Demon and Angel Co-Parent

There was never a boy who lived in a situation like Jeremiah. Every kid since the dawn of time had been taken care of by another human at some point in their lives. Most were blessed enough to have at least one loving person in their life. Jeremiah was fortunate enough to have two guardians who loved him very much. What made his situation unique was they weren't humans at all. 

Natural enemies, angels and demons fight over the souls of the humans on earth, but none so much over one particular soul. Jeremiah. What was so special about him, few could say. To Anavon and Destern, he was their world. 

Their first mission was to protect him. What each other's master's had in store for the little boy was a mystery, but both were tasked with his survival regardless. Anavon took the mission seriously, but no one told her to protect his parents too. When the boy was a year old, a drunk driver struck the car. Destern had known about this event and was specifically told to take possession of the drunk man so Jeremiah's parents could live a long life and slowly corrupt the boy.

The problem was Destern got distracted by a housewife across the street who was flirting with the neighbor's pool boy. He gave that woman the extra push she needed to ruin her marriage, but forgot the more important task. Satan did not take too kindly to his failure, despite gaining two souls and a strong foothold in two more. To make amends, Destern was tasked with raising the boy. No better bad influence than the one who raises you for eighteen years. 

God was unsurprised by this and thus why he told Anavon to only protect the boy. Her task was to raise the boy alongside Destern. Continue to protect the boy and teach him right from wrong. It was a job she took with glee, growing fond of her little "child."

In the beginning, it was easy for Anavon to care for the boy. Destern rarely stopped by for more than an hour a day, far too busy cultivating a neighborhood he wanted to live in. He never saw the point in trying to influence a child who can't even speak, nor did he want to get attached to him. Over time though, that changed. Destern started to enjoy seeing the smiling little boy, even if that meant spending time in an angel's presence. It made him squirm at first, feeling all kinds of love and kindness radiating from her. After a while though, he became accustomed to it.

As the years went on and the boy could start speaking, Anavon's trials began. Destern would try to teach him naughty words and act in unbecoming ways. Anavon had to be sneaky and convince the demon that if Jeremiah acted like him from an early age, he could never live up to his potential. Jeremiah was the key to many souls, not just his own. Destern knew that and conceded, taking a more measured approach to deviance.

Soon enough, the boy had started going to school. Most parents would be relieved to not have to deal with their kid for a few hours, but work didn't stop for these two. Although not in physical form, they still hung around his school everyday. The problem became Jeremiah could see them, regardless of form they were in. It became a distraction that they both agreed had to stop. Instead, they did normal parent things, like shop for clothes, get food, take care of the house, and talk with the neighbors. For the most part, they stayed out of Jeremiah's life at school.

Both the angel and demon were satisfied with their jobs so far, each believing they were on the right track until something happened that angered both of them. Jeremiah came home one day crying with bruises all over his arms. He admitted to them he was being bullied at school by a bunch of older kids. Anavon held him on the couch, wrapping her wings around him for an extra layer of comfort. Destern, on the other hand, was pacing on the carpet, mumbling a furry of curses.

"It's okay, Jeremiah. I'm here for you," Anavon said in a soothing voice.

"My arms hurt."

Destern's rage flared at Jeremiah's omission of pain. He marched over to the two, determined to know more about his "son's" predicament. "Let me see your arms."

Jeremiah sheepishly revealed his arms out from Anavon's winged protection. His forearm bruises might as well have been sleeve tattoos, deep in color and all consuming. Destern roared and turned away, unable to look at him. 

"Tell me who did this," Destern said.

"Destern, No," Anavon said. She glared at him, but he was far too preoccupied with getting his coat in the closet. 

"Did you not see what they did to our boy? I will have their souls!"

Anavon turned Jeremiah to face her. "You don't have to tell us. All that matters is you are home. You go run upstairs and soak those arms in the tub. I'll be up soon."

Jeremiah nodded and jumped out of her embrace and scurried off to the bathroom upstairs. Destern was going to follow him, but Anavon outstretched her wing to block his path. 

"Get those feathers out of my face." Destern swatted at her.

"We need to talk."

"The only talking I need to do is with my son. There will be vengeance."

"Not by you. Not like this."

Destern crossed his arms. "How then?"

Anavon retracted her wing and motioned him to join her on the couch. He sat down reluctantly, but he knew he would get an answer if he complied. She was always good at awarding any concession he gave. 

