Case #1-Zach Reaper vs the Disappearing Chickens

I stick to the uncrowded side streets -as I always do- hopping in between shadows in hopes of not being seen. After a brief walk, I find myself at my location; the home of today's client, Mrs Miller. I walk up to the front door and knock. And a few seconds later, a timid old lady answers the door.

"Are you...the man who runs Reaper's Paranormal?" Mrs Miller meekly asks me, her head peeking out from behind the door.

I raise an eyebrow behind my skull mask at my sheepish client "That would be me!" I answer, causing Mrs Miller's expression to slightly brighten, while still remaining dim. "Paranormal problems? We'll solve 'em! If you want to hire a supernatural investigator without breaking the bank, then call Reaper's Paranormal today!" I exclaim as I throw a hand into the air and strike a pose, causing Mrs Miller to awkwardly pause.

"Please, please, come in!" Mrs Miller ushers, leading me into her house. Mrs Miller leads me to her kitchen table where I take a seat as she places a cup of tea in front of me, not that I'll be drinking it with my skull mask obstructing my face. Which is to never come off.

"So what is your reason for hiring me?"

"Oh, well you see-" Mrs Miller begins to say, pulling out a chair and taking the seat across from me at her small, round wooden table. "My husband and I used to raise chickens together. We would make money by selling their eggs to our local supermarkets. Unfortunately, my husband has long since passed, but I still kept our business going. But over the past few weeks, every time I check on my livestock, a chicken is missing! Before these events began, I had twenty chickens. And now, I'm down to only seven! If this issue can't be solved, then I won't be able to make money. But More importantly, the business that my husband loved so much will go under!" Mrs Miller begins sobbing.

This time, I confidently smirk at the old woman from behind my skull mask. "Don't worry ma'am, it'll be okay, I'll figure out the mystery behind your disappearing chickens!" I exclaim as I jump out of my seat, placing my hands on my hips like a reassuring superhero, trying to cheer Mrs Miller up.

Mrs Miller takes out a tissue and wipes her eyes with a faint smile. "Thank you, young man."

"So Mrs Miller, mind telling me why exactly do you think the mystery behind your disappearing chickens is a supernatural event?" I ask, taking out a small notepad and pen from my jacket's pocket.

"I...I don't know. It's just that...I was asking around for help, but I found no leads. And so, I found myself contacting you."

"Okay, so before I start investigating, why do you think that your chickens are disappearing?"

Mrs Miller thinks to herself for a moment. "I was suspecting that foxes were eating my chickens, but if it were foxes, then why would they only eat one chicken? And why do no bones or feathers or blood remain? Every time I wake up, it's like the chicken just…vanished!"

"Like a fox, or another canine…" I mutter to myself as I write some ideas down on my notepad.

"Do you have any leads?" Mrs Miller asks, peering at my note pad.

"Yes, I do, and I already think that I know why your chickens are disappearing," I answer as I retract my notepad from Mrs Miller's gaze , before slipping it away.

"Really?! How can we solve this issue?"

"I need to investigate a little more, but when the time comes, I'll let you know what to do. So in the meantime, hang tight."

"Thank you so much, young man!"

After that brief exchange, I wander out of Mrs Miller's kitchen and into her backyard. Sure enough, Mrs Miller's small backyard holds a chicken coop that lays in the far left corner. And so, I make my way to the kitchen coop and walk inside. Upon entering the coop, I try to clutch my nose due to the foul stench of chicken crap, but then I remember that my nose is blocked by my skull mask away, so my fingers lamely tap against my plastic front.

I then look around the coop and count each chicken. "One, two, three…" I begin to count, scribbling down the amount of chickens on my notepad. After I finish counting, I see that Mrs Miller was correct and that she indeed has a mere seven remaining chickens. But as Mrs Miller said, there is not a feather out of place. There's no blood in the coop and every chicken in the coop appears to be perfectly healthy. Not that I know a damn thing about chicken physiology.

"Hmm, how strange. Foxes aren't intelligent enough to not leave a trace. If a fox were eating the chickens, it would have to come every night for the past week and stealthily drag a singular chicken out of its coop then consume it somewhere outside of Mrs Miller's backyard." I then exit the coop and peer over at Mrs Miller's wooden fence. 

