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An Untimely Demise (Henrietta Branford Writing Competition Winner)
The unmanned rowing boat escaped the current, and veered towards the quay. Wood struck wood, sending a shiver through the planks beneath my feet. The boat came to rest with its flank against the wooden ladder that descended into the water, as if inviting me to climb down and board it.
It was still now, but not silent. On the deck lay a long box of wine-red wood, studded with tiny, tarnished mirrors. From within came a soft but insistent knocking.
“I must say, you’re taking the whole thing remarkably well.” The voice came from my guide in the shadows. She held a towering scythe and her robes were pure darkness, gradually fading into the shadows. It was as if someone had smudged her around the edges, to such an extent that you couldn’t tell where she ended, and where the night began.
“Thank you. It did come as quite a shock. I mean, I never would have expected to wake up, well, dead.” Even though you wanted it? Of course, I was sad to be dead, even if the little voice in my head wasn’t sympathetic.
A wistful sigh caused Death’s hood to billow. “I still remember how it was like when I was still alive,” she reminisced. Then, gesturing to the wooden craft, she continued, “Anyway, the afterlife can’t be held up on our account, so after you, if you please.”
I approached the side of the quay nervously, and clambered into the tiny wooden craft, doing my best to avoid seeing my reflection in the water. You look a right state! mocked the little voice in my head. But I was used to the barrage of insults by now, and I just let them wash over me, pretending I couldn’t hear them, a task made all the more difficult when the criticism followed you around.
Looking for an escape, I focused instead on the box. At this proximity, the soft thuds were clearer, and I could feel heat pulsing from it with every beat, almost as if it were alive.
Once safely on board, Death pushed off from the quay and we began to travel upstream, unaided by motors or oars of any kind.
“Do you mind if I take this off?” the voice of Death wrenched me from my silent musings, as she pointed at her hood. I nodded wordlessly, holding my breath in anxious anticipation of the terrible sight that awaited me. Maybe she was a devil, and I was in hell for being such a useless person during my life, a reflection the little voice was quick to agree with. However, my imagination was cut short with one deft flick of her wrists, when a pair of blue eyes, set in a round face, blinked out at me from under a thick mop of brown ringlets.
“Are you trying to catch flies?” she asked, and I realised my jaw had dropped.
“It’s just that you aren’t quite how I imagined a harbinger of doom.”
“I get that all the time,” she sighed, crestfallen. “None of my colleagues take me seriously!”
“But- That is to say- You were quite intimidating in your uniform.”
“Now you’re just saying that to make me feel better!” she wailed, hiding her face in her hands.
“No! I was genuinely petrified,” I exaggerated, doing my best to console her. A glimmer of hope flickered across her eyes, peeping out from between stubby fingers, and I did what could to nurture it: “Really.”
Slowly but surely, the hands fell, exposing a face now glowing with bashful pride. It was nice to know I was good for something, despite what the little nagging voice would have me believe. “Well, if you’re sure,” she mumbled, beaming, “Besides, I’m not technically a Death yet. I’m more of an understudy.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what did you mean by the “colleagues” you mentioned?”
“Why, the other guides, of course! Wait a minute,” she laughed, noticing my disbelief, “Did you think there was just the one?”
“Well… yes. I assumed Death was an exclusive job.”
“In The Beginning, when the population was smaller, maybe, but nowadays there’s no way the boss could deal with all this. So he delegates. A lucky thing to, or I’d be out of work!”
“So what, your boss only deals with VIPS? I don’t know if I should be insulted,” I huffed, only half-jokingly.
“Don’t take it too personally. You see, you’re a special case. Particularly tricky. The thing is,” she continued, pulling a roll of heavy parchment out of one of her sleeves and unfurling it, “you’re not on The List.” The names crammed on the paper were illegibly tiny, yet she held it up for inspection all the same, as if to prove her point.
“Which means?” I urged her on.
“Which means nobody’s sure you’re meant to be dead.” Except you, because you know you don’t deserve to live! But I ignored this, clinging onto every word the Death said, my hopes mounting steadily. Did I still have a chance to get back?
