Death is a Girl

Chapter 9 - The List

Morrigan stretched as she woke up the following morning, then walked over to the mirror. Her hair, aside from its unnatural shade of white, was a mess. Tangled strands hanging haphazardly over her face and down her back. With a sigh, she grabbed a brush and began untangling it, pausing every so often to study her reflection.

Her eyes were red, which was easily resolved by the contacts, but everything else about her was way too ghoulish. She put her white hand over her white stomach and sighed.

“Morrigan,” came Noir’s soft, sophisticated voice. “You were fortunate master completed your list yesterday, but I urge you to be more serious today.”

Morrigan sighed and pointed the brush at him. “You and I are going to have to set a few boundaries here, mister.”

“Boundaries?” Noir asked.

“You may be a cat, but you talk with a boy's voice, and I’m basically in my underwear here and I never invited you in.”

“Technically, I am an entity without gender, as there is no need for me to reproduce.”

She sighed, rubbing her temples. “I’m not sure if that makes you less creepy or more creepy.”

Noir’s tail gave an irritated flick. “Can I go over your list with you now? I would also like to suggest the most efficient route, as you have a few stops to make today.”

“Can I at least get dressed first?”

“Very well,” Noir answered, though he remained sitting on his haunches staring at her. She raised an eyebrow and made a shooing gesture with her hand. Noir’s tail flicked, complimenting the annoyance in his voice. “Where exactly would you like me to go?”

“I don’t know, stare out the window or something?”

Noir shot her a glare, then jumped up onto the windowsill. “Very well.”

Morrigan exhaled in relief, then started rummaging through her closet. The plain pink hoodie caught her eye. The fabric was light enough to not be too hot on the summer day, yet would cover her arms and even had a hood to further hide her deathly pale skin, if necessary.

She pulled it over her head and she watched as the colors drained, slowly losing the vibrant pink until it was grey then filled in with darkness as it became completely black.

“Right…” she said under her breath.

To complete the outfit, she pulled out a pair of jeans and fingerless gloves she had stashed away from an old Halloween costume. The gloves were for safety, making it so she didn’t have to worry about accidentally killing anyone.

She still could not get over how her life had changed overnight, how she went from being an ordinary human teenager to someone who could snuff out life with just a touch.

Standing in front of the mirror once more, Morrigan saw a stranger staring back at her. Gone were the bright colors, now painted black. The once vibrant girl now looked like a shadow.

Gathering her composure, Morrigan called out, “Alright, Noir. I’m dressed. Let’s get this over with.”

***

Morrigan peeked around the corner at the bottom of the staircase, verifying her mother was fast asleep on the couch, then carefully tiptoed past her. She was almost in the clear, but a squeak from the back door caused her mom to stir.

“Morrigan?” she asked in a tired, probably hung-over voice. “Where are you going this early?”

Morrigan had her hood over her head and her back turned. “I’m going to look for a job.”

“A job? You’re sixteen,” her mom yawned and settled back into the couch. “Enjoy your youth, kid…”

Morrigan sighed. “Whatever.”

Once exiting the house she went right to the cemetery fence that bordered their back yard and climbed over it as she had thousands of times before. Once landing on the other side, she checked her pocket to make sure she didn’t drop the skeleton key.

“So, where to first? Who’s my first victim?” she asked Noir, as they walked side by side through the graveyard.

“I would prefer you not use such language. As a reaper, you have no victims. You provide a necessary function in this world.”

“Right…” she said under her breath. “So, where is this all-important list anyway?”

Noir sighed dramatically, his whiskers twitching. “It is not like I carry around a physical notepad, Morrigan. It’s an ethereal list, connected to the flow of souls and their time.”

Morrigan frowned, squinting at him. “So, you expect me to just... guess? Or are you going to whisper every name in my ear?”

Noir’s tail bristled, his eyes narrowing. “If you would prefer a physical list, I can provide you with one.”

She crossed her arms. “Yeah, that would be great. Thanks.”

Without warning, Noir’s feline form began to dissolve. Morrigan’s eyes widened in horror as the fur seemed to melt away, revealing the skeletal structure underneath. Sounds of moaning souls echoed eerily in the air, a haunting chorus accompanying the transformation. Morrigan instinctively backed away, her heart pounding.

“What the heck, Noir?!” she yelled, her voice a mix of horror and disbelief.

With a final, ghostly wail, the spectral transformation was complete. There, under Noir’s melted form, was a single sheet of parchment, inscribed with a list of names. As Morrigan hesitated, the skeletal structure began to reform, flesh and fur stretching and knitting into place until Noir stood before her once again, looking quite pleased with himself.

“Here’s your list,” Noir said smugly, nodding toward the parchment on the ground.

Morrigan cautiously picked it up, her eyes darting between the paper and the cat. “That... That was the most horrifying way to hand me a piece of paper.”

Noir stretched with mischief in his eyes. “You’re welcome.”

Morrigan eyed the list with names scribbled in an ornate, cursive style.

“George Anderson, 68, expected time of death 11:23am, Bellevue Hospital,” she read aloud. Her heart fluttered with anxiety, then she saw another name was at the same hospital but later in the day. “Sooo, I’ll need to take the bus to get there, then what?”

“I will guide you through the process once we arrive,” Noir said. “And I’d suggest thinking about acquiring a car. Your role as a reaper will require much travel, and a vehicle would be a most effective mode of transportation.”

She gave him a mock salute. “Yup, I’ll get right on that, chief.”

****

Morrigan felt her anxiety slowly climbing in her chest as she sat on the bus. She tried mentally talking herself down from it, but she realized by the time the bus was slowing to a stop, she was halfway to a full-blown panic attack. She took in a deep breath and stepped off. “Okay, here we go,” she whispered to herself, steadying her hands.