"Hmm, it is entirely possible that a fox was able to jump over this fence, but not with a healthy chicken in its mouth, even a dead one. And since there is not a speck of blood in Mrs Miller's grass, there is no way that a fox killed or area chicken in her backyard, so our culprit can't be a fox. But it could be a supernatural creature that resembles a fox! I think I know what our culprit is!"

After examining the chicken coop, I barge back into Mrs Miller's kitchen. "Mrs Miller, Mrs Miller!" I call to the woman.

"What is it, young man?" Mrs Miller asks as she pops out of her seat at the kitchen table.

"I know what the culprit is!"

"What is it?!"

"Tell me..." I sinisterly ask, "Do you believe in supernatural creatures? Live vampires and ghosts and such?"

"No, I really don't, why?" Tch. Typical Reaper's Paranormal client

"Oh, well this may come as a shock…" I begin to say, then proceed to tell Mrs Miller who...or what our culprit was. Mrs Miller takes a few steps backwards in response and gasps, bringing both hands up to her mouth.

"What...what will you do about it?!" Mrs Miller cries.

I simply shake my head in response. This poor old lady doesn't need to know what my job consists of. "I'll need you by ten o'clock tonight to not be at home. Stay at a friend's house, hotel, any place that isn't here. I won't mess up your house, but I can't promise that things won't get messy" I answer. "These types tend to hunt late at night, as you've come to realize yourself.

Mrs Miller sadly nods in response. "Okay, young man…"

***

And that brings me to where we are now. Currently, it is pitch black outside and I'm hiding behind the garbage cans in Mrs Miller's backyard, hoping to stake out and capture our culprit.

"Ow!" I have to pinch myself awake again. "Jeez, I've been out here for four hours now and I haven't seen anything! I know that these things hunt late at night, but this is ridiculous!" As of now, it is two in the morning and our culprit has yet to show it's face. But then after a few more minutes of waiting, I see a subtle movement over Mrs Miller's fence, which catches my enhanced vision "Oh! That must be it! Looks like it's Reapin' time!"

Cautiously, I creep out of my hiding spot and make my way over to Mrs Miller's fence, in hopes of getting a closer look at my target. And when I get close enough, yup, I can tell that it's what I assumed it would be. The culprit is well over six feet tall with thick brown fur covering its entire body. On top of that, the culprit is armed with deadly claws at the ends of its fingers and toes, bulging muscles, and a long snout bearing wicked fangs. Not to mention the cute little fluffy tail and pointy ears. You guessed it! Our culprit...is the man-turned-dog, a werewolf.

I pause as I watch the werewolf continue its stealthy assault for a few moments, watching the werewolf hunch over and enter the chicken coop, which is tall enough for any person to walk in, just not a supernatural creature of this stature. When the werewolf enters, the chickens begin cooing loudly in fear. It's amazing that this level of clucking never roused the sleeping Mrs Miller. After rummaging around in there for a few minutes, the werewolf leaves the coop holding one of Mrs Miller's chickens. And just as anticipated, the chicken is alive and uninjured.

"Werewolves are decently cunning. This one knows that it can easily be tracked down if it were to kill and eat all of the chickens here, hence why it's planning to bring one back home to its den at night and kill and consume it here. Not bad..."

"Soul Sight!" I then exclaim as a small purple flame-like burst flickers around my eye. "Mh-hm, yup," I say as I look the werewolf up and down. "My Soul Sight, which gives me the ability to peer into the souls of any living creature, tells me that you are indeed a werewolf."

"You, stop right there!" I call to the werewolf as I leap out from behind my cover. The trash can that I was hiding behind as well as the alluring smell of the chickens threw the werewolf's nose off guard. In any other circumstances, it would have long since noticed me.

My shouts startle the werewolf, who uses its powerful wolf nose and ears as well as excellent night vision to scope me out and start me directly in the eyes. And when I look back at the werewolf's eyes, I can see the imminent fear present. But rather than staying for the party, the werewolf instantly spins around, scoops the chicken under one arm, and effortlessly leaps over Mrs Miller's fence, dashing into the pitch black woods behind it.

