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The Reaper is Not Mocked

John Ragusa

    On a quiet, snowy night in January, William Bartley read his newspaper while his wife Kelly slept on the sofa. Outside, the night was serene; if horror took place, it took place elsewhere. Crime rarely occurred in this neighborhood. Bartley felt calm and assured. He had nothing to fear.
    The front door then opened abruptly, but Kelly didn't stir. At first, Bartley thought a gust had thrown it open, but as he looked up, he saw that it was something else.
    A skeletal being stood in the doorway, wearing a long, black robe with a cowl. His eyes were dark holes and his body was fleshless. He held a sharp, shiny scythe in his hand.
    He pointed a gnarled, bony finger at Bartley. 'Do you know why I'm here?'
    Bartley faced him with neither surprise nor shock. 'Yes. You're the Reaper, and you've come to claim me.'
    'That is correct. I've searched long and hard for you. The journey has been worth it. I've been waiting for this moment with anticipation.'
    'Come inside. I've been expecting you.'
    The Reaper entered the house. 'Why is that?'
    'Last month, my doctor told me that I would soon die of brain cancer. My number is up, and I'm prepared to go. I knew this would happen someday. The time is now. A person can't hope to live forever.'
    'So you're aware of your inevitable mortality. You don't seem frightened, though.'
    'I used to be scared, but I'm not anymore. I bet that disappoints you, doesn't it? You enjoy the terror you bring to people; it gives you sadistic glee. Well, you don't disturb me one bit. I will leave this Earth with no trepidation.'
    'You won't have a life if I reach out and touch you. You'll be history, gone and soon forgotten. You'll rot in your grave. And your family shall wallow in grief. Any way you look at it, it's tragic.'
    'Why should I worry about it? I've lived happily. Most of my goals have been realized, thank God. Sometimes it's not death that people fear, but an unfulfilled life.'
    'And what is life, when you reflect on it? It is a temporary sojourn before the onslaught of eternity. Losing life is the worst thing that can happen to someone; everything you own is cruelly taken away. You'll have no pleasures, no senses, and no emotions. Is that what you want?'
    'If death means eternal peace, then I probably would want it.'
    'Aren't you afraid of the darkness?'
    'There's nothing to fear but fear itself.'
    'If death is okay, why do people fight so hard to stay alive?'
    'Because they fear the unknown. I don't fear it, though.'
    'The mystery of death doesn't frighten you?'
    'What I don't know can't hurt me.'
    'There might not be any light at the end of the tunnel.'
    'I'll never find out by staying alive.'
    'You have to admit that it is sad life is so short.'
    'I've made the most of the time I've had.'
    'Your death will probably be painful, too.'
    'It'll only last a second or two. I'll hardly notice it.'
    'If death isn't horrible, why is it a sin to commit murder?'
    'Because death should come naturally, not intentionally.'
    'Why don't you think death is horrible?'
    'Because it serves a purpose. Without it, the world would be overpopulated.'
    'But you still shouldn't take it lightly.'
    'I know that it's a serious matter. But it's better for me to accept it.'
    'Don't you realize the power I hold over you?'
    'You'd like for me to beg for my life, but I won't do it. I still have my dignity.'
    'Aren't you conscious of the threat I pose to you? I can annihilate you anytime I choose.'
    'I'm not intimidated by you.'
    The Reaper walked closer to Bartley. 'Wouldn't you prefer to have my cold, damp hand grip you in the distant future? You could have so many more years of joy if your life continues!'
    'I've had enough of that already,' Bartley said. 'Some men haven't lived as long as I have. I've had a pleasant childhood, a satisfying career, and a wonderful family. I don't regret a thing. And I won't ever look back. So you see, you can destroy me, but you cannot harm me.'
    'Poor, deluded fool! That's what you think,' the Reaper said, a tone of sinister triumph in his voice.
    And to prove his words, he stepped over to the sofa, put out his hand, and touched Kelly.The Reaper is Not Mocked

