Son Of the Reaper: Reaper, #1

Chapter 1

A Dark Day

NINE YEARS OLD

Iwatched as the sun set on another long day. Callum, my six-year-old son, was different, and it was time I accepted it. He wasn’t always different. In fact, he was exceptional; he was big, healthy, and he was like every other baby. And then one day, he just wasn’t. He did everything at the right time, except talk. In six years, I have never heard my sweet boy’s voice. Not one Mama, and days like today, I would love to hear my name from my sweet boy’s lips. 

My first bad day was when he was three, and they kicked him out of daycare. Callum had tantrums, and they were so bad that after the third one, for the third day in daycare, they asked me to find him a new one. I agreed, and after fifteen daycares, I had to take him to work with me. You would think that a funeral home would be the last place to take a toddler, but honestly, he sat in one place, played with his toys, and watched me work. It wasn’t until people came into the funeral home that he would find a place to hide. Usually in the coffin room, sitting inside a coffin with a book. My boss Helen thought he was strange, but she allowed him to stay with me mostly because I was a good worker. 

When school started for him, the tantrums were more frequent, and the issue with him not speaking became a concern for the school. After countless tests and exams, the school gave up on him learning and put him in a class with only one other student. This seemed to be okay, but I learned today they’ve taught him nothing, and for the last three years when I thought he was learning the basics of reading, writing, and math, I found out he has learned none of that. 

The icing on the cake for today’s catastrophic events was the doctor’s appointment. Mostly, Callum let the doctors do their job, but there was a new doctor. His old one was on vacation, and when the new one came in the room, Callum took one look at him and lost it. Destroyed the room. I had never seen him like that before. He was never violent, but the state of that room when I finally got him out of it was like a tornado had hit. Callum flipped over the small bookcase, the exam table, and tore the pictures from the wall, throwing them at the doctor as he tried to calm him down. The doctor finally left the room, and it was like nothing had happened. He calmed down within seconds and sat in the middle of the room on his bottom, pulled out a toy car from his pocket and played with it. 

Doctor Morgan called me out of the room into his office and told me he was diagnosing Callum with autism because of his speech issues and his lack of socialization with people. I sat in his office and listened to him tell me all the things my son would never do and envisioned his life being so empty. The way the doctor spoke, he wouldn’t have friends, or be able to play sports, or even understand what was said to him. And I was alone, as always, without his father.

It wasn’t like I didn’t know that Anubis would never be an active parent; he’d told me that the night I told him I was pregnant, but I didn’t think the road would be this hard. I love my son, and I always will no matter what, but on days like this, I just wished his father was a part of his life. 

Anubis was the other issue in my life. Although he provided for Callum and me, he has never stepped foot in a room Callum was in. We are a couple. Just not a couple that raises our son together. Anubis told me from the start that he would never be a father to our son, but that he would make sure that he and I had everything that our hearts desired. He just wouldn’t be there when things got tough. And today things are tough, and I need him. I looked at my son playing in his jammies and thought he needed him just as much as I did.

Chapter 2

A Stranger

CALLUM

H e’s asleep, my mother said in a low voice. I couldn’t open my eyes. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t open them. Hearing his voice, I could always hear his voice, but I could never see his face. Sleep evaded me. The smallest sound would wake me. The kitchen sink dripping, or the crickets chirping. It would keep me awake, my eyes would drift open, and I couldn’t close them. Except for the nights when he came. 

It wasn’t every night, not even every week, but I heard his voice often. The front door never opened, and I never heard him come into the house, but I always knew he was there. His presence alone would wake me. When he came, I could hear him, but my eyes would never open, even though I willed them to. I wanted to see his face more than anything. 

You said he was having problems. What are they?

I could hear a rustle of clothing, and then I felt my mother’s hand go to my head. She rubbed softly as she spoke. My love, they diagnosed our baby with autism. The doctor said that he isn’t like normal children.

I could feel her emotions, fear, hurt, and sadness. I wanted to be like everyone else, wanted to know how they dealt with the numbers, the colors, and the constant sounds. How did the rest of the world survive, how did she survive? 

The world was too loud; I didn’t want to hear it. Even now, in the dead of night, I could hear faint numbers. Whispers happened all night, but in the daytime, it was much worse. No matter how I covered my ears, no matter how I ran or screamed, I couldn’t avoid the numbers.  

And what do humans think is normal, Celeste? he asked with a chuckle. Because no two humans are alike, no one. He is the most normal because even a human noticed he is different. Which means he is special… In a good way.

You are not taking this seriously! she whisper yelled. I felt her move from my side and tried to turn to them, but I couldn’t. My body would not move to my will. 

Baby, I take things that upset you very serious. The man said his endearment, one of many he would say to my mother. 

She cut him off. But you don’t take your son’s life serious? she accused. I know he is my father; I have known that for years. But he is not like any other father I have ever seen. I have never seen his face; he only speaks to me in my mind. There is no soft touch of his hand like my mother. He is a figment of my imagination, but so real. In my mind, I see him as tall. Maybe he looks like me, maybe he looks like my mother. I am not sure. When I am awake at night, on the nights I feel his presence, but he doesn’t visit my room, I imagine what he looks like. Why am I not allowed to see him? Does he love me? He told my mother before that he did, but he doesn’t show it like other fathers I have seen. 

I care about my son, Celeste. We discussed before he was born why I wouldn’t be in his life. I provide for him, and you. And in my own way, I love him, but there is nothing wrong with him. I assure you.

I was glad someone thought that nothing was wrong with me. I heard people say that I was crazy all the time. Mrs. Wimbush, my mother’s boss, said that I was weird. Told Mama that it wasn’t normal for me to act out in front of people. However, the dead seemed to calm me. 