"Why are you so mad about this? You're the one who wants to see our boy burn in hell."

"How are you not angry? Did you not see his arms? He could've been killed!"

"I never said I wasn't angry…" Anavon sighed, trying to stave off the urge to raise her voice. "...but I don't want our boy to see that the only response to violence is more violence,"

"Oh, so we are just supposed to turn the other cheek on this one? That's not how that works where I come from!"

"I know it isn't. But Jeremiah can do more good if he isn't in a jail cell by eighteen."

Destern hated hearing the word "good," but she was right. Jeremiah was far too valuable to be locked away in a jail cell. The boy brought far more joy in his life than he cared to admit. Dare he even say love. It was dangerous for him to feel and think in such ways, less his master found out. Destern had to squash this feeling and stood up from the couch.

"Fine, you win this one. I'm going to take all this pent up energy out on Steven instead."

"Why Steven? What did he do to you?"

Destern shrugged. "Nothing. That's why I hate that guy so much. He does absolutely nothing but sleep all day."

"He's in a coma," Anavon said, rolling her eyes.

"Not tonight he isn't. Tonight, he is Chad Bundy, Master of Pussy! I'm going to see how many venereal diseases I can get him in a night."

"You are so gross, you know that." Anavon got up from the couch and walked toward the stairs to check on Jeremiah.

"What? I could have been talking about cats. They have diseases too."

Anavon dismissively waved to him without turning around. Destern bit his lip, watching her naturally seductive hips and carefree wave. Something about her being unattainable made it wrong in the most right way for him. He shook his mind from the thought, knowing his lust would be satisfied tonight and maybe his vengeance too. Women of the night work in a dangerous profession, especially when a demon is on the prowl with no one to take out his rage on.

Destern went back into the closet and pulled out a raincoat. "Steven might be needing this."

His deeds would for sure be on the morning news the next day, but a small victory for hell was a far cry from victory in the ongoing war. Jeremiah was still alive, being cared for by his guardian angel. He was destined to guide more souls to salvation than would ever be lost by Destern's vile ways. All Anavon had to do was stay loyal to her master. The war would end one day and when it did, she wanted her family to be on the winning side. On the side of righteousness and good.

***

Afterlife Tour Guide

A man in a black sweater stood alone in a white room that seemed to go on forever in any direction. His boots crunched under him from the chunks of dirt still stuck in his soles. He only took a few steps and looked around, unsure how he got here. 

"Where am I?" he said to the white void, not really expecting an answer. 

He kept looking around until he saw a black figure in the distance. The figure made no noise, but kept coming closer. The man stood his ground, hoping whoever was approaching him would explain something to him. He cracked his back and shook out his arms, expecting a fight. 

"No need to limber up, my friend. No one can hurt you here," the figure said to the man. "What is your name?"

"I ain't telling you shit!" the man yelled.

The figure floated over to him with the speed of a bullet stopping inches from him. The man swung at the figure, who was dressed in an olive suit, but his fist phased through the figure's black skin. 

"Don't worry, my friend. You are safe here," the figure said, adjusting his grey tie. 

The man backed up and started to breathe fast and shallow. He could see the figure standing in front of him was just another man.

"What the hell are you?" the man asked.

"I'm your tour guide, Darrel. Would you like to begin?"

"Tour guide? What is this place?"

"This is the afterlife. You're dead," Darrel said with a friendly smile.

"I'm… dead?" the man said, looking around.

"I can see you did not attend the orientation."

"Orientation?"

"Well, I'll just get to it. Congratulations, you're dead. Before you are sorted into your assigned afterlife housing, I am here to guide you through your past experiences. You know, a trip down memory lane."

"Is this like some Ghost of Christmas past bullshit?"

"Yes, except at the end you don't get to go back. Do you want to begin?"

"How does the housing work?" he asked, trying to see how long Darrel could hold up his story.

"You get put into one of three houses based on what we go through today. I like to call them Upperton, Lowerton, and Middleton. When we step through this door–" Darrel said and snapped his fingers. A wood door with an engraving of the sun peeking through the clouds appeared next to them. "... we will be transported to your most impactful adult experiences. I will show you around and after we spend some time at each one, The Appraisers will determine your housing."

"So, those religious nuts were wrong about this whole afterlife stuff?"

