Death is a Girl

Chapter 17: Grave Error

“Now that your list is complete,” Death said as he pulled his car onto the road and made a U-turn to head outside of the city and towards the graveyard. “There are a few questions I had for you.”

Morrigan thought back to the day she died, knowing he wanted to ask her about it, but it was something she did not want to think about.

“Did you know those boys at all?”

“No. Never saw them before in my life.”

“Was the moment of your death purposeful?”

“I don’t know…” she breathed out. “When it happened, I think the look on his face was kind of shocked. His friend started freaking out and panicking. The other boy, the one who I tried to help, ran away.”

“So you do not believe it was their intention to kill you?”

Morrigan subconsciously held her arms tighter. Every moment played through her head, flashes of her fight with the demon mixing in as well. The pain, the helplessness, the overwhelming fear. She remembered being carried back to the angel statue over the larger boy's shoulder, fighting for breath after he had knocked the wind out of her. In that moment, she certainly felt like they planned to kill her.

“I don’t know,” she answered. “But when I grabbed a rock and smashed it across one of their faces, I felt like I was fighting for my life. They hurt me, threw me to the ground, were talking about sacrificing me.”

They asked me if I was a virgin, she thought, but didn’t say.

“I’m very sorry to ask this of you,” Death said. “But when we arrive at the graveyard, I need you to show me, as best as you can, everything that happened that day.”

A flash of that demon’s grinning face, the tombstone teeth, flashed into her mind. She felt her heart thumping.

“Why?”

Death was silent for a moment, then continued. “Human children dabbling in the occult is not exactly normal behavior but not unheard of. Typically, it is nothing more than roleplaying, and whatever success they perceive themselves to have is pure fantasy.”

“I feel like there is a but coming.”

“But,” Death continued, unfazed, “every so often, they do manage a successful summoning.”

“And you think that demon I fought today was summoned by them?”

“No. Or at least, one of his magnitude, I find it nearly impossible to believe.” He pulled the car into the graveyard and turned off the engine. “Yet, creatures of the netherworld have rules, Morrigan. They can’t just cross over uninvited. That demon is here now, so someone invited him. I need to figure out who.”

***

Guiding Death along the worn asphalt road, marred by cracks and age, Morrigan veered off toward a maze of gravestones when she saw her landmark, a faded tombstone; Jeb Walker 1825-1876. She knew this place like the back of her hand but only memorized certain graves if they were interesting or made good landmarks.

This graveyard had always been her sanctuary, a respite from the ordeals of her daily life. At school, she’d felt like an imposter, forever hiding behind a mask. Home offered no solace either; love and comfort were noticeably absent from her relationship with her mother. Here, among the silent tombstones, she had always found the freedom to be her authentic self, to breathe in peace without fear of judgment or intrusion. That is, until her run-in with those boys.

Morrigan took a deep breath, trying to calm her stomach's churning. As she led Death further into the maze of tombstones, the weight of her new reality settled upon her—or rather, the conflict of her dule realities, if the old Morrigan still had any agency to her.

“It’s right over here.” Her voice trembled slightly, and she pointed to the area near the decrepit angel statue.

Death stepped up to the statue and surveyed the surroundings. “Walk me through it,” he said softly.

Swallowing hard, Morrigan began to recount the events of that fateful day. “I was coming from that direction. I was cutting through to get back to the main road, when I heard voices.” She walked away from the statue towards the crypt where her body had been dumped. “I hid behind there and watched them. I thought they were just bullies at first because they were pushing the smaller boy around, I think Todd was his name. One of them was named Frank, but I never caught the name of the bigger guy with the ponytail.”

Death nodded, looking from the crypt to the angel statue. “How did they set up the ritual?”

“I guess it was Todd’s book. I can’t remember exactly where he said he got it from, but he asked them to be careful with it or he’d get in trouble. Frank was reading instructions from it, and told them to set up black candles by the angel statue, then they grabbed Todd and said something about needing blood.” She let out a deep sigh. “The blood of a virgin… They were going to cut him, so that’s when I spoke up. I yelled that I was going to call the police and held up my phone.”

“After that, they pursued you?”

Morrigan’s eyes drifted into the direction she had run. The entire event still so vivid in her mind.

“Yes,” Morrigan’s voice quivered as she pointed. “I ran that way, through those tombstones, trying to lose them among the graves.” She paused and looked back at Death. “The big guy, the one with the ponytail—he was fast. He caught up with me near the old willow tree there, when I tripped.”

“And then?”