    John Ragusa

    On a quiet, snowy night in January, William Bartley read his newspaper while his wife Kelly slept on the sofa. Outside, the night was serene; if horror took place, it took place elsewhere. Crime rarely occurred in this neighborhood. Bartley felt calm and assured. He had nothing to fear.
    The front door then opened abruptly, but Kelly didn’t stir. At first, Bartley thought a gust had thrown it open, but as he looked up, he saw that it was something else.
    A skeletal being stood in the doorway, wearing a long, black robe with a cowl. His eyes were dark holes and his body was fleshless. He held a sharp, shiny scythe in his hand.
    He pointed a gnarled, bony finger at Bartley. “Do you know why I’m here?”
    Bartley faced him with neither surprise nor shock. “Yes. You’re the Reaper, and you’ve come to claim me.”
    “That is correct. I’ve searched long and hard for you. The journey has been worth it. I’ve been waiting for this moment with anticipation.”
    “Come inside. I’ve been expecting you.”
    The Reaper entered the house. “Why is that?”
    “Last month, my doctor told me that I would soon die of brain cancer. My number is up, and I’m prepared to go. I knew this would happen someday. The time is now. A person can’t hope to live forever.”
    “So you’re aware of your inevitable mortality. You don’t seem frightened, though.”
    “I used to be scared, but I’m not anymore. I bet that disappoints you, doesn’t it? You enjoy the terror you bring to people; it gives you sadistic glee. Well, you don’t disturb me one bit. I will leave this Earth with no trepidation.”
    “You won’t have a life if I reach out and touch you. You’ll be history, gone and soon forgotten. You’ll rot in your grave. And your family shall wallow in grief. Any way you look at it, it’s tragic.”
    “Why should I worry about it? I’ve lived happily. Most of my goals have been realized, thank God. Sometimes it’s not death that people fear, but an unfulfilled life.”
    “And what is life, when you reflect on it? It is a temporary sojourn before the onslaught of eternity. Losing life is the worst thing that can happen to someone; everything you own is cruelly taken away. You’ll have no pleasures, no senses, and no emotions. Is that what you want?”
    “If death means eternal peace, then I probably would want it.”
    “Aren’t you afraid of the darkness?”
    “There’s nothing to fear but fear itself.”
    “If death is okay, why do people fight so hard to stay alive?”
    “Because they fear the unknown. I don’t fear it, though.”
    “The mystery of death doesn’t frighten you?”
    “What I don’t know can’t hurt me.”
    “There might not be any light at the end of the tunnel.”
    “I’ll never find out by staying alive.”
    “You have to admit that it is sad life is so short.”
    “I’ve made the most of the time I’ve had.”
    “Your death will probably be painful, too.”
    “It’ll only last a second or two. I’ll hardly notice it.”
    “If death isn’t horrible, why is it a sin to commit murder?”
    “Because death should come naturally, not intentionally.”
    “Why don’t you think death is horrible?”
    “Because it serves a purpose. Without it, the world would be overpopulated.”
    “But you still shouldn’t take it lightly.”
    “I know that it’s a serious matter. But it’s better for me to accept it.”
    “Don’t you realize the power I hold over you?”
    “You’d like for me to beg for my life, but I won’t do it. I still have my dignity.”
    “Aren’t you conscious of the threat I pose to you? I can annihilate you anytime I choose.”
    “I’m not intimidated by you.”
    The Reaper walked closer to Bartley. “Wouldn’t you prefer to have my cold, damp hand grip you in the distant future? You could have so many more years of joy if your life continues!”
    “I’ve had enough of that already,” Bartley said. “Some men haven’t lived as long as I have. I’ve had a pleasant childhood, a satisfying career, and a wonderful family. I don’t regret a thing. And I won’t ever look back. So you see, you can destroy me, but you cannot harm me.”
    “Poor, deluded fool! That’s what you think,” the Reaper said, a tone of sinister triumph in his voice.
    And to prove his words, he stepped over to the sofa, put out his hand, and touched Kelly.

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