"Not entirely. Upperton is super nice and Lowerton is… not. You don't want to be in Lowerton."

"Why don't I want to be in Lowerton? Is it Hell?"

"Let's begin the tour, shall we?" Darrel said and pushed the man inside the door. The man put his hands up as he fell toward the door and everything went black.

The man opened his eyes and felt the hard asphalt below him. People in long shorts and t-shirts ran past him, chasing after a woman who was dribbling a basketball ball up to the hoop. She was faster and taller than everyone else and leapt in the air. The ball went rocketing down through the hoop as she hung on to the rim.

"Had enough yet?" she said with a big grin on her face. 

The other men caught up to her and stopped to catch their breath, unable to make a fun comeback. Standing amongst them was Darrel, holding a clipboard. 

"Augustus. Funny, I figured you for a Billy," Darrel mused to himself as he walked closer to the man. 

"How do you know my name?" he asked. 

Darrel held up the clipboard and pointed to it. "Clipboard."

"What are we doing here?"

"From what I am reading here, this was the first time you met, Aieshea. Isn't she a bit tall for you?" Darrel said, looking back at the giant woman. 

"I thought you were going to mention my skin. Everyone else did," Augustus said, walking toward her, mostly ignoring Darrel. 

"You do look a little ashy. You should've probably used more moisturizer when you were alive."

Augustus didn't hear him, focusing solely on how Aieshea's long dreadlocks flowed over her shoulders. Her face glistened from sweat, distracting him from her vibrant yellow tank top and blue shorts. He walked toward her and a smile crept across his face. 

"Aieshea, it's me," he said, giving her a wave. 

She looked through him as if he wasn't there before one of the other guys got her attention. 

"Hey Aieshea, we are going to call it for today. Want to join us for some food?" one of the men asked. 

"No, I have to check on my mother. Next time." Aieshea responded, jogging to her duffle bag near the fence.

Augustus didn't move, watching her run off with a delightful spring in her step. On the other side of the fence was himself, pushing a cart full of empty cans. He looked worse for wear, covered in dirty rags, but she didn't see him that way. Darrel stood next to the black clad Augustus and hugged his clipboard against his chest.

"You were homeless?" Darrel asked.

"Not for long. Today was the day I finally got a job. It was the second best day of my life," Augustus said, watching the conversation that was going on between his past self and Aieshea. They were both laughing.

"I apologize for my lack of knowledge about your life. Whoever prepared my documents didn't give me much. Usually I am supposed to read back what you two are saying here."

Augustus kept his head forward and smirked. "We were talking about shoes. I told her I got mine at Men's Warehouse."

"You'll like the way you look–"

"I guarantee it," Augustus finished. He watched Aieshea lean against the fence, noticing she was smitten with him. Seeing that moment again brought back joy he had lost a long time ago. A few more seconds went by before their surroundings faded away like it was swept up in a whirlwind of color. "What's happening?”

"The next stop. Think of it like a bus tour. We don't stop for long," Darrel said, paging through his clipboard papers. "Next stop… the hospital?"

White walls came flying toward them, encasing them inside. The bed came up from the ground and a privacy curtain blocked their view. Metal could be heard rumbling around, followed by the beeps of a heart monitor. Augustus swiped at the curtain and in front of him was Aieshea, attached to several machines. He saw himself at her side, crying into the bed. His own sobs were muffled by the wet sheets. 

Augustus was frozen in place, watching as an outsider. He didn't cry like his previous self, instead seeing her death as a new opportunity. 

"You said I'm dead, right?" Augustus asked. 

Darrel shook his head. "No coming back I'm afraid."

"Can I see her?"

"Aieshea?" Darrel asked.

Augustus gave Darrel a glare that didn't need words. Darrel looked through his pages, checking to see how long it would be. 

"We have a few more stops to make. Are you sure you don't want to savor the memory?" Darrel asked.

"Not this one. Is there any way we can skip a few of these?

Darrel looked him up and down. "I'm not supposed to…"

"But you can?"

Darrel scrunched his face. It was his first tour, but it hadn't been going well to begin with. He had no idea what the next few even were. Whoever prepared his forms was in a big hurry to put something down that they didn't bother to check to see if it was legible.

"If you let me listen to this one I will skip a few for you?" Darrel offered. 

