The first thing I remember was seeing him. He was sitting on a metal bench. The kind you see in public parks with the worn paint and thin layers of rust forming. Slowly he skimmed through the assortment of papers he had by his side. A droning grumble coming from his lips as he adjusted the dark round glasses that sat on his face.
“Hello?” I tentatively asked. However he didn’t respond and kept busy with his papers.
I glanced left and right. There was darkness in all directions.
With little options available to me I probed again. “Where am I?” This time he rose up, letting his ill-fitted tuxedo awkwardly hang off his long frame. A three dollar smile crossed his face distorting the white skull painted on his black skin. It was only now I noticed his nostrils were plugged up with cotton. And he offered me a long bony hand. “Greetings Baron Samedi. Here to serve ya Kyle.”
“Peter.” I corrected attempting to accept the greeting but he snatched his hand away.
“What?” That forced smile quickly fell from his face.
“My name is Peter.” I replied. Trying to understand why this bothered the man so much. He followed this by spitting out venomous words in a language I didn’t know but could certainly guess the meaning of. He slowed for a moment as he stooped his long back down to retrieve one of his assortment of papers. However this was short lived as he started up again once he took a quick glance at it. Throwing the page into the air he slumped back into his seat.
Assuming the smartest move at this point was to give him a moment, I picked up the discarded page myself. I wasn’t sure if I should look at it, but with little else available to me it was hard to resist. The document had various information about this Kyle Dennings. Most of it along the lines of his full name, age, and gender. But what had really caught my eye was one six letter word.
“Reaper?” I muttered to myself. Yet the tall man must have heard anyway since he responded in a dry tone.
“I’m real sorry about this mon.”
“Sorry for what? Where am I? What the hell is happening?” I could hear the tension in my own voice. This must be some god damn dream!
“No dream mon. I’m afraid it’s what ya think.”
“How the hell did you know what I was thinking?”
“Take a seat. Looks like we’re gunna be a while.” Despite my anger I did as he said. He retrieved a bottle of dark liquid from somewhere; though I couldn’t say where. And poured it out into tarnished glasses. He offered one to me, and then drained his own in a matter of moments. I looked down at the drink and gave it a tentative sniff. “Relax. It’s rum. Besides,” He said and gave a short chuckle, “what have you got to lose?”
I took a sip and it burned all the way down my throat. However I had to admit it did so in a surprisingly soothing manner. “So, it’s really like that?” I questioned.
“I’m afraid so. Ya dead.” He gave me an apologetic smile. It didn’t help much, but at least this one is honest.
“Christ!” I yelled, and the darkness returned my cry with a long eerie echo.
“Easy there mon! Ya hardly wanna be getting on his bad side at this stage!”
I looked him up and down. “This is a joke right? I mean seriously who the hell even are you? None of this makes the slightest godamn sense!”
He brought the bottle up to his lip taking a long draft. Then looked out into the apparently endless back that was surrounding us. “Ya know I never thought I’d be coming after white folks either.”