She walked along the sidewalk and up to the revolving doors, Noir padding along next to her feet. “Will they let you in? Or, can you do that unnoticeable thing that Death does?”

“Yes, I know that spell as well, so do not worry.”

“Right… So, how do I go about this exactly?” Morrigan asked as she came into the lobby.

“I would start by checking the room number,” said Noir.

Morrigan began to approach the reception counter where a young nurse was sitting, clicking on a computer.

“No, not there, Morrigan, your list. Do you think my master checks in before paying a client a visit?”

“Okay, first of all, that one's on you for not being more specific. Second of all, the list just says hospital.”

“Take another look.”

Morrigan sighed and pulled the piece of paper out of her pocket. “Look, see, just has name, age, location, and….” she blinked, looking closer. There was an additional line of text that she was sure wasn’t there before. Room number 312. “Um…”

Noir gave his usual smug expression.

“Whatever,” she said under her breath. “Let's just get this over with.”

She walked over to the elevator and pressed the button for the third floor, as indicated on the updated list. The elevator chimed and opened its doors, revealing a small space with a mirrored back wall. Morrigan stepped in, glancing briefly at her reflection, taking in the stark contrast of her black attire and pale complexion. She reached behind her neck and pulled her hood up over her head. She was about to do some reaping, after all, so a black hood seemed appropriate.

“So, what if someone asks me what I’m doing here?”

“I used my magic to make it so others are less likely to notice you as well. If there are any issues, simply improvise.”

“Right… cool,” she said under her breath.

The elevator ride was short but felt like an eternity. Every heartbeat echoed in Morrigan’s ears, mounting her anxiety. She couldn’t believe what she was about to do.

The doors opened, revealing a typical hospital corridor. It was lined with rooms on either side, some with their doors open, revealing glimpses of patients. The overhead lights cast a sterile glow over everything, and the scent of antiseptics was omnipresent.

“Room 312,” Morrigan whispered under her breath as she made her way down the hall. She passed by a few nurses who gave her curious glances but otherwise didn’t question her. At Room 312, she hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she murmured.

“It’s alright,” Noir said gently. “Just go in and perform your duty. There is no need to speak with him or delay.”

She nodded, pushing the door open slightly. Inside, an old man lay sleeping, his breathing shallow and uneven, with a plastic mask and a tube over his mouth giving him oxygen. Machines surrounded him, beeping rhythmically, measuring the last moments of his life.

Morrigan approached the bed cautiously as Noir watched her. “Okay…” she said under her breath. “Now what?”

“Summon your scythe and complete your task,” Noir said.

Closing her eyes, Morrigan did as instructed. After a moment, she felt a weight form in her hand, cold and solid. Opening her eyes, she found the scythe, its gleaming blade casting an eerie blue light in the room. Its design was ornate yet simple, with a long, dark handle.

Noir nodded in approval. “You’re getting the hang of it.”

She glanced back at the old man, her eyes filling with uncertainty. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“If it’s any consolation, he’s had a long life and now is his time.”

Morrigan took a deep breath, her grip tightening on the scythe’s handle. She approached the bedside, raising the blade with shaky hands.

She watched his face, his closed eyes seemed tense with pain. The machine over his mouth was the only thing keeping him breathing. Still, he was alive, and he was fighting to cling to life. That’s why he was here, in a place that might give him more time. He did not want to die, she was sure of that. Nobody wants to die… but…

He’s in pain, Morrigan told herself. This is setting him free… right?

The scythe descended with one swift motion, Morrigan plunging the blade into the center of his chest. There was no resistance, it went right through him as if he were made of foam.

The heart monitor gave one last delayed beep, then flattened to a high-pitched drone. The old man’s chest stilled, but there was no horror, no dramatic moment. Instead, a gentle wisp, like mist, rose from the body. It hovered for a moment as she thought she saw the shape of a head looking around. Then, it continued its accent and disappeared up through the ceiling.

Morrigan exhaled heavily, her entire body trembling. The scythe dissipated from her grasp.

“It’s done,” Noir whispered, jumping off the bed and approaching her. “We should be on our way, the doctors will be in shortly.”

She exited the hospital room to see three members of the hospital staff rushing down the hall. She pulled her hood tighter over her head, a fresh wave of anxiety touching her heart. However, they passed right by her without seeming to notice.

“Well done, Morrigan,” Noir commented as they boarded the elevator. She put herself in a corner, trying to focus on her breathing. “Now, take a look at your list. Your next client needs to be reaped in another hour.”

Morrigan’s hands shook as she fumbled with the list. She just killed someone! The weight of it sat like a stone in her throat. She held the list against her chest, not unraveling it, still trying to calm herself down.

Noir’s tail flicked. “Morrigan… the list,” he said again, either completely unaware of her internal struggle or not caring one way or the other.

She felt sick. She contemplated running for a bathroom once the elevator stopped in case she needed to hurl.

Noir, still seemingly unaware of her internal struggle, pressed, “Morrigan, the list!”

“Y-yeah, right,” she said, doing her best to shake her anxiety.

The first name, George Anderson, now had a red line through it, and all his other information had disappeared. These changes were made even though the list had been in her pocket and she hadn’t touched it.

Her vision blurred as she read the next name, and as she began to read his information, her hands clenched. The parchment crumbled within her tight grasp as she fell fully into the corner.

“Morrigan, get a hold of yourself,” Noir said, but his voice was becoming distant.

She slid to the floor until she was sitting, knees drawn up to her chest. The world seemed to spin around her. Noir disappeared completely from her mind as her breathing turned ragged.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t!” Morrigan whispered into her knees. There was a ringing in her ears, everything spinning around her like she was in a feverish dream, but she was fully awake.

The next name on the list was a child, only nine years old.