Augustus nodded and Darrel walked closer to the couple. The Augustus near the bed lifted his head from the sheet and whispered in her ear.

"I swear to you, Aieshea. I'm going to make those guys pay for what they did to you."

Darrel raised his eyebrow with intrigue and turned to face his tourist. "What happened?"

"She was shot when we were coming back from a comedy show. On the same night I asked her to marry me."

Darrel's eyes started to dart back and forth, thinking about what was coming next. Augustus wasn't much older than he was in this memory and with a few more stops to go, it wasn't looking good for him. 

"Did you make good on your promise?"

"You said we could skip a few," Augustus said, ignoring his question.

Darrel watched Augustus's face turn stern and cold. He knew Augustus did something bad and maybe that was why his form preparers did such a bad job. To Darrel's knowledge, every experience they review would go to judgment, which left him with a choice. Break his promise and follow the agenda as laid out or skip to the end and hope one of his final acts was not bad enough to be sent to Lowerton. He had a feeling Aieshea was going to Upperton or at least Middleton. He was starting to think Augustus would not be so lucky.

"We have to make one stop before the end," Darrel said, paging through his unreadable pages. He stopped at a page that was much more legible than the rest. It was mostly abbreviations he wasn't familiar with, but he figured the non legible stuff was bad. At least this might be okay. He snapped his fingers and their environment was wiped away in an instant.

They were left in a black void for a moment before blood streaked across the darkness like a painting. Screams of pain and terror echoed around them before they saw Augustus holding a bloody kitchen knife. He was smiling with blood stained teeth and his chest rose up and down from whatever horror he unleashed upon his victims. Bodies came into view, all young men with lacerations and puncture wounds. One in particular spit up blood on the stained couch, looking up at his killer. 

"Where is he?" Augustus yelled as the apartment surroundings came into view, all covered in blood or grime.

"I don't know. I swear," the young man said, holding up his bloody hand. 

"If you don't know, why keep you alive?" he said and went in to kill the young man.

"Please, no!"

"Give me a reason."

The young man pointed past Augustus. "He might be at the old shop."

"Old shop. Where is that?"

"On 4th and Grand. It is an abandoned gas station."

"I know it. Why would he be there?" 

"I hear he does deals there. I've never seen it, but De'Andre had."

"Which one is De'Andre? I want to confirm with him," Augustus said, looking around the room of dying people. 

"You killed him," the young man said, pointing to one on the floor with his neck slit. 

"If I find out you're lying to me, I'll be back," Augustus said and left the room. 

Darrel and the not bloody Augustus stood still. Darrel's mouth was agape while Augustus kept a neutral expression. Darrel looked back at his clipboard frantically, hoping he made some kind of mistake. It was no mistake. The MM initials must have meant Mass Murder and the double digits number next to it, the body count.

"Why would you do this?"

Augustus turned to Darrel. "I said those responsible would pay. I'm not one to not follow up on my promises."

Darrel looked back at the bodies, still horrified by what he had witnessed. 

"Are we going to keep going or do you get a real kick out of this?" Augustus asked.

Darrel gulped and turned away from the massacre. He was glad he didn't have to go through the other memories, since many would have likely been just as terrible. He closed his eyes and snapped his fingers. This was going to be the last stop. Augustus's end.

Appearing on a grass soccer field that hugged a forest tree line, lights shined down upon them. They were facing the outlet of a trail and they could hear movement in the brush. It was too dark to see, but they both knew it was Augustus. He slinked in the dark, waiting for a crowd of people that were walking to the field. The people were laughing and drinking, unconcerned about who was waiting for them. One of the men in the group was wearing bright red shoes and a tan suit. He was the man of the hour. The one Augustus was hell-bent on killing. 

Darrel looked at Augustus, who had a balled up fist. He clenched his teeth while waiting to see what he himself was about to do to the unsuspecting victim. Darrel returned his attention to the scene in front of them, waiting for the tragic end. 

Augustus burst out from the bushes launching himself at the man. Before he could do any real damage, the man's friend punched him in the head. That was all it took. One punch and Augustus was out for good. 

"What! That's it?" Augustus said, outraged by what had transpired. 

"Was there supposed to be more?"

"I killed him! I know it did!" Augustus objected. 

"I'm seeing the same thing you are."