"Ah, so a chase it is!" I shout to myself as I leap over the fence as well, landing on the ground of the woods below me. "Speed, I need some speed!" I stick my hand into my messenger bag, and after a brief moment of rummaging around, I pull out a squishy, bright white-blue orb with a little wagging tail at the end.

"This is a pretty rare soul that I reaped, it's a shame I have to use it so soon," I sigh to myself. Pinching the orb by its "tail," I bring the orb high above my head then cock my neck upwards. And after unhinging my jaw unnaturally wide like a snake, I drop the orb down my gullet. After a brief chewing and then a swallow, a red flash bursts out of my body.

"HAH HAH, I can feel my power surging!" I cackle to myself as I bring my hand on and clench it tightly into a fist. "The soul of the bloodsucking Count Dracula itself…Vampire Soul!"

"It's Reaping Time!"

The werewolf was hauling' ass through the woods, chicken in hand, when it noticed my presence and looked up to face me.

"What the…you're a vampire? I didn't smell anything of the sort off of you?!" The werewolf cries.

Using the common yet cliche bat-transformation ability of the vampire, I was able to navigate through the woods with ease with my night vision sonar skill, flying and weaving through trees and branches, until my little bat wings fluttered me into position over our culprit.

"Oh, don't worry! I'm not!" I cockily reply to the werewolf. But just then, I can feel my power weakening, as the Vampire Soul I consumed begins running out of juice. Perfect timing. Without another warning, I transform out of my bat-form and begin falling to the werewolf.

"AHHHH!" I cry.

As I fall, I quickly draw the sickle-sword sheathed across my back and slice downwards, just as the werewolf stops in its tracks and turns upwards, slicing its black claws upwards towards me as well. With a brief roar, our two blades clash, sparks flying from the impact. I grit my teeth as my sickle-sword struggles against the mighty claws of a werewolf.

Upon finally getting a closer look at me, the werewolf's eyes widen in realization. "Ooooh…I get it!" The werewolf swoons. "You're Grim's boy, aren't you? The son of the Reaper!"

Oh yeah. I have forgotten to mention it earlier. Remember The Reaper that Evelyn and her friends were talking about earlier? Well...my full name is Zach Reaper.

That'd be me.

After struggling against the werewolf for a little while, the culprit brings up its furry, clawed leg and kicks outwards, slamming me in the chest and sending me flying against the woods a few feet away. My back harshly slams against the ground of the woods and I see stars, kicking up a cloud of dust below me.

"Damn mutt, it's strong," I mutter to myself as I sit up and rub my head. With my free hand, I reach out and grab for my sickle-sword at my side, but instead I grab…nothing? Nothing but dirt and rocks.

"Crud."

"Missing your little toy?" The werewolf taunts, and I look to my culprit to see it twirling around my sickle-sword with its non chicken-holding clawed hand.

"Hey, that just so happens to be my favorite toy, so give it back!" I shout at the werewolf. In response, the werewolf simply tosses my sickle-sword onto the ground and stomps on it, then gives me the middle…claw, and spins around and ducks into the shrubbery of the woods, dashing away from me yet again.

"Shit, I lost sight of 'em…" I grumble to myself.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that!"

I hear a voice come from the tree above me and I look up to see the werewolf leap out of the leaves overhead.

"When the Hell did it get up there?!" I cry, "-Damn mutt's fast!"

Without my sickle-sword to defend myself, the werewolf slashes me across the ribs with its claws before disappearing into hiding in the shrubbery yet again.

"Where the Hell are you now, ya' oversized poodle?!" I shout as I frantically spin around in a desperate attempt to locate my prey.

"I'm right in front of you!" The werewolf shouts back as it dashes out of the shrubbery in front of me, claws and fangs bared and ready to destroy.

"Heh heh…I just love taunting my opponents, it always gets them to let something slip out."

Due to its enhanced speed, within seconds of ducking out of its cover, the werewolf is just about on top of me, and slashes both rows of claws towards me again. I won't fall for that again.

