Trash Groom, Stolen Gown

Mike stepped onto his front porch, a warm thermos of coffee in one hand and a book in the other. The wood creaked beneath him, and he sat on the porch swing overlooking the front yard, the chains squeaking under his weight. It was early, not even seven yet, and the house behind him was silent. He rarely used to get up so early, but had discovered that dawn was officially the quietest part of his day. The peace lasted for almost half an hour while he listened to the sounds of the front yard while reading. Singing birds whizzed back and forth, chasing the insects that lived in his yard. Eventually, he heard a loud crash, followed by the sound of Tink yelling at the fairies, and suppressed a laugh.

Looks like his day was going to start early.

His front yard consisted of a large, maze-like garden that was centered around a stone sundial in the middle. The shrubs grew up to waist height, and he navigated the maze from memory, working his way toward the center. Despite the fact that fall had started last month, the yard was still in full bloom. Even now, looking over the stone walls that separated him from his neighbors, he could see the leaves yellowing on their trees already. The summer had been hot, and the days were quickly shrinking, but the weather was always temperate in his front yard.

When he got near the middle of the maze, he had to climb over the large, thick tail of the Jabberwock. The beast lifted its head and, once it saw who was bothering it, lay back down and let out a huff. He gave the beast a friendly pat, grateful that it wasn't mad about the time he had beheaded it.

At the middle of the maze, he grabbed the sundial by the edges, the magic of the house tingling in his fingertips, and gave it a hard yank. The dial moved one full rotation, and he felt the ground shift ever so slightly beneath him as the home's defenses were reactivated for another day. Turning around, he saw a pair of male centaurs wandering around the edge of the garden.

"Morning," he called while waving.

"Caretaker," one responded, and they waved also, then went back to inspecting a sickly looking bush. Both of them wore wide-brimmed hats woven with leaves and carried gardening tools. The self-proclaimed Moon tribe had taken it upon themselves to maintain the property around the house shortly after getting settled in the greenhouse, which Mike was extremely grateful for. With the recent expansion of land around his house, there was no way he could keep up with it on his own.

Moving toward the front porch, he paused to admire the gazebo that Tink had attached to the corner of the house. The gazebo floor was slightly elevated, allowing someone to see all of the front yard from the middle of it. It had a beautiful trellis around the base that was covered in beautiful flowering vines, and several flower boxes at the top. He and Tink had spent a lot of time looking at gazebo designs, and he was very proud of how it had turned out.

He opened the front door of the house and turned left, walking toward the office. The morning light gave the wooden floors a golden brown glow, and he remembered that Tink had spent part of last week sanding and oiling the wood to try and restore it. The whole front room had suffered from minor water damage, and it was amazing what a little sand and shine did for the front entrance of the house.

Walking into the office, he wasn't surprised to see the dark figure sitting at his desk with a hot pot of tea and an old map of South America.

"Hey, Death." Mike slid his book back onto a shelf labeled 'Still Reading'. The circular room had multiple shelves, many of which were newly built of a pretty dark wood that the centaurs had given him. They were logging parts of the greenhouse now to build their community and had provided him with an amazing variety of woods to build from. Tink had practically salivated over the supplies, proclaiming the walnut lumber as her absolute favorite.

"Hello, Mike Radley." Death's voice was rich like chocolate with the crisp finish of a British accent. He looked up from where he stood, his eye sockets smoldering with flames. His hood was pulled back, revealing his head to be just a skull. It had taken Mike several days to adjust looking at Death this way without blanching, and it really freaked him out that the skull was capable of morphing into different facial expressions. Whenever Death narrowed his eye sockets, it looked like he was going to hook someone's soul out of their body in anger.

"What are you looking at today?" Mike asked.

"Paraguay, late 1800's." Death took a sip of tea. It was odd watching the skeleton drink because the fluid seemed to disappear once inside his skull. Once he set the cup down, Death tapped his fingers on the map as if lost in thought.

"I see. Well, enjoy." Ever since Mike had invited the specter to live with him, Death spent a majority of his time in the office enjoying old maps that he borrowed from the Library. Merely an extension of the true Grim Reaper, this version was trapped on Earth and seemed to grow more of a personality the longer he stayed. Most of the others couldn't see Death at all, but they could all watch his tea kettle float back and forth to the kitchen throughout the day.

It had taken a week to get the fairies to quit chasing the teapot back and forth. Not only did Death find it aggravating to have a group of fairies riding on his beverage, but they had also caused him to spill it more than once.