Augustus ran over to the men, who were now laughing at his corpse. He went in for a tackle, but phased right through him. His shoulder slammed into the ground that felt more like concrete than soft grass. He shook with rage, watching the man behind his fiance's death laughing with glee. Before he could get up again, everything went back to white.

"Where did he go? Bring him back!" Augustus ordered. 

Darrel put up his hands. "That is the end. I can't go back."

"No!" he said, getting up. "He can't still be alive!"

"He is. And you're not."

"That's not how this was supposed to go. It's not fair," Augustus said, pacing back and forth. 

"Neither was taking those young men's lives, yet it still happened."

"They deserved it!"

"And you didn't deserve what happened to you?"

"They killed her, you bastard! What else was I supposed to do?"

"You could have let it go."

"Let it go." Augustus scoffed with utter disgust. "Let it go?"

"Yes. You could've lived your life in peace. Kept her in your heart. Instead you tried to avenge her and sacrificed your chance at being with her for all eternity."

"What is that supposed to mean? You said I could see her."

"I never said that. I said I could fast forward through the other memories, which I'm sure were just as terrible. I have no say if you can see her."

Augustus stepped to him. "Then who does?"

"The Appraisers. Remember how I said these memories would determine how you are housed."

Augustus thought back to those words and the memories he revisited. He never thought about how his actions would affect him later, nor did he believe he had a chance to see her again when he was alive. The mere thought of now knowing she was still around, but he would never see her again cut him to the core. His stomach twisted and he wanted to vomit. 

"Please, can you do anything?" Augustus said softly, trying not to empty his stomach. 

Darrel sighed. "I did all I could. In the end, our actions have consequences."

Three doors came rushing across the ground toward them. One was rustic and had dents in it, another was sky blue with no blemishes at all, and the final one was pure black with red hot chains strapped across it. He could hear the screams of thousands and steam leak from the bottom of the black door. On the top it was labeled what he thought, Lowerton.

Augustus decided to make his own destiny and ran to the blue door. He knew Aieshea was there and he didn't want to live another moment without her. Not again. His shoulder hit the door, but it did not budge. The door swung open, knocking him back on the floor. Augustus hit his head against the ground, but still caught a glimpse of what would have awaited him in the blue door. Aieshea was on the other side, her back toward him. He knew it was her from the dreadlocks and how she stuck her hip out to one side. That image was soon gone, with the black door moving in front and towering over him. It lowered itself onto him as he screamed, pleading for another fate. The white room became quiet once the door had consumed its latest tenet and disappeared below the floor.

Darrel tucked his clipboard under his arm. "I'm gonna have a word with whoever gave me this guy. This is hazing at best."

Evil Rivals

"Death!" Satan yelled at the top of his lungs, storming up the spiral cobblestone staircase. Soot coated the hot steps and grey ash filled the crevices.

He got to the top of the keep that overlooked the fiery hellscape of...well...Hell. Death stood in his normal business attire, a midnight black cloak, gazing over the tortured souls in the lake of fire. Their screams moved like a breeze, whispering their pain to anyone that would hear it.

"What up, Lucy?" Death said, still entranced by the horrific scene below.

"Don't you give me that Lucy shit! I know what you did."

Death turned to Satan. "Whatever do you mean?"

"You took that soul before his time. I have been planning his soul's demise for years!"

"How was I supposed to know your plans? You sure took your sweet time with Hal?"

"I thought I had more time with him."

"Life is a funny thing. You never know how much time you got,” Death said, tapping his scythe on the floor.

"Fuck you, Death. You aren't supposed to take sides."

Death cocked his head. "I'm not." 

Satan took a step back and his eyes got big. "You're still mad my demon killed that family of yoga instructors last year."

"Those were mine and you knew it!"

"Ah ha! So this is payback," Satan said, pointing at him.

"All I did was do my job. Your man went out of his way to take my job.”

"What are you complaining about? Not being able to kill?"

"I don't kill. I harvest souls."

"What's the difference?" Satan said with a shrug.

"God sees the difference. Runs his show much better than you do.”

Satan's eyes burned red with rage. "Don't you dare bring him up down here!"

"Or what? You're going to kill me?" Death said,

"I know about Linda. You have been keeping her alive on purpose after all these years. Maybe my demon loses his way on Earth…stumbles into her."

"You want to play with fire? I'm game. I will walk up there right now and take out that entire congregation in Alabama. God knows they are ripe for your picking in a few weeks. Can't shake a stick without hitting a relative."