"Time to teach an old dog…" I begin to growl as I duck down low to the round, dodging the werewolf's slash.

In turn, the werewolf's eyes widen with surprise. "How did this inexperienced Reaper dodge my speed?!" It cries.

"OLD TRICKS!" After dodging the werewolf's slash, I spring upwards, uppercutting my fist straight into the werewolf's jaw as hard as I can. The werewolf yelps in pain like a beaten puppy and scammers away from me. This gives me the chance to duck to the side, grab my sickle-sword, and spring back up to my feet, more armed and dangerous than before.

Once the werewolf recovers, the two of us circle the clearing of the woods that we're in, leering one another up and down and sizing each other up.

"I expected you to be much stronger, son of the Reaper," the werewolf taunts.

"And I expected you to be potty trained," I cackle back. "And call me Zach. I don't enjoy just being Grim Reaper's son." The werewolf raises an eyebrow at my misplaced taunt. Eh, I guess that wasn't one of my best ones. Little does this puppy know that confusion is my secret strategy.

"I'm taking you to the pound!" I roar as I charge the werewolf. In turn, the werewolf lets out its own battle cry and charges me as well.

My sickle-sword and the werewolf's claws clash. After a futile clash, both of us retract our respective blades and clash again. And again and again and again, neither one of us giving an inch.

"You're supposed to be on our side, you damn traitor! What the Hell gives you the right to run around reaping the souls of other supernaturals?!" The werewolf shouts.

"And what the Hell gives you the right to prey on a nice old lady who gave me tea and cookies?!" I shout back.

The werewolf says nothing in response. Well…it does, just not the way you'd expect. The werewolf opens up its snout wide, showing off its fangs, and lets out a huge, mighty howl, right in my face. "AARRROOOOO!!!" The point-blank howl forces me to reach my sickle-sword away from the werewolf in a desperate attempt to plug up my ears. But it's no use, my eardrums are probably shattered by now, and I can feel the warm stickiness of my blood staining my jacket's hood.

The force of the werewolf's howl sends me flying backwards, and it's all I can do to dig the blade of my sickle-sword in the ground to keep from being completely sent flying backwards.

"YOU DIE TONIGHT, REAPER!" The werewolf roars.

"Heh…" I smirk to myself. "I've been told that a lot."

The werewolf charges at me with its claws again, but this time I'm ready. So when the werewolf slices its claws outwards, I leap over them, digging my knees in my chest to keep from getting turned into a paraplegic. I then grab the branch of the tree overhead and effortlessly flip myself up into it. I've grown to be quite acrobatic over the years.

"DAMNIT, NOT AGAIN!" The werewolf roars.

"Unfortunately, time to put you down, Old Yeller!" I smirk back at the werewolf. I then leap out of the tree above the werewolf, and as I do so, I grip my sickle-sword tightly between both hands and bring it high above my head, as it begins glowing with a pale blue light, the color of souls

With a battle cry, I swing my sickle-sword downwards with all of my might, shredding the werewolf's furry chest with the jagged edge of my sickle-sword in an explosion of blood.

"SOUL HUNTER!"

The werewolf howls in pain as its chest is carved open.

I then bring a hand up as my entire body begins to glow a dim blue color. "YOUR SOUL IS MINE, BITCH!" I roar as I plunge my hand into the werewolf's body, aiming for the heart. Of course, that sounds far more gruesome than it really is, because when my hand plunges out of the other side of the werewolf's chest, it isn't covered in blood nor did it create a second hole in the werewolf. Instead, I'm holding a light blue and white orb, similar to the one that I had eaten earlier. I ripped out the werewolf's soul.

"SOUL HARVEST!"

As I rip my hand out of my culprit's chest, the werewolf's eyelids flutter for a few moments, not just because of the blood loss, but also because I'm essentially holding its life force in the palm of my hand. The werewolf's limp body then falls to the ground, and I take a step to the side to dodge its descent.

"I just wanted…to feed my pups…" the werewolf croaks, and then, its eyes flutter shut for good.

I stare at the werewolf with a sorrowful gleam in my eye for a few moments, not saying anything. I then slip the werewolf's soul into my messenger bag, my sickle-sword back into its sheath, and bring a bloody hand up to pull off my sickle-mask and kneel down beside the werewolf.

