What lay beyond that ridge took my breath away like the vicious kiss of a giant leech. Below, perhaps half a mile down the top there was a bony hand-shaped structure as if a humongous monster had been buried alive, all but his hand, left to suffer the passage of time. Its fingertips were almost level with us.
There were holes on its surface, which I suspected were doors and windows. Near the front entrance, there were countless other beings dressed like Death queueing. This was a highly demanded job, no doubt about that.
In the background, however, and spreading far beyond where my eye could see, rested Death's farm of souls. It was an endless field of bobbing spheres glowing blue, red, green and white. They casted a mixture of crisscrossing lights over everything nearby. I felt strange, tiny and mortal after witnessing such a thing.
Sooner or later, I was bound to join the harvest.
"There is something strange going on here," Ramses said, and out of thin air he produced binoculars. He, however, handed them to me, then made two circles with his hands as if he were holding one too, and placed them around his eyes. "Much better."
I grabbed the binoculars, but didn't use them. Despite the cold fog biting at our knees, the image was quite clear from our vantage. "What are we watching for?"
He sighed and turned to me, still holding his hands as invisible binoculars. This time, however, he had placed them on his throat, where his nightmare-eyes appeared. I looked away immediately.
"First of all," he said, "I don't see his chickens. Secondly, the size of that harvest is ridiculous. Has there been a war back in Earth? Hell has been quite peaceful lately."
The thought of war unnerved me. It stiffened my insides, and made me sweat with anxiety. "Not that I know of. Things were quiet before we came here."
Ramses thought for a moment, and made a motion as if stowing his finger-binoculars. "Whatever. Let's go. Death must be hiding the chickens somewhere. Grab my hand."
I reluctantly obliged, knowing it would hurt, and as soon as I touched it, I screamed. Mind you, it wasn't because of the pain. I felt no scorching sensation. Flames, however, burst around me as if I were burning in hellfire and hurdling across the air at the same time, like a meatball being spun about over a flaming martini.
Soon, we landed outside the enormous structure. The flames died in the blink of an eye. I scanned for damages, but my robe and I were unscathed. My entrails, however, were not. So I threw up violently.
Somehow, Ramses had taken us down here in a split second at the trifling cost of my well-being. Beside us, lay the endless queue of Death-disguised wannabe employees.
"Listen," Ramses whispered into my ear as I vomited. "The queue is too long. We will cut it. Follow my lead."
I wiped off tears, and attempted to compose myself. When I looked up, Ramses was ahead whistling not casually at all, drawing the attention of everyone.
Reluctantly, I ran to catch up.
We ambled toward the end of the queue, hands clasped behind our backs while we whistled two different tunes in the least harmonic way possible.
“For Mother Knitter’s sake, you suck at whistling,” Ramses said.
“Me? Are you even hearing yourself? A dying pig could make a more pleasant sound.”
“Have you ever heard a dying pig?”
“I’m hearing it right now.”
Ramses huffed and grinned. “Sneaky motherfucker. Now shush and whistle.”
Once we were there, we headed straight to the queue, without the slightest hint of discretion.
I wanted to complain, to say this idea would get us in trouble, but he wouldn't care, so I grunted instead.
"John?" Ramses said, stretching his hand toward one of the robe-wearing beings, whose visage was buried under the shadow of the hood. "I'm Mike, from The House of Terrifying Torment."
The being looked up, revealing a blue, rotten face with worms sprouting out the holes on his cheeks. After a moment hesitation, he held out his arms and embraced Ramses. "Mike! He yeh deing? Goody good I hope. Come, queue with fellow John."
Once again, I was left dumbfounded. What was that interaction? How in the literal hell did it work? Why was no one complaining?
As if on cue, a tall figure covered in black robes came out of the massive, ornamented doors of the building, scanned the queue, and called twelve people, including us.
Ramses nudged me with the elbow, and let out an insufferable, “Ramses baby."
The inside was quite the sight to behold despite how eerie it felt. Chandeliers, candelabra, furniture, even tapestries were made of smooth, carven bone. Mind you, some of these bones were of different colors and not human at all, but you could see the occasional femur laying there.
The tall figure turned to us. "Master Death will come soon. Arrange yourself in a horizontal line. That means one next to each other, you filthy, stupid animals." He cursed and muttered under his breath for no reason at all. Although I was sure I heard him mumbling something along the lines of: Whoever threw that broth over me will suffer.
We obliged without a second thought. Ramses positioned himself next to me, and I had a tiny being at the other side, as if a kid had gone out for Halloween dressed as the Grim reaper. I wanted to laugh at the idea of a kid working the fields of Death, but I held the urge back, lest I offended him, and he slashed my gut and feasted on my entrails, screaming, “Thanks for the candy, mean man!”
The ear-shattering, rumble of a lingering thunder jolted us all out of our own selves. We were left standing straight as statues with the vestiges of the thunderclap thrumming on our chests. The already dim light, dimmed even more, to the point where I could barely make out my surroundings.
"Master Death has arrived," the tall figure said, standing with perfect poise. "He will tend to your needs soon." He laughed, and turned to leave. "Motherfuckers."
And just like that, the floor exploded in a furious pillar of thick shadows, intertwining wildly with each other.
Agonizing screams followed as the first shadows faded into faint, gray shapes of distorted faces. And Death surged from within the chaos of blackness and desolation.
His presence was overwhelming, as if one were standing before a gargantuan rhinoceros frothing madly, ready to smash your brittle bones with its giant horn, and then piss on your corpse.
Death moved at a glacial pace. The shrieking shadows followed behind, spreading to the sides and filling the entire room. He came to a halt in front of us, only the bottom half his pearl-white skull was visible due to the shadows of his pointed hood.
In his left hand he held a scythe whose blade bled iridescent colors. An oversized sleeve covered the other.
"Twelve candidates," he said, his voice terribly hoarse, older than time. "Thousands other beings desire this job. Why would I take the first twelve?" He shook his head, the mass of shadows kept swirling and growing behind him. "No reason at all. Unless, of course, you prove yourselves. Surprise me. Take risks.” He paused. “But know I won't hesitate to mutilate whoever insults me."
Death cocked his head. "Understood? The interview is simple. I will stand in front of you, and each of you will ask me a question. If the question sparks my interest, we will have a conversation."
Everything inside me shattered like glass. Talking to Death himself was insane. Would I see my worst nightmares when I looked into the hollow of his eyes? Or would I see my fate? Somehow, however, I managed to appear calm and composed. Ramses on the other hand…
Mother knitter what have I done? May the seven crows bless me with the proper words. May the rivers of ancient Crhyneo remember my name. I have made a mistake, a terrible mistake, he muttered under his breath as he fidgeted, which made my eyes go wide with fear.
Death stepped forward.
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