"You wouldn't," Satan said, trying to glare through him. 

"Oh, I would. God and I have been on pretty good terms. Maybe I can help him out some more…" Death said, looking Satan up and down. "Not like he needs it."

"Alright, that's it!" Satan said before leaping on top of him. Death blocked Satan's hands with his scythe and fell on his back. 

Satan tried to tear the scythe from Death's hands, but boy was he strong. Satan tried whipping Death with his forked tail, but Death was quicker, batting it away with the blade. That motion caused Death to roll on top of Satan, pinning the tail underneath their collective weight.

"Get off me!" Satan said. 

"Not until you promise to stop killing my souls!"

"I promise. Okay!" Satan said, straining from the pain of his own tail stabbing him in the back.

Death got up and gave Satan some space. Satan brushed the soot off himself and pulled his tail out of his back. They both were silent, letting the whispers of torture and pain float into the room. Satan glared at Death, getting more frustrated by the second that he couldn't see his eyes under that blasted cloak of his.

"So...we have an understanding?" Death asked.

"We do."

"How do I know you will keep your word? Lying is kind of your specialty."

Satan took a deep breath. "We want the same things. Would be bad business to screw my partner, seeing as I'm stuck with you for eternity."

"We aren't partners."

"Fine. Associates."

"Barely."

"In any case, I promise to not kill people if you promise to stick to your timelines."

"What if I need to change them?"

"You have to give me notice."

"I won't be able to just give you notice," Death said.

"Give me notice first. And no more of that surprise bullshit."

"I should be able to do that…assuming Linda is not touched.”

"We have a deal." Satan held out his hand.

Death bursted into a cloud of grey smoke and was gone. Satan wafted the smoke away and a devious smile grew on his face.

"Oh Death, you stupid schmuck. She is almost 200 years old. Her brain at this point isn't what it used to be. Be a shame if she thought back to her times as a free diver and tried to take the plunge one last time. Who knows, the bag of brittle bones might live?”

He let out a villainous laugh that roared across the sea of fire, blocking out the wails below. This was going to be his best payback yet. Cheating Death without breaking his promise. After all, he was just encouraging her to relive her youth. What's so bad about that?

Chooser of The Chosen One

A frail old man held up an oversized card with a picture of someone on it and a name scribbled below.

"Not him," The Chooser said, giving it a cursory glance.

The old man tossed the card amongst the sea of cards that covered the floor and reached up to grab another card from the stack next to him. The Chooser paced back and forth, parting the sea of unchosen cards with his feet. The old man shook, reaching for the next card.

"Are you sure this is the best way to select the next Chosen One?" the old man asked, his voice shaky and hoarse. 

"If you have a better idea, I am all ears," The Chooser said.

The old man held up the next card. It was a picture of a simple woman with hair as dark as her skin and green eyes. The Chooser stopped pacing and went in closer to get a better look.

"Is she the Chosen One?" the old man said, hoping this tedious task would be over.

"No, but WOW she is beautiful. Tasha."

The old man tilted the card toward him. "I guess so."

"Guess so? You must be blind in your old age."

"We have passed so many people they all look the same to me."

"That's why you don't have the gift."

"We passed plenty of suitable candidates. I'm starting to think you don't know who is supposed to be The Chosen One."

The old man was right. The Chooser had no idea who to pick. His mom and dad always told him he would just know. An instinct. The problem was no one seemed worthy. After seeing millions of faces from all over the world, he was still no closer to choosing. The only person who stood out this whole time was Tasha, which gave him an idea.

"I need to speak with Tasha."

"The woman on the card? Why?"

"She is the Chosen One."

"You just said a minute ago she–"

"Nevermind what I said. Take me to her."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"The Chooser can never speak to the Chosen One."

"Fine she isn't the Chosen One. Happy?"

"No. I'm confused."

The Chooser smacked his palm over his own face. "Can you just take me to her? Please."

The old man flicked the back of the card, creating a blue and gold portal of fire to open up.

"Make it quick. I don't want to be at it all day with these cards."

The Chooser stepped through the portal and was whisked away to a cottage in the middle of a field. The portal appeared on the ceiling and dropped The Chooser in the kitchen. He smacked his head on the corner of the wooden table while falling to the floor. Tasha threw her kettle of soup in the air, startled by the commotion behind her.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" she asked, holding her ladle like a baseball bat. 