"Fate is cruel. I'm sorry our meeting had to turn out this way."

***

"Zach, are you going to sleep all day?!" A voice calls from downstairs. 

"BELGH!" I reply as I roll over onto my back in bed, forcing myself awake. "Yes I am, dad!" Ugh, well I guess I'm awake now. I'm just SHOT after last night.

Speaking of last night, after reaping the soul of our chicken thief werewolf and stowing it away in my messenger bag, I located Mrs Miller's chicken and put the cock back in its coop with its chicken buddies, all safe and sound with a feather out of place. The chicken was frightened by all the commotion and difficult to wrangle, but after some of my seductive cooing I was able to bait the big-breasted bird back into it's home. I then called Mrs Miller who was staying at a nearby hotel, telling her that it was safe to come home.

Unfortunately, much like her traumatized tender, the old lady was too nervous to sleep even a wink. Upon arriving home, Mrs Miller saw me standing in her kitchen…with a pool of blood under my feet and a trail leading to the outdoors. Luckily I have that Reaper-enhanced healing. The woman dropped down to the floor and bowed to me, taking me over and over. Flustered, I pulled the woman up from the floor and told her not to mention it. The old woman then asked me what the price was for my services and I told her, to which she paid in full, in cash! Plus a large tip! Of course, I do feel bad taking women from people who had to call me due to not having any other choice, especially from an old lady such as Mrs Miller, but hey, a man's gotta eat! After taking Mrs Miller's money and saying "you're welcome," I made my way home to which I then quietly unlocked the door and made it up the stairs to my bedroom, instantly crashing onto my bed and falling asleep at four in the morning, without even getting changed.

"Howdy, Zach, you look terrible!" A voice laughs, and I look up to see Gasper floating above me as if he's laying down on a couch, with his arms folded behind his head.

"Ugh, not today, Gasper…" I groan as I slip on a shirt over my blood-soaked bandages. "I feel like shit."

That ghastly green, semi-transparent guy floating above me, his name is Gasper, my best friend. The fun thing about Gasper, however, is that he's a ghost! But, Gasper doesn't remember his memories from when he was alive, and on top of that, it wasn't my father, who reaped his soul, so no one knows exactly who Gasper is. And because of that, since no one knows anything about Gasper, we can't judge his soul and determine whether to send him up to Heaven or down to hell. But Gasper's a nice guy, I'm assuming he'd be able to make it up to the pearly gates anyway. Since Gasper has been hanging around for so long, we've become friends over the years. Gasper looks like he was a bit younger than me when he died. Based on Gasper's old-timey clothes -his overalls and his hat- plus his old-timer manner of speech, I'm assuming that he's from quiiite a few years ago.

I call him Gasper 'cause he's a friendly ghost.

"Good morning, Zach," my dad chipperly says to me as I make my way downstairs. Unfortunately, I'm not feeling chipper.

"'Morning," I groggily mutter in response.

My dad is turned away from me, hunched over the stove as he cooks breakfast. The eggs I'm assuming he's cooking smells good, and I guess my dad's a decent cook. Maybe a damn excellent one. You gotta be good at something other than reaping the souls of the living, I suppose.

"You want some breakfast?" My dad asks.

"No," I growl while trying to stifle a yawn as I make my way over to the fridge and grab some OJ.

"You were up late," my dad continues, his chipper tone instantly diminishing

"Yeah, yeah...work…"

"And you're injured" my dad adds as he turns around, motioning to the blood stains under my t-shirt.

"Ah, werewolf had sharp claws."

My dad sighs. "When are you going to stop your silly charades as a make- believe superhero and begin your training to become the next Head Reaper?!" We've had this conversation…about a million times before.

"Why the Hell does it matter, I can't even use Soul Energy like a real Reaper should?!" I snap back

"But you can still reap souls!" My dad shouts.

"Meh, I can harvest them. I don't know if that would fly for the Head Reaper," I sarcastically reply.

