seemed at the church's door.

Had I finally lost it? Just peachy: Callie, the terminally insane. Maybe that's why I wandered around the woods when any sane person would be asleep. Next thing you know, I'd be calling myself the King George and knighting bushes...

I heard the horse bray, pawing the ground beyond the church's walls.

"Stop it, brain," I whispered, not wanting to open my eyes.

The phantom horse whinnied. A harsh wind picked up, buffeting the trees. Frightened, I sprang off the rock, eyes shooting open. Through the stained glass I saw a black shadow. The wind clawed at my face. Nausea knotted my stomach as I drew closer to the panes.

Obscured by shadows stood a carriage with spindly wheels, a sleigh-like body and a tasseled brocade. Black curtains obscured its interior. With creeping-crawling realization I understood what it was- a hearse.

Hooked to it was a steed. A monstrous blue roan pawed the dirt, his pupil-less eyes rolling madly. Trembling, I followed its reins to the hands that held them, but my vision grew dim when I tried to see what sat atop the saddle. Like prey caught in a lion's gaze, I couldn't look away, staring at the distorted space where the rider sat.

I blinked, but the phantom remained. Though I couldn't see his eyes, his gaze combed through my brains. I ran from the window, stumbling through the ruins. I felt his eyes burn my back, sweeping up and down as the rider studied me. I scampered over the boulder and ducked, peeping out over the top. Two red pinpricks stared back at me through the chipped glass as the stallion's silhouette bucked. Its whinnies pierced the night.

"Damn- it saw me!" I moaned, rifling through my coat pocket. Craisins, a Swiss Army Knife, a lighter... there was absolutely nothing to defend myself with. Trembling, I clutched the lighter and flicked it on with one hand, flipping open my knife with the other.

"This is impossible!" I whispered in frustration, glaring at the moon as my breath grew strained with panic. "I mean, c'mon. This is beyond all reason. I could deal with a bear, but ghosts? You're expecting too much of me."

The specter's eyes honed in on my on my headlamp like laser beams: the bulb sizzled and broke, leaving me in near-darkness.

"Well thanks for nothing, universe," I sighed, beginning to hyperventilate as the rider drew closer to the window.

Hot damn, what could I do? Introduce myself to Mr. Friendly Ghost? Run for the (nonexistent) hills? Pretend I'm a tree and hope his night vision sucked? Because I highly doubted that a blade could wound an apparition- if that's what the thing even was.

Low peals of laughter echoed through the woods as I brandished my Swiss Army knife, at a loss for how to use it. "Crap, no. The handle goes this way- oh my god it's coming closer! Nice- nice Mr. Ghost. Want a... Craisin?"

The blade trembled with my shaking arm. If I were to run, the rider would surely catch me. He'd have much more difficulty navigating the ruins to reach the church's interior.

The stallion trotted closers. Every logical impulse told me to run, but the rider's gaze rooted me to my spot. I felt his cold stare on my flickering lighter. He gave a husky laugh- the flame sputtered and died. I whimpered.

The stallion nudged the glass pane: the angel shattered like ice. I jumped back as the jeweled shards fell. The horse stepped over the ledge, silver-shod hooves clacking on the grassy stone floor. I choked as the scents of smoke and damp earth washed over me, scampering backwards as I stared in horror at the horse.

Up close it was monstrously tall, its hide translucent with bones gleaming beneath its skin. It sniffed the air and whinnied, the back of its throat glowing like embers amongst coals.

I screamed, brandishing my knife as I rose to a defensive stance. The horse snorted, mouth curling into a condescending smile that revealed sharp teeth. The rider pulled the reins to steady it and chuckled coldly, patting its flank with a shadowed hand.

I stood there for minutes, pinned by those burning eyes whose owner seemed no more than shifting darkness. My thoughts were obliterated- I couldn't think, couldn't speak, I could barely even breathe. The shadow-cloaked rider dismounted, stroked the horse and threw its reins to the broken window. They snaked through cracks in the stone and knotted themselves together as the horse calmed, master murmuring in its ears. Slowly, its ghost-white eyes closed, and the beast bowed its head in slumber.

He drew closer, gazing down at me with cold curiosity. Tendrils of darkness snaked towards me from his shadowy robe, out to brush my throat and face. I trembled at their touch.

Stunned speechless, all I could do was watch. One tendril wrapped around my knife and pried it gently from my hand, bringing it to the rider's outstretched palm. He examined it, tracing the blade, then closed it lightly. Stashing it in some unseen pocket, his gaze returned to me. A smirk flickered across his hidden face.

That hint of human emotion broke his hold on me and I reeled backwards, screaming.

"What the hell do you want! What are you?" I cried, hands curling into fists.

He laughed, closing the distance between us. His eyes were a mockery of a human's, pinprick pupils amidst pools of crimson. With painstaking slowness he lifted his hands, drawing his hood of shadows back.

My face drained.

"Sweet Jesus," I whispered.

A bleached white skull grinned back at me.

"Hello, love." It smirked.

I buckled over, into black.

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.

"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.