It's Time

When I was young and naive, I saw myself as indestructible. I didn’t count every minute. I wasted precious moments every day without realizing once they are gone, there’s no going back.

Why was I so ignorant to think it was a good idea to know the age I would die? It’s been Hell watching the years fly by taking me closer to the end.

My brother Tom warned me not to play with the Ouija board. But, I convinced myself it was just a harmless game, So, I sat there on the last day of my life, thinking back to that night, wishing I could change the past, and wishing I didn’t know my fate.

I was fifteen, and it was Halloween. The guys and I were too old for trick-or-treat, so we came up with the bright idea of summoning a spirit through that wicked board. It was a unanimous vote to ask the spirit how long each of us would live. Placing our fingers on the planchette, it began to move around the board. I remember the words yes and no in the top corner, the alphabet written in two rows in the middle, and a row of numbers beneath them.

Jim went first. “At what age will I die?” The planchette glided across the board showing us the number one and nine.

I was next. “What age will I be when I die?” The spirit moved our fingers to the number two and nine.

I remember thinking how ridiculous it was, and we all laughed as each took their turn. Ron would die at twenty-five, and Leon at forty.

Over the next few years, I never gave the board another thought. Until, Jim was in a car accident and died at the age of nineteen. I told myself it was a coincidence. An eerie one, but it didn’t prove anything. Then Ron died at twenty-five. He committed suicide, probably because of all the strange voices he heard in his head. Tom told me that once you get involved with the demon spirits, not even God himself can save your soul. That’s what Tom believed happened to Ron; he was possessed by demons.

So, on the eve of my thirtieth birthday, I waited. I didn't know how I would die, only that by midnight my soul would be taken. I wrote good-bye letters to my children, my ex-wife, and Tom. They are the three most important people in my life.

I decided to sit in my dimly lit apartment leaning back in my recliner—safe. And maybe, I could cheat death. What could possibly happen to me in the safety of my own home? I watched the clock. With each movement of the hand, another minute of my life had passed, and I took another drink to numb the fear of the unknown world I’d be entering. It was silent. The only sound I heard was the clock ticking away the last few hours of my life.

I wondered how I’d go out. I was too chicken to do myself in, and I had no fatal illnesses to speak of. I was still a strong man in the prime of my life.

“So, what’s it going to be?” I screamed out, breaking the silence. “I’m healthy, I refuse to get up out of this chair. I’ve got my Jack Daniels for support. Bring it on, spirits.”

I had to laugh. No one has ever died from sitting in an easy chair. I’d probably fall asleep and wake up a thirty-year-old man.

As I sat there, crying, taking shots, and going over all the things I could've done with my life, I prayed. I had to try to bargain with my creator. I promised to change to my ways, if only he'd grant me a few more years.

The whisky mellowed me out, and I was unable to hold my eyes open. I drifted off to sleep. When I awoke, I immediately glanced up at the clock.

There was a bright light reflecting on the face, hurting my eyes, creating a blur. I squinted until my eyes adjusted. One minute till midnight, and so far I was still alive, a little drunk, but alive. Then I saw it, a dark figure emerging in the reflection. It was moving closer, entering the room. Each tick of the clock counted down the last seconds of my life. It's time. It's coming for me. My first instinct was to run, but my legs went numb, unable to obey orders. I sat there terrified. I tried to scream, but all I could do was sit and stare at the object moving closer as my heart palpitated. I grasped at the crushing pain in my chest as I struggled to breathe. The fear of death was too much for me to bear.

The next thing I remember I was hovering over my own body. The dark figure had a flashlight shining until it found the lamp, and turned on the light. I watched closely because the Grim Reaper doesn’t need light to work. I saw the face; it was Tom. He shook my body vigorously. “Bro! Wake up -- you made it, man…” He lifted my arm when he let go, it fell limply into the chair. Tom fell down beside me and wept.