Soul Energy. The ability to draw out the power from one's soul. It's a technique that every Reaper can use and ONLY Reapers. All of them except for me, that is! For some reason, I was the only Reaper born who can't use Soul Energy, it sucks!

Typically, each Reaper would create their own Soul Technique and teach it to their successor who would then create their own Soul Technique and pass it down to their successor. My dad's Soul Technique is called Grim Reaper's Hunt. Each Soul Technique is named after the Reaper who created them in order to pay tribute to each and every last Reaper. This practice has been going on for thousands of years, to the point where we have countless Soul Techniques, and I am the only Reaper who will not be passing a Soul Technique onto their successor. But it's whatever. Despite not being able to use Soul Energy, I was able to create my techniques, my Soul Harvest or Soul Hunter, the ability to harvest and consume souls rather than just reaping them, something my dad says that only I can do. Oh, and just like my sickle-sword, every Reaper wields their own sort of scythe. Anywhere from chain and sickles to a crossbow scythe, we all have our trusty blade. Just like my sickle-sword.

After grabbing a carton of orange juice out of the fridge, I then waltz back over to the kitchen table and chug the orange juice straight out of the carton.

"Can you not do that, that's disgusting" my dad orders me without even turning around. Eyes on the back of your head much? I stare directly into the back of my dad's head as I took another sip. "Zach!" My dad snaps. Looks like he does. I roll my eyes as I get up from the table and put the now empty orange juice back in the fridge. I then turn around again and male my way back upstairs and into my bedroom. "ZACH!" My dad shouts one more time, but I don't listen.

The werewolf already mentioned how my dad was, so I may as well confirm it. My dad is a tall man with slicked back black hair with light blue eyes the color of souls and white pupils. His name is Grim Reaper and he is the Grim Reaper.

You see, there is a special reason why I have this last name. I come from a long line of beings called 'Reapers,' which is not only our species name but our last name. While there are thousands of Reapers scattered across the world, reaping the expired souls of human beings, and delivering them to the afterlife, there's only one Reaper who lives in Purgatory, where the souls reaped by other Reapers stationed around the world wind up to be judged by God and Satan in preparation of entering the afterlife. The "Head Reaper" and leader of the Reapers is my dad. And that makes me the next on line to become the Head Reaper. In our cozy little home of Purgatory. An ominous, decaying castle passed through generations upon generations of Reapers that looks like a small suburban home if you ain't one of us.

What looks to be a quaint home on the outside with a picket fence, turns into an old castle the second a supernatural (paranormal creature) through the front gates. A white picket fence turns into a black iron speared gate, the trees wither and decay, the winds begin howling, the sky turns a dull, foggy green, and the creepiest of all: the souls of the departed. Those who have died wander Purgatory endlessly, waiting to be judged by God and the Devil

I guess I should explain.

You see, the afterlife is run by a trio of supreme deities. There is God who runs Heaven, Satan (the Devil) who runs Hell, and my father, Grim, the Reaper who runs Purgatory. God and Satan have been running Heaven and Hell since the get-go, unlike Reaper's who pass down the torch every so often. I guess this is because Reapers are more intertwined with humans than the other two are. Reaper's reap the souls of expired humans, sending the person's body to Purgatory where they wait for God and the Devil to judge them and determine whether that soul deserves to go to Heaven or Hell.

Typically, Reapers don't mingle with humans in the slightest unless it's time to reap their souls since Reapers have valuable enough information to ruin humanity in minutes, but my dad bent the rules a little and allowed me to go to school. And after observing humans, werewolves, vampires and countless other species, I can say that despite humanity's faults, they are the race with the kindest hearts. Hence why I don't want to reap their souls.

But there is a problem if you don't reap the souls of humans once it's their time to expire. Most supernatural creatures are born through natural, reproductive means, but others were born from humans who's souls weren't reaped when their souls expired. And when the souls of humans expire, they turn into monsters. Werewolves, ghosts, vampires, whatever, you name it, it's a human with an expired soul. Where I'm going with this, is that humans aren't evil, it's their cursed souls that are. Hence why I prefer to work as a supernatural investigator, dealing with the occurrences of mythical and magical beasts in my hometown, Nestant by reaping their souls.