“Normally, I’d just ferry someone across the river, and let them go to their fate. However, in your case, where an “administrative error” has occurred, so to speak, there’s an astounding amount of paperwork waiting for the department that takes you,” she hesitated, her tone apologetic, “And as you can imagine, no one likes paperwork…”
“You mean to say,” I clarified, “that no one wants me?” She nodded her affirmation grimly. “Not even hell?” Another nod. You see, I was right, you’re an unwanted, good-for-nothing- “Oh, well, that’s… disappointing,” I commented.
“But it’s not all bad news! I’ve been sent to find out what’s wrong, and, if possible, remedy it.”
“No offence meant, but why you? I mean, you’re an understudy, right? If this is so important, why not send in a pro?”
“Excellent question! You see, the Powers of the Mystic aren’t allowed to intervene in mortal matters, but, seeing as I am an unofficial Omen, I can! In fact, it’s the general consensus that you died by mystical interference, and for this reason you can be brought back without excessive damage to the fabric of the universe,” she explained reasonably, as if this was the most natural concept in the world. “But, no need to worry about my qualifications: I’ve been given a checklist. This should narrow down the cause of your untimely demise. So, first question: Are you allergic to shellfish? No? Alright, an X there. Penicillin, nuts or gluten? All no? Fair enough. What about polyester?”
“If it’s any help, I’m not allergic to anything.”
She smiled gratefully, flipping over four pages. “Number 127: Do you hear voices?”
Do you ever? I hesitated. If you tell her she’ll think you’re a freak, and they’ll put you away in a padded cell to rot. Not that anyone would miss you. Just like they don’t now you’re dead! And I answered, just to spite him: “Yes, I do.”
“And how long has that been going on for?”
“Two months, give or take.”
“And this voice, would you describe it as passive or aggressive?”
“The latter. Very much the latter,” I whispered.
“What does it say?”
“It-” My voice caught in my throat. Go on and say it, you useless lump. Or aren’t you able? You always were too much of a coward to face up to the truth about yourself! You’re just a stupid, ugly, fat- “Things that aren’t very nice! LIES!” I surprised myself by shouting. I obviously surprised the voice too, because for once, there was silence in my mind. But Death’s Apprentice didn’t seem surprised in the least. In fact, a smile had spread across her face, and she was pulling a fistful of coloured sand from one of the deep folds of her robes. Before I even had a chance to close my mouth, she blew the grains at my head, leaving me to splutter in protest.
“As I suspected,” she announced triumphantly, her gaze locked above my right shoulder. Turning to see what could possibly be so interesting, I was confronted by an amazing sight: A tiny black-winged creature, almost a fairy, but with rows of sharp teeth and an unpleasantly pointed face, frozen in mid-air, coated in sand. “This is what was causing the problem. Made any wishes lately?” And then it dawned on me. “I wish I were dead,” I remembered crying, one night the voice had gotten particularly nasty. And my wish had come true.
“Anyway, it should all be fine now. All that had to happen was for you to find the confidence to contradict the little weasel, and you managed that very well, indeed. And the moral of the story is…?”
I rolled my eyes, but joined in the chorus with her: “Be careful what you wish for. So, what happens now?”
“Well,” she said, pocketing the angry little creature, “now you go back! It’s very simple, really. This box,” she knocked on the lid, “contains the life spark that fuses your soul to your body. Just open it and wait.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. I don’t suppose I’ll be seeing you again, then?”
“You never know, some day I might have a nasty accident.” I opened the box, and felt a tug, pulling me away from the boat, back to my life.
“I’ll be waiting,” she grinned, and for the first time she was truly terrifying.
Kate Cosgrave (17) Co. Cavan, Ireland
2 responses so far ↓
1 Charlotte Jacqueline Pearson // Jun 26, 2007 at 3:24 pm
This story is really cool and i like it loads! It really deserved to win and i was glued to the screen the whole way through. Well done Kate!
2 Ana // Aug 2, 2007 at 2:06 pm
This is a really cool story, I really like it Kate!!!!
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