Interviews with the characters from SPFBO 10, with a little help from the authors that wrote them.
In this case Some Comedic Fantasy Satire from David Hankins
Name (and title if appropriate):
I am Death, the Grim Reaper, terror of men’s souls. My misadventures while trapped in IRS auditor Frank Totmann’s dying body are recorded in the novel Death and the Taxman.
Written by:
Books you appear in (links welcome)
Death and the Dragon (Coming to Kickstarter September 2024
Game On! Anthology with the short story “The Grim Reaper’s Game”
In no more than 5 words explain your ambitions:
Protect the souls I shepherd.
Favourite place and why?
Hands down, Edelweiss Restaurant in Colorado Springs was the best meal I had during my brief mortality. Everything on my plate was a greasy brown that smelled divine! Jägerschnitzel with creamy mushroom gravy and fries sprinkled with something red that gave them a spicy kick. And don’t get me started on desert! Apfelstrudel truly is to die for. But watch out for that German beer. It has a delayed kick that shows up the following morning.
My scythe Grace, forged by the Devil and blessed by the Almighty, has never left my side. At least, it hadn’t until I shared that fateful cup of tea with Frank Totmann. Never accept tea from a dying auditor.
Grace is one of the three great blades and has the power to transport me instantly to where I’m needed. Death makes a lot of house calls. It can also stop time so I can take final confessions from the deceased. And, of course, it is the weapon of balance, reaping souls from their mortal coils and sending them to where they are supposed to be.
I once had the opportunity to read a story to the young daughter of a friend.
Yes, Death has friends. Don’t look at me like that. Granted, Sam did stab me with a blessed letter opener when we first met, but it was a misunderstanding.
My time spent with the young is usually brief and sad. Death visits entirely too many children. So it was with great joy that I read Sam’s daughter the book Click, Clack, Moo, Cows that Type by Doreen Cronin. It was absurd, ridiculous, and charming. I’ve never known cows to show the slightest interest in type-written correspondence, but Ms. Cronin captured their plight perfectly. The cackles from my audience (and the appropriately timed mooing) remain some of my most cherished memories.
Life is precious. Live it to the fullest.
The Auditor—Hell’s Auditor—is a demon of meticulous cruelty. Hell’s final arbiter of the Rules is not known for leniency. He was the model upon which the profession of auditors was built and runs Hell’s Office of Micromanagement. He’s never been satisfied with his power and covets my job. To be the Reaper.
Imagine an auditor as Death. To face the Grim Reaper bearing not a scythe, but a clipboard and a cheap ballpoint pen. Nobody passes his audits. He would abuse the power of the Reaper just to expand Hell’s influence.
I didn’t have a ‘childhood’ as you mortals understand them. But before I became the Grim Reaper, I was a guardian angel. My charge was Cain—yes, that Cain. First son of Adam and Eve. Mankind’s first murderer. I was so young back then. Such a fool. I’d gotten into an argument with the Auditor about sins and sacrifices, and I whispered a lie into Cain’s ear to try and prove a point about mankind’s innate goodness.
Cain proved me wrong.
That was my original sin. Heaven was still reeling with the aftershocks of Lucifer’s betrayal, and I was thrown into Purgatory to await Judgment. To avoid eternal torment, I begged the Archangel Gabriel for clemency. I could atone for my crime by easing mankind’s souls into the next world.
He bought it and I sidestepped Judgment, which really pissed off the Auditor. He’d been angling for the job.
I’m not sure I appreciate your tone. Oh, don’t worry. Your time has not yet come. Besides, I don’t kill people; I only reap their souls after they die. A minor but important distinction.
Yet, your point is well taken. Had I not whispered that lie to Cain, I would still be a guardian angel. Had I not accepted that cup of tea from Frank Totmann, I would not have suffered a bad case of mortality. Yet, in hindsight, I would not have traded my experiences for the world. I am glad to be the Reaper, the shepherd of humanity’s souls. And while my experiences as a mortal were terrifying and confusing, they were also … wonderful. I gained an appreciation for what it means to be truly alive.
Would it matter? I haven’t found the Almighty particularly talkative. And his answers to prayers tend to be rather direct: Yes, no, or ‘not right now.’
Oh, you meant my author. I knew that. Feel free to ignore my previous comment.
To my author, I would like to say thank you for transcribing the tale of my misadventures in Death and the Taxman. But did you have to focus so much on the four incessant needs of eating, drinking, sleeping, and defecation? It was embarrassing.
Thank you for having me, Mr. Rook! I don’t often get the opportunity to visit with the living. The dead are my concern. So, here’s a bit of advice to help you avoid meeting me too soon:
Never Trust a Dying Auditor.
