Brothers of Brimstone: Reaper

I felt my eyelids flutter as a cool breeze blew across my face. I had just been awakened from a beautiful dream, and my first instinct was to roll over. But suddenly, I was aware that I was not resting on my cozy feather bed. My eyes flew open, and instead of being greeted by the familiar shadows of my bedroom, I was in absolute darkness.

I jolted, and my forehead smacked something solid. My head snapped back. I fanned my arms out and discovered I had only a few inches of wiggle room.

Fear shot through my spine as I began to process the reality of my situation. It was becoming apparent that someone had placed me in a tiny box while I had been sleeping, but who could have done such a thing? Was it my sister Ada? Was this one of her pranks?

My heart rate began to decrease as I came to terms with what must have happened. Ada must have been behind this, but she could not have accomplished this on her own. So, I occupied my mind and attempted to identify the other culprit. Was it our steward, Howie? Of course not. Howie wouldn’t risk his position to help Ada pull off such a silly joke, but Arther, our stable hand, may have. He adored Ada and would have done anything she asked.

I heard movement above me before I could deduce where Ada had placed me. “Are you sure we will find jewels in there?” a gravelly voice demanded.

“Of course we will,” a playful voice responded. “The wealthy are always buried with some type of ornament; even in death, they are afraid of being underdressed.”

Not recognizing either voice that had spoken, I found myself frightened again. I opened my mouth to call out for help, but my attempt was interrupted by a creaking sound.

“You have to put your back into it,” the cheerful voice prompted, “That coffin has been underground for a while; it’s probably sealed airtight.”

I froze when he mentioned a coffin. I ran my fingers along the edges of my prison and realized that I must be trapped in a coffin. Now I was certain that this was not prank.

“Hello?” I ventured.

The creaking ceased, “Did you hear something, George?” the gravelly voice inquired.

“I didn’t hear anything, Henry,” the high voice that I assumed was George responded, “And for Pete’s sake, don’t start rambling about ghosts again.”

“I saw something,” Henry grumbled in protest. I wasn’t sure if the conversation continued because the creaking resumed, and suddenly, my ears popped.

“I think I’ve got it,” Henery crowed triumphantly.

“Let me give you a hand,” George insisted. After a few moments, there was a whoosh of air, and slowly, the night sky began to reveal itself.

Delighted that I was no longer cramped inside the tiny compartment, I shot into a sitting position and gasped for air.

I looked at my saviors; they were shabbily dressed and missing teeth, which was a sign that they hailed from the slums.

Regardless, I would take them to my fiancé, John Bundock. When he heard about the cruel trick played on me and the bravery of these men, he would offer them employment. As I opened my mouth to articulate my gratitude and to announce their good fortune, both men’s eyes widened, and the color drained from their faces.

“Is there something wrong?” I asked, slightly offended that they would dare gap at me so openly. Instead of the feverish apologies I expected, the men began to scream.

Startled by their reaction, I screamed as well, my eyes darting around the dark graveyard as I attempted to identify what had frightened them.

One of the men held a shovel, with his free hand he pointed an accusing finger at me, “Ghost!” he declared.

“Who?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder.

“That is no ghost,” screeched George, whose voice was devoid of its playful tone, “That’s a zombie! Hit it with the shovel!”

Terrified, Henry nodded and lifted the shovel as if it were a baseball bat, and I was confident he meant to hit me with it. I covered my face and artfully ducked. I could feel the shovel's spade graze my hair and knew that he would attack again once Henry realized he had missed.

Henry took a step back and lifted the shovel again. His friend George had retreated a few yards, and he encouraged Henry to try again: "This time, keep your eyes open and take aim!"

Taking advantage of the berth that had been created, I clung to the sides of the box and hoisted myself into a standing position.

This small act of defiance seemed to terrify Henry, who recoiled and dropped his shovel, “She means to eat my brains!”

“You are safe then Henry, you don’t have any brains,” George called out as he continued to withdraw, “Now pick up that shovel and kill that zombie.”

“Who goes there?” a voice called out into the darkness. I could see a light bouncing through the darkness from my peripheral vision.

The interruption seemed to cause Henry to snap back to reality, “Let the caretaker fight the zombie,” he spat before turning and sprinting after George, who had abandoned Henry.

It must have rained recently because the heels of my boots sank into the soft earth as I stepped out of the coffin to greet whoever had rescued me from Henery. When the oil lamp lifted, I was relieved to see a familiar face.

“Fred,” I cried, delighted to see him. Fred’s father was our groundskeeper, and I had known him since he was a boy. Though our class status had never permitted us to socialize, Fred had always been kind, and I was certain that he wouldn’t accuse me of being a zombie and try to behead me with a shovel.

“Alice Devibois?” Fred’s eyes widened in disbelief.

I clasped my hands to my chest and bowed my head humbly, hoping that Fred would take pity on me and not gossip about discovering me in a cemetery in the middle of the night. Such gossip would tarnish my reputation, and since I was engaged to be married to John, I couldn’t afford any scandals. “I suppose you are wondering why I am in a graveyard in the middle of the night.” I began, but Fred cut me off.

“No, I’m certain that you are in the right place,” Fred said, appearing baffled as he gazed at the empty coffin beside me, “I am, however, wondering why you are out of your coffin.”

“You know who put me in there?” I gasped as I stamped my foot and pointed at the box I narrowly escaped, “Tell me who put me in there,” I demanded, “Or face severe consequences.”

“The Undertaker did, Ms. Alice,” Fred promptly responded, “Nearly two months ago.”

“Two months ago?” I pressed him, “If I had been captive in that box for two months, surely I would be dead.”

“That was the consensus,” Fred told me carefully.

“Don’t play with me, Fred,” I warned him, “Do you know who I’m engaged to?”

“Yes,” Fred nodded, “You were engaged to John Bundock, your sister Ada’s husband.”

“Ada’s husband?” I repeated in disbelief, suddenly feeling lightheaded. Has the world gone mad? Or was I the one who was crazy?

“He grieved over your loss,” Fred quickly assured me, “And thankfully, Ada was there to console him.”

“Well, she can stop consoling him!” I snapped, “You have found me, so I’m no longer lost.”

“You were never lost,” Fred clarified, “You were dead.”

“Someone had made a mistake,” I persisted stubbornly.

“If you’re not supposed to be dead, why has that reaper come?” Freid asked, pointing a shaky finger over my shoulder as he retreated.

Impulsively, I glanced over my shoulder, and sure enough, a hooded figure stood at the edge of the graveyard holding a glittering scythe.