Soul-Taker

THE SOUL-TAKER

By Alan J. Brown


It was there, the soul-taker, just outside the bedroom door. Mark Handlen could smell it, like a rotten corpse pulling itself from the ground. It had been there for hours, waiting for the final moment.

Mark had prolonged the inevitable, thus far, fighting mostly for his wife’s sake. Even now, Rebecca sat in the chair beside the bed, as she had done for several days. She was dozing, trying to clear her head, but it was impossible. She knew the truth as well as Mark did. Death was certain.

For days, Mark had felt his body giving up. Dying of lung cancer, thanks to his decision to smoke at the age of sixteen, was hell. The pain, the coughing fits, and the vomiting had taken its toll. He had grown weaker and weaker seemingly by the hour.

Now, he had moved on to the mental battle, which he knew meant it was almost over. It was time to die. It was the soul-takers time.
The doctor had made sure that the end would be pain free. Generous doses of morphine, which he could taste in the back of his throat, had seen to that, though it had rendered him nearly incapacitated. It was all he could do to string a full sentence together, though he avoided it because it took every ounce of strength he possessed.

With the pain gone, however, all he had left to focus on was his overactive mind, and the smell of peaches coming from the candle Rebecca had lit this morning. The drugs had done nothing to stop that.

Almost involuntarily, his ring finger twitched. He felt it, and it reminded him, not of the good times he and Rebecca had shared over the past six year, but of the six months they had spent apart, during year number two, thanks to the affair he had with Amber Wynn, a stranger he had met at the bar.

Fortunately, Rebecca had given him a second chance. Since then, he had done all he could to prove to her that she had made the right choice.

Seeing the movement, Rebecca slid the chair towards the edge of the bed, took her husbands frail hand in her own, and spoke. “What do you need, sweetie? Do you need a drink of water?”

Mark shook his head. The sweet smell of perfume lingered in the air, reminding him again of that mistake. Why had he messed things up like that? Why had he done that to her? It was, looking back on it, the dumbest thing he had ever done, and that was saying a lot, according to him.

Knowing that the tears would start falling if he looked into her eyes, he stared directly at the bedroom door. He wondered why she had closed it? She never closed the door. Did she know it was out there? Was she doing her best to keep him safe from the thing that wanted to take him away from her?

“You should sleep, Mark?” Rebecca stood up, pulled the covers up under his chin, and smiled. Leaning over, she kissed his cheek, no longer able to kiss his mouth. It was so dry, so cracked. Even the hourly doses of Vaseline weren’t helping. She didn’t want to make it worse.

Without waiting for a response, not wanting him to have to work that hard to get the words out of his mouth, Rebecca sat back down, picked up her book, and began reading.

And with his wife’s nonchalant action, as if caring for a dying man had become routine, Mark knew that the time had come.

He also knew, at that exact moment, that he was not as ready to die as he had thought he was. In fact, over the past two weeks, he had actually prayed that the end would come. Now that it was time, he wished he had prayed for a miracle cure instead.

Despite his beliefs, Mark understood that facing death was going to be frightening. No, it wouldn’t be frightening. It would be horrifying—scary as hell. What if he was wrong? What if everything he had believed in had been a lie, a fabrication he had chosen to believe in to help him get through the difficult times in his life.

He knew he shouldn’t feel alone, but he did. Rebecca was here. She would help him through it. Or would she fight to keep him here?

He needed to feel her touch. She would comfort him. He opened his mouth, wanting to speak, but the words would not come. He heard a soft sound blow out of his mouth, inaudible to anything outside the range of his own ears. Rebecca certainly didn’t hear it.

A noise, coming from behind the door, stole his thoughts. Why was this thing doing this? Was it mocking him, laughing at him, adding suspense to the already unbearable concept of death?

That wasn’t it. Mark knew the truth. The soul-taker, at least from what his mother had told him just before she had died twelve years ago, had to fight. It had to “take” the soul it wanted, just as its name inferred.

But what had gone wrong? Mark didn’t understand. Did he really deserve the soul-taker instead of the peace and tranquility that others seemed to find in the end? Why didn’t he see the light? Had that been a big lie as well? Yet another made up myth to help you get through the big send off?

Mark closed his eyes, willing the thing to go away.

It didn’t work. In fact, he saw the handle of the door move slightly. It didn’t turn, but Mark knew the monster was fighting, trying to claim what it believed to be his.

Mark wanted to scream. He wanted Rebecca to see what he was seeing, but she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.

His body tightened. Every muscle, from head to toe, constricted. His mouth went dry. Even the smell of peaches, and the taste of morphine, disappeared.

Stay out, he pleaded, staring at the door, knowing that the monster was going to find a way to get in whether he liked it or not. Go away, he continued to beg.

As if sensing the desperation on the other side of the door, the soul-taker pressed harder. The door began to bend in towards him then righted itself once again.

From the corner of his eye, Mark saw Rebecca’s hands descend lower and lower until the book rested in her lap and her eyes shut tight. She was asleep, and she would not wake again, not until it was too late.

Mark was really alone now.

Alone, that is, but for the monster outside, the beast that would enter and take him, leaving only his ragged body behind.

Mark gasped, and he nearly choked on the tiny bit of spittle that had pooled in his mouth.
Drugs, he thought. I need more drugs.