“He... punched me in the stomach, knocked the wind out of me,” she continued, almost whispering now, her eyes downcast. “Carried me back here, to the angel statue. That’s when I managed to break free for a moment and grabbed a rock. I hit him in the face with it, made him bleed.” Death remained stoic, as she gathered her thoughts. “Hard to say what happened next exactly. I tried to run away, but I was grabbed and there was a struggle. I remember falling into the emo-boy, Frank, and that’s when it happened. I didn’t even know I was dead yet, I just saw the look on his face.” She raised two fingers to the center of her chest, resting them over the stab wound.

“His expression. Was there any satisfaction in it?” Death asked.

“I don’t know… he looked shocked.” Her eyes remained low as she vaguely gestured to the angel statue. “I fell against the statue there. Everything was kind of going blank, but I remember they were all freaking out. It was Frank’s idea to drag me into the crypt, and that’s where you found me.”

Death absorbed her words silently, his gaze locked onto the patch of earth where her life had been violently ended. Finally, he walked over to the statue and knelt down, then gently placed his skeletal fingers on the ground where Morrigan’s blood had been spilled.

Something like tiny black roots started to appear and crawl away from his fingertips. They created a web of black roots that looked similar to a circulatory system, branching off and spreading through the soil, darkening it in their path.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice tinged with a mix of awe and apprehension.

“Searching,” he said, his voice resonant as if he were somewhere far away. "The veil between worlds is thinnest where life transitions to death. The blood spilled during such a ritual may still echo with the vibrations of the magics used.”

As Death spoke, the web of roots began to glow faintly, pulsing as though they were alive. It was strange how his skull, which was unchanging, still managed to display emotions—there was a cautious analysis in the stillness, the slight turn of his neck, and the slight opening of his jaw.

Death lifted his hand from the ground. The web of roots withered away, as if they had never been there at all. He slowly rose to his feet and turned towards her. “Something has crawled out of the netherworld here in this very spot,” Death said. “It seems their ritual was a success.”

Morrigan stared at Death, the gravity in the way he spoke made her stomach twist. “The demon from today?”

Death’s head turned, looking past her, and she heard Noir’s voice. “I find it doubtful, master.”

Morrigan jumped back in surprise. The last she saw of Noir was back at the bus stop. “Where the hell did you come from?”

“I never left,” Noir answered, as if it were obvious. He walked past her and sat on his haunches, looking up at his master. “Something came of their ritual, but it could not have been a demon of his caliber.”

“Was he that strong?” Morrigan asked. “Looked like you were handling him pretty well.”

“It may have seemed that way to you,” Noir said, turning his yellow eyes towards her. “But to defeat him, I would have lost too much of myself. That is why I had to let him go.”

“If only I were there,” Death said, a regretful tone in his voice.

“Master, there is no way you could have known.”

Morrigan looked between them. It seemed to her the implication was that Death was even more powerful than Noir.

“Alas, we may have made a grave error,” Death turned to Morrigan with a cracked jaw.

Grave error? Morrigan returned a dry expression. Just couldn’t help yourself, could you? This isn’t a time for jokes!

“The fault is mine, master. I should have sensed that a rift had been opened here when you came to reap Morrigan. With the damage to her soul, it should have been obvious.”

“No, I disagree,” Death said. “A little extra due diligence would have avoided some troubles, but hindsight is always twenty-twenty, and human children succeeding in a summoning is exceedingly rare, especially considering their ritual was not completed.” His skeletal finger rubbed his jawbone. “There had to have been another catalyst… Morrigan, the book you mentioned. Do you remember any details about it?”

“Um, I don’t know, it looked old.”

“How about the binding?”

“The binding?”

“Was it leather, or, perhaps, human skin?”

“Uh, I didn’t get a close enough look.”

“How about the age? Can you try to estimate to the nearest century?”

“How do you expect me to do that, exactly?” Morrigan sighed. “I didn’t get a good look at it. It was just some old book.”

Death’s gaze cast around the graveyard. “Your home is right alongside the border of this graveyard… I’m afraid to say, staying there may not be safe for you right now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Until we know exactly what crawled out from your blood here,” Death said, tapping his scythe near the foot of the angel statue, on the spot where Morrigan had died, “we ought to air on the side of caution.”

Morrigan felt a shiver run down her spine. “You’re saying that whatever was summoned might be specifically interested in me?”

“It’s a possibility we cannot ignore.”

Morrigan hesitated, biting her lip. “So what then? Where am I supposed to go?”

“I suppose the most logical answer, unless you have somewhere else you’d feel safe.“ He turned, and she couldn’t help but think the skull was grinning at her. “I suppose you could come stay with me.”