Chapter 1: Any Colour You Like

Morrigan died as the unwilling sacrifice in a demonic ritual, but the Grim Reaper has another plan for this wayward soul—to make her his new apprentice!

Reaping isn't exactly her dream summer job, (long hours, crappy pay, no benefits) but with the alternative being banished to limbo, she's ready to give it a shot!

Will Morrigan embrace her new role as a bringer of death, or cling hopelessly to her lost humanity? Either way, she'll have to adapt to a world of spirits, hollows, black magic, and demons while completing her daily murder list is "just part of the job."

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Chapter 1 - Any Colour You Like

Morrigan died on the last day of her sophomore year, back when she believed the Grim Reaper to be nothing more than a myth. She left the campus with her head down, finger flicking over a cracked screen as she pretended to type a text message. Her own mortality couldn't have been further from her mind.

"Hey, Morrigan!" someone shouted. She looked up to see Emma jogging across the lawn with two other classmates. "You're coming to Jamie's party tonight, right?"

With a practiced smile, Morrigan slipped the phone into her skirt pocket, before anyone could see it was broken. "Sure, I wouldn't miss it."

"Great! We're all meeting up at Lacey's first. You in for that, too?"

Morrigan paused, concocting an excuse. "Actually, I've got to head home first. My parents hinted at having a graduation present for me."

"Really? What do you think it is?"

Morrigan's lips curled into a hopeful smile. "Fingers crossed it's a car."

"Wouldn't surprise me," said one of the other girls, visibly impressed. "Your parents sound way too cool."

"Might be wishful thinking." Morrigan shrugged, playing it off. She knew no gifts awaited her; only a house littered with empty beer bottles. "Anyway, catch up with you all later?"

"Sure," said Emma, then as Morrigan turned away she added, "Just make sure you actually show up this time, alright?"

"Hm?" Morrigan glanced back.

Emma winked. "You've been a bit elusive lately, ya'know?"

"Morrigan's always like that, though," Lacey chuckled.

Morrigan returned a good-humored grin. "I know, I know. I just get busy with stuff. But I'll be there tonight!" She held up two crossed fingers. "Promise."

After breaking off from the group, she walked down to the next corner, glancing over her shoulder to be sure nobody saw what route she took to get back home.

It was back in elementary school when she came to understand the shameful reality that she was poor, and ever since then she went to great lengths to hide the truth.

She managed to fraudulently obtain a credit card which she used to pay for her earrings, the supplies needed to mend the church-donated clothing her mom provided, and to have spending money when she'd go out with friends.

But not a cellphone plan—that would be too risky.

Thus she spent her middle and early highschool life lying about her parents, family vacations that never happened, and gifts, all to paint the picture of a normal life, in a stable home.

In reality, her house was a rundown thing in front of an abandoned graveyard. Its weather-stained siding, overgrown lawn, and broken shingles almost seemed a purposeful addition to the morbid scenery. In the driveway was not a new car from her doting parents, wrapped with a big red bow, but an old Honda Accord with dusty green paint peeling off the hood.

"Just hope mom's still asleep," Morrigan murmured under her breath as she stepped onto the creaking porch.

Sure enough, inside she was greeted by the sound of soft snoring and the smell of stale cigarettes and alcohol. Morrigan tiptoed past the beer bottles, careful not to disturb her mother, who was splayed out on the couch ahead of her evening shift at the strip club. She was already in uniform, that is to say, wearing barely anything at all. As for her father, he was nowhere in sight and hadn't been since he overdosed when Morrigan was an infant. Apparently, he had been a guitarist, but Morrigan knew little else about him. She rarely talked to her mother, and if she did, it tended to be more in the form of shouting.

She kept her own room clean at least, which was a point of pride. If it were possible to blindfold her friends and invite them over, she'd be happy to show it off. But, as things were, she had to keep all her friendships at arms length.

Once in her room, she threw open her closet door with a wistful smile, revealing an array of outfits that looked like they were from a high-end store. Between her skill with a sewing needle, and with a few supplies she'd purchased with the fake credit cards, she could turn any old rag into something that looked not only new and stylish—but expensive.

She pulled out a few options and laid them on her bed. She had a number of dresses that would fit the occasion, and she could certainly overdo it if she wanted.

No… let's just go casual…

She held up a denim jacket. There were going to be a lot of people there, and she didn't want to stick out too much.

She changed into the jacket, a plaid skirt, white undershirt with a band logo, stockings, and a pair of knock-off designer boots she had altered to look more like the real thing.

Examining herself in the mirror, she swapped her earrings from studs to two small silver hoops.

When she was done, she put everything away then quietly snuck down the stairs and out the back door. "Be back later, ma! Don't wait up!" she called sarcastically, only getting more snoring as a response.

She jumped the backyard fence, landing in a crouch within the outskirts of one of her favorite places in this entire town—the graveyard.