The Chooser rubbed his head and looked up at her. "Hello. I'm The...Chase."

"The Chase?"

"I mean Chase. Sorry, my head is kind of spinning right now," he said, holding his head.

"What are you doing in my house?"

Chase pointed to the ceiling. The portal still swirling blue and gold. Tasha jaw dropped and looked back at Chase. 

"You're a wizard," she said.

"No. I'm...well..."

She put down her ladle and knelt beside him. "Are you hurt? I can't have you die in my own home. Our home."

"I'm not a wizard–"

"My aunt told me a wizard would visit me. She never said he would be so handsome. Oh this is so exciting!" she said touching his face.

"Again not a wizard," he said, sitting up.

"Then explain the portal you created above us?"

"I used it to come here. To talk to you."

"Yes I'll marry you!" she screeched, giving him a hug so tight it would have turned a bunny into paste.

Chase sat there confused why she was coming on to him so strong. Sure she was a beautiful woman, but this was...unexpected.

"Come again?"

"You are the man from my aunt's vision. A wizard. That will take me as his bride and we will shire the Chosen One who will save all humanity. Or at least that's how my aunt tells it."

Chase pondered this new information. It would explain why he was unable to choose anyone. And why she stood out to him in the endless sea of cards. But his parents never mentioned anything about finding a wife. Let alone being the creator of the Chosen One.

"So we are supposed to get married? And the Chosen One is supposed to be our son?"

"Daughter. But yes," she said, grinning ear to ear.

"This is a lot for me to process."

"That a beautiful woman wants to have a baby with you? You don't give yourself enough credit."

"So what? I'm supposed to just marry someone I don't know because her aunt made a prophecy."

"...yes…" she said, realizing she may have come on too strong with him.

He tapped his finger underneath his chin, looking into her glowing emerald eyes. She was a one of a kind, but the idea of marrying someone so fast made him nervous. There was only one way to ease his nerves.

"I'll tell you what. Do you have a coin?" Chase asked.

"I sure do," she said, reaching into her pocket, all too ready with a gold coin. One side of the coin had their leader, Mortamus stamped in it and on the other was a picture of a horse.

"Heads, I marry you. Tails, I don't," Chase said.

"Go ahead already," she said giddy.

He flipped the coin. It was about to touch the brick floor when she hugged him again. "See, it was destiny!"

She never looked at the coin and didn't need to. It was heads. Chase picked her up and really looked at her for the first time. She was over the moon for him, bobbing her head as he held her still. Her smile beaming so bright it could blind people. He felt a flutter in his chest like he never had before. 

"I guess that settles it. I choose you."

A Pact Rescinded

A piece of old parchment slid across the wooden table, followed by a fine tip pen with a peasant feather attached. The lantern above swayed back and forth. The floors creaked in sync with the lantern chain.

“Just sign the form,” the demon said.

“But...I don’t understand. He doesn’t want me?” Pepper said.

“Yes. Is that so hard to believe?”

“But...I made the pact? It just feels wrong.”

“You didn’t turn out how he thought you would. Just sign the form.”

Pepper picked up the pen and scanned the form. He touched the tip to the paper and then retracted it.

“Wait. What do you mean, I didn’t turn out like he thought?”

The demon rolled his eyes. “What more do you want from me? He didn’t like the results he was getting from you and decided to go another direction. End of story.”

“Results? I did exactly what he asked of me.”

“Can you just sign the form? I’m late for my hot torture session. I don’t want the prongs to get cold.”

“Not until I know why my results weren’t up to his expectations.”

The demon sighed. “Do you remember when you were supposed to poison Pastor Kennedy’s tea?”

“Yes. He was allergic to shellfish, so I–”

“He wasn’t allergic to shellfish. It’s his favorite food. He was in such a good mood he went on to save three thousand souls that evening.”

“So, I made a little mistake.”

“One time is a mistake. Every time starts to feel like divine intervention.”

“What about when I murdered Mrs. Tanov?”

“She never died.”

“Of course she did. She had no pulse and I left her in that little wooden cabin in the middle of Siberia. In the winter. With no heat.”

“Her nephew came by just after you left. Gave her CPR. Her nephew ended up believing in Christ after that and they went on to evangelize most of Eastern Europe.”