The dead didn’t talk—well, they did for a little while and then it was quiet. No numbers screamed at me, no colors to blind me. I found a peace like no other when I was with them. They told me of their fears of the next world, dreams that they never got to live. And I listened, not saying anything. Sometimes they would talk for hours, sometimes only for moments. And then they disappeared in the blink of an eye. 

Rest, I heard in my mind, but it was in his voice. I wanted to reply to him, but I was too afraid. I never spoke out loud. I could, but I didn’t speak. I didn’t like the sound of my voice. And people say many things in front of you if they think you can’t repeat it. Even the doctor spoke in front of me, reassuring my mother that I didn’t understand what he was saying. I understood everything that he said. While my mother was working on a body, I’d looked up autism, and the spectrum was so wide that I could fall into that group, but everyone assumed that because I didn’t speak, I didn’t understand. Because I had moments that the numbers drove me to scream, my mother would call them tantrums. I looked that word up as well and found that it didn’t fit what I was having. 

I found one word that did: overwhelmed. It was too much, too many numbers, too many sounds, too many colors. I never had peace. 

I said rest, son. His voice came back into my head, and I wondered how he knew I wasn’t asleep. Fighting against the pull of sleep, I wanted to hear what he and my mother were saying. I tried to turn over one last time, just to get a glimpse of him, and couldn’t. I screamed, but only I heard the sound. 

Celeste, I have been thinking about moving you and Callum from the city. Maybe somewhere he can live a slower life. You said when he is around many people, it bothers him. How about we move him to a small town? I know of a place that is nice, quiet. There is even a funeral home that has been for sale for a while. I can get it for you, and you can make it your own. 

My mother was silent for a moment, and I was losing my battle fighting my sleep. My body was getting heavy. The last thing I heard before sleep took over was my mother saying, I want the best for him, honey.

His voice came into my mind again. I want the best for you too, now sleep. And that’s what I did: slept until late the next morning.

Chapter 3

Hell

CALLUM NINE YEARS OLD

The day after the man came, Mama packed. It was a very long three weeks of closing our old house and saying goodbye to Mama’s friends. Then we were on the road, a large truck in front of us, holding all our things. Mama talked a long time about going to the new town, about finding friends for me and that I would be happy there. 

As the cars passed, I heard faint numbers, but I didn’t look at the people, so I didn’t see their colors. The sun was glowing, and the radio was on low. My mother liked all kinds of music, and today she was listening to country. In between her talking to me, she would sing a song that she liked. I loved the sound of her singing voice. 

Every time Mama spoke, it was like a song. She was soothing to listen to. Especially when the numbers became too much to bear. Her voice would calm me. Suddenly, I heard zero so loud, I had to turn toward it. Coming up fast was a motorcycle, bright red. The man had a black leather jacket on. I watched him pass the cars behind us, moving in and out of the lanes so fast. As he passed our car, he seemed to slow down, his head going up, looking right at me. He had no helmet; his hair seemed to stand on his head as the wind whipped through it. The man’s eyes were the bluest of blue, and a smirk rested on his lips. His head turned to face the road, and I looked in that direction. In the middle of the road was a woman in black. She floated just above the pavement. Her raven hair flowed down her back, but no cars slowed down as if they didn’t see her. My mother was singing to the song on the radio, not seeing the woman at all. I wanted to tell her, but what happened next stopped me from getting my mother’s attention. 

There was a tire slowly coming off the truck that held our things. I saw the man on the motorcycle hit his brakes, but it was too late. The tire hit him in the face; he flew from the bike, his arms waving as he glided through the air. I looked ahead and saw the woman moving toward us, her feet floating off the ground, walking on air. 

I turned back to the man on the bike, as he landed on the ground. The car to the right of us hit him at full speed, and he was in the air again. As his body hit the ground once more, he rolled on the pavement. I heard the car’s brakes, and my mother’s scream echoed through the interior. But my eyes were on the man. He laid at the floating woman’s feet, all the surrounding cars in a circle, some cars touching others. I looked at the man, seeing him lay there, the woman above him. She reached her hand out to him, and the shadow of the man reached up and grabbed her hand. Standing to his feet, his body on the ground, he looked back to it, stared in disbelief at his deformed body. 

The woman said something to him. I couldn’t make out what she said, but he shook his head no. She opened her arms, and he looked back at his body, now surrounded by people, including my mother. One driver was pumping on his chest. The ground around the body was covered in blood. I got out of the car and walked to the woman. Her eyes were on the man. I looked at him, his blue eyes muted almost grey. 

I didn’t look at the surrounding people; I looked at them. No one else seemed to see them. The man spoke, It can’t be over. He said it to me, or maybe her. 

I reached out to him, the vision that stood in front of me, not the body at my feet. A coolness touched my hand, but I couldn’t feel him. There was no hand in mine. I saw he was holding my hand, but I couldn’t feel the touch, just the coolness of nothing. 

I looked at him and replied. My voice rusty, I only tested it alone. I think it’s just the beginning.

The woman stepped forward, her presence known only to me. I felt hands on me, then the woman spoke, We must go. I know she was speaking to him, but her eyes were curious about me. I watched him look away from me, back at his lifeless body on the ground; the coolness left my hand, and he walked to her. When he touched her hand, he shimmered. The woman’s eyes never left mine, and then my mother was pulling me away. 

I said to the man, You will be fine.

The woman looked at me and spoke, He will be. And without a sound, they disappeared before my eyes. 

I watched the spot that they were in for a few moments as the surrounding sounds became clear. My mother’s voice was no longer muted and slow; she called my name, Callum, and I looked at her, the crowd around us, and gave my mother a smile. 

You shouldn’t have left the car. I told you to stay put. She was frantically