"No wealth, no ruin, no silver, no gold
Nothing satisfies me but your soul..."
~ Jen Titus, O' Death
***
Chapter 2
Anna stood quietly as she stared at the spot where Mr. Mortimer had disappeared into the woods, clutching her burned hand gently to her chest. She was deep in thought. Why had this Strange Man been so nice to her? Why had his lips burned a mark on her hand when he bestowed a kiss? Why was he dressed in black? Questions like these were going on an endless loop in her head. But, these questions were producing more queries and she wasn’t getting any closer to finding her answers.
She had no idea where to start nor which question to start with.
As she looked down at the lip-shaped burn on the surface of her hand, she started her ‘research’ with the impossible. Could he possibly be some sort supernatural being?
Maybe he’s my angel, Anna thought to herself. Wait, angels don’t hurt people with bare skin… do they? Okay, maybe the angels I’m thinking about are out of the question. Maybe a Dark Angel? Dark Angels… people avoid them, I think. Yes, maybe he’s a dark angel, fallen from the Heavens. But what could the nice Strange Man have done in order to have fallen?
Thoughts like these were reeling through her head as she continued to stare at the spot where Amos had vanished into the woods. She was determined to find more about what he was, even if it took her entire life.
***
“You always have a choice, Amos,” God spoke, his voice deep and grated like gravel against Amos' ears.
The man with dark, slightly greying hair, and a hooked nose, also known as Amos, looked around at the others presented with the same choice.
To become a Horseman of the Apocalypse.
There stood Pestilence, the disease ridden fool. Where once had been a handsome young man of thirty, now stood a man with rotting skin, scabbing burns and browned teeth. His clothing consisted of all shades of the earth, from a mud-colored tunic to trousers the color of dying grass and the stench that followed him was nearly overwhelming.
Then there was War, a man of over ninety with pure white hair that stretched down to mid-back and a white beard that looked made of the most coarse horse hair that could be found. He wore a white roman toga, crinkled along the edges with frayed hems. Both the clothing and his hair were matted with dried blood, and he had an easily distinguished war-induced gaping hole in his midsection.
Famine was a thin boy, barely over the age of sixteen. He was all skin and bones with pale lips, blonde hair and eyes as dark as night. His clothing was much too large for his small frame. His cheeks were gaunt, showing off his high cheekbones, and his skin was tightly stretched across his body. His bones were easily seen poking through the skin, looking as if at any moment, they would tear right through the thin barrier.
And then there was Amos. He wore dark clothing, as dark as possible, in fact. He had a slightly hooked nose, shallow, pale skin and an obsidian gaze. Easily the most handsome out of the four, for many reasons, but he wasn't sure of his choice and couldn't decide as quickly as the other three had.
If he became a Horseman, never would he be able to come into contact with a living, breathing organism again without scarring it, or even possibly killing it. He would forever be surrounded by these four men. The All-Mighty God, War, Pestilence and Famine. If he so chose to not become a Horseman, then he'd be sent to Earth, able to lead as normal a life as any of the neanderthals below.
For seven days and seven nights, Amos thought about the choice that had to be made, and in the end, he believed he had made the correct one.
“I'll do it.”
(Queue Music)
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Death sat next to his brethren, his dark eyes looking over the homo sapiens below him without any emotion. Pestilence had recently started another epidemic, something the humans were calling the Bubonic Plague.
Together, they watched as humans first got chills racing down their spines, like war horses on a rampage. Then came the general illness, the fever, the cramping and the seizures. Within twelve hours, the ears would bleed and within four days, the humans were dead. It was hard to watch, but it had to be done. Nothing in this world could be perfect, everyone had to lose something and they had to die some time and there was no better time than the present.
“Death!” The Lord's voice boomed throughout the clouds, summoning Amos to the inner chambers of his holy palace.
The moment Death's black traveling cloak touched the golden floor, God spoke. “Gather the souls.”
Bowing his head, Amos backed out of the palace and took himself and his brethren to Earth.
Needless to say, if they had looked as they did in the beginning, with disease-ridden skin, having gaping holes in the abdomen or being thinner than a pencil, the Horsemen would bring too much attention to themselves. So God granted them the power of shape-changing. Only when they are on Earth, would the Horsemen of the Apocalypse return to their original state, before they became Horsemen.
Pestilence became his once-handsome self, War was just another elderly man and Famine was a sixteen year old boy with a charming smile and mischievous eyes. Death stayed the same. He'd never changed from his original self, and that was something Amos was grateful for.
“How many are there today, brother?” Famine questioned, dark blue eyes shimmering in the pale moonlight.
“We'll be gathering three hundred and ninety-four souls today.”
***
Amos was brought back to the present when he spotted a clearing in the trees before him. He had arrived at his destination; Cogburn Mansion. Why he didn’t send one of his Reapers to do this job was beyond his comprehension… but here he was, standing on the edge of the woods, staring up at the brown bricked house, covered in dying, green vines, which took over most of the west side of the house. It was, truly, beautiful.