But would that help, or would it enhance the feelings, and the memories. Not that it mattered. There would be no more morphine. He was going to have to go through this without medicine.

He would also have to go through it alone, just like everyone else who dies. He knew that no matter who was around, even if surrounded by friends and family who refused to stop talking, everyone died alone. It was something private and horrifying.

Doubt once again bombarded him. Was this happening because he wasn’t good enough? Was it because he hadn’t loved enough, or hadn’t been loved enough? Was it because he was a loner, or because he never had the desire to be a father?
He had no answers. A man who had recently graduated from college, and had just opened his own accounting business, was supposed to be smart. But he was not that smart. He did not have the answers to life’s mysteries.

But what did any of that matter now? It was too late. Nothing he could do could make up for what he had lacked throughout his life.

Again, the door waved in towards him, interrupting his thoughts. Mark cringed, hoping the barrier would hold. Hoping that the wood wouldn’t splinter and shoot out towards him, adding even more pain.

Even with the prospect of this happening, Mark knew that even if the door exploded, Rebecca wouldn’t see it. Nor would she hear it. She was asleep, and when she awoke, the room would be perfectly normal. Her husband would be dead, but the room would look the same. She couldn’t see any of this, even if she were awake and watching. This was taking place on a different level of reality, a whole separate plane of existence. Yet, For him, it was as real as the cigarettes had been—a pack a day for almost thirty years.

The door did not hold. It exploded. Half of the door crashed into the wall and fell to the floor in one large chunk.

The other half exploded. A piece the size of a baseball bat flew towards the dresser. It bounced off the lightly stained wood and shattered the mirror.

Pieces of glass flew out towards Mark, mixing with pieces of wood that were still flying towards him from the door.

Mark wanted to duck. He wanted to pull the covers up over his head. Most of all, he wanted to scream.

He did nothing. He had no choice.
And then he saw it.

The soul-taker came at him in rapid waves, tiny shadow-like beings with no form, and yet real, so very real.

Mark’s eyes widened. His blood raced through his veins.

Again, he opened his mouth. This time, something came out. Not a scream, as he had hoped, but a soft whisper. “No!”

He felt himself shaking his head, although he knew that he really wasn’t doing that at all. He was still lying perfectly still, unable to move more than a finger or a toe at a time.

The shadows circled overhead, spinning
counterclockwise. Mark could feel a breeze on his face, as if a ceiling fan had just been installed overhead.

Mark’s eyes followed the shadows. He couldn’t help but wonder if they were hypnotizing him, though he couldn’t stop it.

A single bead of sweat formed on his forehead. It rolled down his skin, narrowly missing his eye. It raced down the side of his nose and onto his lip. It hesitated for a moment, tickling his skin, but then continued on into his mouth.

More sweat formed, this time on the back of his neck.

A harsh scream broke through the silence. It came from the thing above him. It was so sudden, so intense, that Mark’s body jerked—for real this time.

More sweat accumulated on his forehead. He ignored it.

The dark masses above him gathered together forming one large concentration of blackness. The scream formed itself as well, now becoming an actual phrase. Mark heard it clearly.

“Come with me!”

Mark’s stomach convulsed, followed quickly by a rush of coldness that shot through his entire body, head to toe.

“Leave me alone,” Mark said, though he wasn’t sure if the words had come out or if he had said them mentally.

“Come with me!” This time the words were more insistent, as if Mark had no choice but to obey and would only be making things harder if he didn’t do as he was told.

But Mark refused.

The mere thought of Mark fighting back caused the shadows to sink lower. The blackness filled in around him, enclosing him, sucking at him.

Again, the smell of rotting, decaying flesh pushed its way into Mark’s nostrils.

He felt something on his arm!

At first, he thought it was more sweat. It didn’t take long to realize he was wrong. As if the soul-taker really did have form, he realized that he was feeling fingers on his arm.

And then a head shot through the blackness.
Again, Mark screamed, internally. He closed his eyes. Why was this happening? Make it stop, he thought, not even attempting to make the words come out of his mouth.

Afraid to keep them closed, unsure what would come at him next, he re-opened his eyes.
The face was still there. It was peering down at him, two eyes, stunningly blue and yet full of fear.

They were not the eyes of a monster. These were the eyes of his wife!

And the fingers on his arm were not monstrous at all. They were soft, delicate and warm. They were the same hands he had held for years.

“Let go, baby.”

He heard the word with more clarity than he had heard the words of the monster that was trying to claim him.

“It’s okay, Mark. I understand. It’s time. I love you, baby. I have always loved you. I will always love you. I will carry your memory in my heart forever. It’s time to let go.”

A tear fell from Rebecca’s eye. It lingered on her eyelid for a brief second and then fell onto Mark’s cheek.

Suddenly, as if sensing it had lost its edge, the black mass rose into the air, separated into its many different parts, and disappeared as if they had never existed.

Mark forced his hand open and Rebecca instantly laced her tiny fingers with his.
And then it hit him. Of course he had done some good in this world. He had loved someone, and had been loved in return. That was important.

He looked up, wondering if he would see a light. There wasn’t one, but it didn’t matter. He had found his peace. He didn’t need a light. His light was right beside him. She had been there all along. She was his light, his love. She was all he needed.