“But–”

“No. No more buts. Every time you get a task you screw it up majorly. The Devil is afraid you will mess up Hell too. Just sign the form.”

Pepper slumped his head down. “Fine.”

Pepper wrote his name on the last line in the document and it rolled up by itself, flying into the demon’s hand. The pen disappeared into a small puff of black smoke. The demon stood up from his chair and snapped his fingers, engulfing him in flames.

“Usually I say, See you in Hell, but if I do, I swear to God I will kill myself,” the demon said before he disappeared with the flames.

Pepper got up from his chair and walked to the wood door behind him. He opened the door, revealing the impressive ship. Black sails above, taunt from the wind blowing, propelled the ship over the large waves. Water splashed over the thick railings, diluting the pools of blood. Over the entire deck were countless bodies, each with their throats slit or stabbed in the heart. Not a soul was stirring amongst the mass floating grave.

“Whew, I really dodged a bullet I guess.”

Life and Death Go On A Date

A chill filled the air and brought with it the echoes of the undead yearning to return to the land of the living. Death was pushing a rotten head down, trying to return it to the patch of wet ground it had sprouted up from.

"Push it down!" Life said, holding her lantern up.

"I'm trying!" Death said, still struggling to push the zombie under the ground.

The zombie's arms were flailing about until it grabbed Death's pristine cloak, pulling him into the dirt.

"No, Death!" Life said, running to his aid.

"No! Don't!" Death said.

She ran to the tombstone and pushed it over. Death rolled to the side and the tombstone crushed the zombie with a muted crack. He got up to his feet and brushed the dirt off his cloak, almost slinging mud on her blue and white dress.

"I thought you were going to touch the ground again." 

"I learned my lesson. Don't touch cemetery ground. Check."

Death chuckled and shook his head.

"I didn't realize you could reanimate the dead," Death said.

"I didn't either. I guess I'm full of surprises."

"So...what do you think?"

"About what?"

He gestures to the rows of tombstones. "About this."

"I have never been to a cemetery before. My mother never really approved of such a place and it's not exactly a normal spot you ask a date out to."

"Oh…"

"But I'm glad you brought me. It is peaceful...besides the zombies."

"It really is...Hey, I want to show you something."

Death took her hand and led her past the rows of graves to a small stone circle in the center of the grounds. His hand was still wet, but she didn't care. It was the most assertive he had been all night and she was curious to learn what made him tick. The stone circle had text engraved into it from a language she did not recognize.

"What is it?"

"I'll show you." He stood on top of it and it started to glow green.

"Woah."

"Come on. The best part is standing on it. It feels good."

She walked to it and tripped on the edge. Death caught her before she touched the ground. 

"Watch your step.”

She looked into his eyes and saw something she didn't notice before. A kindness, soft and gentle. His white eyes looked more like puffy clouds than the soulless void she saw earlier at dinner. He stood her up and she immediately felt a tickling sensation run up her legs.

She giggled. "It tickles."

"Yeah it does. Whenever I'm in the mortal world I come here to relax. Get away from the hustle and bustle of death."

"Aren't the dead...you know. Dead."

"Not in my experience. On the other side I get to deal with who you saw earlier. Dead people after death are a wild bunch. Lot of work. But here. They are peaceful and at ease."

"That's fascinating. I always figured when people die they stopped living."

"No. They just torment me...that's actually why I wanted to go out with you tonight. To thank you.”

"For what? Taking away your job?"

"Every person you save is another second of rest I get. I wouldn't even be here if you weren't so good at your job. You're pretty amazing to take more on just so I can enjoy things like this. Like going out with a beautiful woman.”

Her cheeks turned scarlet and patted her skirt down. "You think I'm beautiful?"

"Life is the most beautiful thing in the world. Without you there would be nothing. I would be nothing."

Life stood inches away from him, eating up every word. She leaned in close before a shockwave shot out from the stone they were on. Green smoke rose from the dirt and the moans of the undead surrounded them. 

"Uh oh," Life said, looking down at her bare foot on the stone. 

"That can't be good."

Zombie arms punched out of the ground and their cries became louder as they emerged. Death's mouth dropped. He could feel his father's rage banging inside his head. His stomach turned thinking about breakfast with him tomorrow.

"Look on the bright side. You have less work to do now.”