Heads or Tails

Chapter 1

Kerra's P.O.V.

I've been living for over three centuries, and I want nothing more than to die.

The Grim Reaper is standing on my doorstep, and he is not happy to see me. "Again, Kerra? This is the third time this week!" I grin and give him a hug. "It's nice to see you too," I say happily. His grumpy mood is pretty normal, and I honestly don't blame him. Trips to the underworld can be a headache.

He grabs my hand and we interlock fingers. I try not to break his brittle bones, but I can still feel them crumbling away in my hand. His decomposing body and wet cloak makes my living room smell like wet dirt and must. It's a smell I've come to love over the centuries. The Grim reaches his other hand into his pocket and grabs a large book. The cover is simple, black with a pentacle in the center. He flips it open to a page with silk strewn across it. Carefully placing the fabric on my floor, he pours a few drops of blood onto it, then mutters a soft sentence of summons. After a few silent seconds, a tremendous boom echoes through my living room. A large black crack splits open my hardwood floor and the underworld shines from below. "Ladies first," he says, gesturing ahead of him. I place my foot over the crack, bend over, and fall in.

Falling through the veil isn't as bad as some might think. Entering the underworld is pretty easy, as long as you know where to go. Fresh dew tangled in spiderwebs splash against my face, and I close my eyes right as a large bug hits my face. I turn onto my back and brace myself for impact. A gust of wind pushes me over and I luckily land on my feet instead of my head. As soon as my vision stops spinning, I begin to sprint towards the ferryman. "Two duca-," he starts to say, but then rolls his eyes. "You again? Kerra, this is the-". I jump into the boat and begin to row for him. "The third time this week, I know," I say, giggling. Behind me I can hear the Grim Reaper trying to catch up, but he's too far behind. I giggle some more, but my happy mood is lost as we reach the center of the lake. Mist covers us like a heavy blanket, and I can hardly see the Ferryman in front of me. The air becomes cold against my skin, and I can feel them. I peer into the water and, sure enough, the cold eyes of the forgotten souls stare back. I shudder and try to regain my focus. Unfortunately, they're persistent. The lost souls grab onto the oars and try to drag me in. The ferryman tries to fight them off with his thin arms, but they overpower him and begin to drag him into the water. Without thinking I let go of an oar and punch one of the souls. Their blood seeps onto my arm, blue and cold like ice. I can hear screams coming from under the water, muffled but still terrifying. A shiver creeps down my spine, and a few seconds later cold claws latch onto my face and try to drag me down into the water. I'm tempted to let them, to let them bring me to guaranteed death, but thankfully the ferryman bats the souls off with the remaining oar. I turn my head in shock, but the ferryman acts like nothing has happened. Probably because he sees this every day. I inwardly frown at myself for not being smarter. I want to prove to the ferryman, to the Grim Reaper, to everyone, that I'm not a normal soul. I'm experienced. The amount of times I've died should have made me mature, but unfortunately I'm still learning. Oblivious to my thoughts, the ferryman continues rowing to the other side.