It was a dark and gloomy day outside. Dark clouds loomed overhead and brought down drops of continuous rain. The street lights cast faint pools of light upon the slick roads. Unexpectedly, a car whooshed by. The reaper stood on the rooftop across from an old French restaurant. His bony fingers clutched a long sickle. A long dark robe covered his skeletal figure. He was a demonic thing. He could choose who to kill and how. The skull that was his face had a long evil grin spread across it.
In a puff of smoke he disappeared, then emerged at the old parking lot of the French restaurant. He was invisible to the living.
He walked through the wooden doors and looked at the host standing in front of him. The reaper snapped his fingers and the host suddenly fell. An elderly waiter rushed to the dying man. He checked for a pulse. "Mister Adams," cried the waiter, shaking the host repeatedly. "Too late," whispered the reaper, even though no one could hear him.
The reaper suddenly disappeared.
When he appeared again he was in his own personal sanctuary, an abandoned castle in Germany. He was sitting at a desk made of fine oak. Upon the desk was a large and dusty book. The reaper flipped the book open. There was a small puff of smoke and then a tiny thing of ink was on his desk. The reaper reached for a crow feather and dipped it in the ink. On the page he recalled of the host's death. He enjoyed being vivid when writing details. He flipped the book closed and rose.
He opened a large door and made his way down the spiraling staircase. When he reached the bottom there was a long narrow corridor. At the end of the corridor was a portrait of the previous owner of the castle, Herr Helmuth Von Schneider.
The reaper walked halfway down corridor before stopping in front of a locked door, secured with rigid bars and rusty chains. The reaper grabbed the chain and then as if fearing his touch, the chains and bars melted. The reaper entered the room. It was a large room filled with the most expensive wines money could buy. The reaper ran his bony hands over a wine bottle marked 'Bauf Huebener'. The red wine looked more like tomato juice than wine.
The reaper slowly began drinking the wine, only to have it run out of his skeleton. I've done this too long, thought the reaper. He entwined his fingers together and was suddenly on a large clock tower in Amsterdam, Holland. The reaper extended his arms and lurched forward. As he fell the air invigorated him.
He then stopped as he fell in a large garden surrounding a schoolhouse. He watched as the roses and tulips sunk down into the ground, his negative energy seeming to affect them. The reaper watched as a man was knocked to the ground by a couple of teenagers. The reaper watched the teens fumble around, looking for a knife, before deciding to let a dog with rabies chase them down the street.
The reaper watched the man stumble to his feet, his mustache slick with blood. The reaper cared for no one, never had and probably never would. But sometimes he thought humans could be crueler than a reaper could.
The reaper rose up. He snapped a finger and was suddenly standing on the stone floor of the prison of the underworld. The warden approached. He was large, had long claws, fire in his eyes, smoke billowing out of his nose, and had a long forked tongue.
"for what reason do ye step foot on the prison of the underworld?" asked the warden.
The reaper raised his sickle. "I need no reason," he informed.
The reaper pushed by the warden and stepped into the main chamber. There were men hanging upside down on the ceiling.
"Can one soul free us?" asked a desperate man.
The reaper examined the man. The host. The reaper grinned and pointed his sickle towards the man. The man squinted and looked away. With a grin the reaper left.
He returned to his castle. He rested his head back and grinned an evil grin. An evil grin that many would soon see.