Taking a deep breath, Death took the first, hesitant step towards the rustic, lavish home. Ignoring the doors, he simply walked through the walls of the home and into an open, beautifully decorated hallway. The walls were painted in a lovely scarlet color. They were adorned in golden framed, hand painted portraits of, what he thought to be, Anna’s family. The oak floors and side tables, with fresh vases of wild flowers that sat atop them, brought color to the room and complimented it perfectly.
Amos snapped himself out of his small trance and set off to the task at hand. He silently climbed the stairs towards the up-most level of the house; the Attic. This was where the smell of the lost soul, by the name of Reuben Lawrence Cogburn, was leading him. Reuben L. Cogburn; previous husband to Leandra Evangeline Cogburn and father to Phenias Reuben Cogburn, age 16, and Anna Mable Cogburn, age 7...
This thought, however, stopped Amos in his tracks. Now Death wasn’t so sure he could bring himself to harvest this soul, which lay a mere twenty feet in front of him, just behind the heavy oak door. He couldn’t let this particular family live without their father.
Amos, Death said to himself, this is absurd! This is blasphemy! You’ve left thousands, if not millions, of families fatherless and forced them to fend for themselves, no matter how hard it was. Why should this family be any different? Why should you involve yourself in any way, shape or form with their happiness and well-being?
In fact, this was a good question… a good and puzzling question indeed. Why should he let this poor soul live when he collected billions of other souls without a blink of an eye or a sideways glance?
Clearing his thoughts of these absurd queries, he climbed the last few steps briskly, but seemingly elegantly, and, once again, ignored the doorknob as he slipped easily through the wood of the door.
Before Amos stood a tall man— though the man was shorter than himself— dressed modestly in a dress shirt, a black waistcoat, which matched his black trousers and dress shoes. He also smoked a wooden pipe quietly as he stared out the window. He seemed to waiting for someone, or watching someone, from the likes of it. Reuben Cogburn didn’t even seem to notice that Death was in the room with him.
Most mortals felt the chilling cold of death grip their very soul when he was present in the room. Yet, Reuben remained ignorant of his presence.
Just as Death’s lips parted to speak, Reuben broke the silence before he had gotten the chance. “I know why you’ve come,” Reuben Cogburn said in his deep, calm, raspy voice. “And I’ll go without a fight… on one condition.”
“Oh, and what would that be, Mr. Reuben Lawrence Cogburn?” Death replied emotionlessly.
“That you give me until my daughter is happy or married to harvest my soul.” Reuben said almost desperately now as he turned to Death with pleading eyes.
“I’m afraid that I cannot make such a deal,” Death responded bluntly. “In any case, I can’t see what I would be receiving in return, Mr, Cogburn.”
“You may choose where I go after I leave this world. I care not if it‘s heaven or hell. You may have my service as one of your Reapers for the rest of eternity… or you may damn me to wander the Earth, not being able to be happy like so many possible souls out in the unknown.”
Death stared emotionlessly into the pleading eyes of Reuben Cogburn. Even though he showed no emotion etched across his face, he felt the emotion bubbling up in side of him. For strange reasons, even to him, he couldn’t betray any emotion with his facial expressions, nor with his eyes.
Death felt pity for the man, like he had for many other men who had asked the same question many times before. He had rejected all of their offers… but why was he feeling compelled to answer the needs of this particular mortal? Why did he pity him the most above all others?
“… But I cannot just simply return you to your body, Mr. Cogburn. You’ve been deceased for much too long—a day. Your family would suspect something strange.”
“Did I say anything about returning to my body?”
“Reuben, I do not think that I can help you—”
“Please, Mr. Reaper, you must let me stay here.” Reuben fell to his knees at Amos’s feet. He grabbed onto Death’s pant leg, sobbing tears that couldn’t be shed as a spirit. “I will give you anything in return. I beg you! Please let me remain on this good, green Earth until I see my daughter at least happy or married, whichever comes first! I implore you!”
Amos stood stalk still. He hadn’t the foggiest idea as to what he should do with the poor soul… but, even though his better judgment told him not too, he was preparing to oblige to Cogburn’s pleas.
“I’ll give you twenty years. Twenty years and then I shall send you to be in the service of the Reapers to match the twenty years you spent on Earth instead of in the nether lands. Following that time, you will be sent to rest in peace.”
“Thank you, thank you—” Reuben thanks, however, were cut off when the door to the attic flew open.
Reuben’s eyes swelled to the size of grapefruits and Amos’s heart sank. There, in the doorway, stood young Anna Cogburn, whose face was horror struck and whose eyes were swimming with confusion.
“Mr. Mortimer, what are you doing with daddy?”
***
"A dying man needs to die, as a sleepy man needs to sleep, and there comes a time when it is wrong, as well as useless, to resist."
~Stewart Alsop