All Chapters of Grim Reaper's Bride: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

My body strained as I ran mad-dash down a twilit path, imagining hounds on my heels. The darkness of the forest transported me to a primal time.  Trees whispered ragged like ghosts in the wind.  Muscles honed from years of training propelled me onwards as crisp autumn air filled my lungs, spiced with woodsmoke and loam.  Instincts awoke and the desperate need to escape propelled me onwards, into the bosom of the woods, away from the impending threat- though it was only a waking dream.“How do you run so damn fast, Callie!” coach had asked once in disbelief after I'd finished a 5K in 16:30.“Rabid dogs,” I'd replied,He'd raised his brow a mile high and plastered me with a pitiful stare.  It was no use explaining my unconventional techniques to the unimaginative, just like it was impossible to convey the sweetness of danger to the tamed.  That beautiful feeling:  heart pounding, adre

 “But- but you don't exist!  You shouldn't- it's impossible.  Oh my god, help me,” I panicked, scurrying into the farthest corner of the carriage, putting as much space between him and me as possible.  I closed my eyes and pulled my knees to my chest.  “You don't exist, death isn't alive.  It's a thoughtless force of nature- it isn't sentient!”He scoffed.  “Oh, pity, so I'm not real?  And here I was all this time, laboring under the delusion that I existed, when it was all just a lie.  Hand me a handkerchief, I'm sniffling.”“Stop mocking me.  You're supposed to be silent.  Death doesn't have a sense of humor.”“Says who?  My job would be depressing if I wasn't.  Now open your eyes, little mortal- you have nothing to fear.  I'm not here to collect your soul.  Not yet, anyways.”  His  voice was soothing

“If you value your life, then yes,” he said, helping me into the carriage and whistling to the horse.  It snorted and he mounted its back, guiding it to the border of trees.  The roan grunted, braying as it nosed the brambles.  Peeking through the window, I watched in awe as the branches peeled back and the trunks bent to let the hearse pass through. A path appeared out of nowhere, its worn dirt lined by toadstools that glowed a faint blue.  I could swear one was a fish belly-white gnome with an upturned cap, but once I blinked, he was gone.  Corpseboy gazed about with reserved interest, watching as shadows crept by.  Monstrous forms were hinted at by the shifting dark.  His eyes were like lasers penetrating the night, casting red pools upon whatever they saw.Something growled and I jumped, startled.  Not wanting to see what it was, I drew the curtains closed, huddling at the center of the carriage.  The l

“Adieu, Pallor.  Don't eat all the grass in the field, now,” he said to his steed, stroking its mane as Death's feet hit the ground running.  The horse set about consuming the field like a lawn mower.  Corpseboy gained velocity.  The lead grew taut.  He fanned his wings  and suddenly, we were airborne. Wind rushed past me as he pumped his pinions.  I sat back, mortified, and watched the world pass like a dream.  The field rolled into forest, forest into stream, to fern-riddled glens and meadow ringed by trees.  It was beautiful beyond compare, with the multi-hued stars and Milky Way like a river.  Corpseboy himself looked like an angel of the night.  His hair snaked behind him in a dusky halo and his skin, pale as starlight, glowed like polished stone.“You'll freeze, little fool, and then I really will have a body to put in the hearse,” he said.I refused to answer, longing for

Solomon raised his brows as I trudged into the dining room, bleary-eyed.  He was scarfing down an omelet.  Bits of cheese clung to his stubble.  And he looked at me critically.“Well, Callie,” he snickered, “you take the 'beauty' out of beauty sleep.”“Maybe if you didn't snore like a foghorn, I'd get a bit more rest,” I retorted, wandering into the  kitchen to fix myself a bowl of oatmeal.  “Did dad already leave?  And did he take the comics?”“Yes and yes.”“Darn it.”“And mom?”“Sleeping, obviously.  She'd sleep through the Apocalypse.  Wish I was an artist, then I could set my own hours...” he yawned, then gazed at me oddly.  “What's that on your shoulder, eh, Callie?”Groggy, I glanced down at what I was wearing.  The usual sweatpants and baggy t-shirt.