She inhaled through her nose, taking in the earthy smell of yesterday's rain, as she navigated between the many scattered headstones. This was her sanctuary. When she didn't want to go home, she often found herself exploring, or reading under the old willow tree that stood as an ancient sentry over the burial ground. Here, she could hide amongst the graves and far from the eyes of society.

She loved the atmosphere of the graveyard. The way moss clung to the tombstones, the earthy smell after a storm, the cracked and weathered statues and pathways—it was a place where she could be alone without feeling lonely, only ever accompanied by the chirp of a bird or a stray cat slinking between the tombs.

As she lifted herself over a fallen obelisk that was cracked in half, she suddenly heard a shout.

"H-hey! Let go of me!" Came a timid voice, struggling to assert itself.

Morrigan instinctively dropped low and hid beneath it's cracked remains. Carefully peeking through the fissure in the center, she saw three shadows walking down the path.

"Quit bitching, it's just a graveyard," said a second voice.

A third said, "We didn't come all the way out here to go back empty-handed."

Carefully, Morrigan snuck alongside the toppled obelisk until she could peek around the shattered base and get a better view of the intruders. This is the first time she'd ever crossed paths with anyone else here, and she didn't like it.

She observed three boys. Two appeared older, likely juniors. They wore all black; one had a ponytail and a bulky build with thick arms and shoulders, the other had an emo-style haircut veiling one eye. Emo-boy had a lanky build, a pointed nose poking past his greasy hair, a pale complexion, and a hollow look in his eye.

The third boy did not look like he belonged with them at all. He was shorter and wore a light green shirt with some writing on it she couldn't make out. He was small for a boy, arms like pencils, and he occasionally got a shove from the bulkier one who Morrigan dubbed 'Pony-boy.'

"Seriously, guys!" the small boy complained. "I'm going to be in a lot of trouble if they find out I took it!"

Pony-boy put an arm over his shoulder, though the gesture was anything but friendly. "Come on, Todd. You want to check it out too, right?"

"I don't know guys… My grandfather said that book could be dangerous…"

"Oh, please," Emo-boy snapped impatiently. "You're really taking the fun out of this."

Morrigan watch as they continued down the path. The older boys were evidently coercing the younger one into something. This was none of her business, and part of her wanted to just continue to the party and forget about it.

Just follow them for a few minutes, she thought. If things get dicey, you can always leave.

With that, she crept from her hiding spot. The graveyard was her domain, where she was intimately familiar with each path and hideaway. It allowed her to move like a shadow as she stalked them through the hollowed ground.

After a minute, they suddenly stopped and turned. She dove for cover and found herself behind an old crypt. The wall was cool to the touch, moss-covered, and damp.

"Alright, this looks like a good spot," Emo-boy declared.

Peeking around the corner, cheek on the cool stone, Morrigan watched as Emo-boy approached a wethered angel statue. Time had eroded its right eye, making it look like it suffered some grave (no pun intended) injury that claimed half of its face. One of the wings had fallen off long ago, but remnants of the stone laid around its feet, covered in moss. The years of neglect allowed dark green vines to cover the statue's legs, and all these details together transformed what should have been an angelic figure into a dark creature fighting to escape the underworld as the vines tried to pull it back in.

"Oh yeah, this is perfect," Emo-boy said as he circled the statue, looking it over. "Check this thing out! It's badass! Todd, give me the book."

The small boy hesitantly removed a book from his backpack. "Be careful with it, Frank," he murmured. "My grandad'll kill me if—"

Pony-boy snatched it out of his hand and pushed him, sending him stumbling to the ground. "Shut the fuck up," he barked, then handed the book to Emo-boy, or Frank.

Frank centered himself in front of the statue then flipped the book open. Todd picked himself up, wincing at a scrape on his elbow. Morrigan wondered why he was still sticking with them. Obviously, they were not his friends; they were just bullying him.

Frank gestured to two spots beside the statue. "Place the candles here and here."

Todd obeyed, retrieving two black candles from his bag and set them where Frank had indicated. Pony-boy loomed behind them, his muscular arms folded like he was a bouncer at a nightclub—a comparison that only came so easily thanks to a guy her mom once dated. He was a jerk and Morrigan would usually go wander around the graveyard whenever he came over.

"Yeah, this is good," Frank grinned, his finger moving across the book as he read. Todd lit the candles then stepped away, leaving his line of sight drooping towards the ground. "Alright, I got the chant. All I have to do is recite this and then…" his teeth flashed with a sinister smile as he reached into his baggy pants. Morrigan tensed, seeing him pull out a switchblade and flip it open. "...and then, spill the blood of a virgin."

She watched Pony-boy suddenly grab Todd. Her heart thudded in her chest as the scene took a much darker tone. The smaller boy tried to pull away but was too weak. He gripped him by the collar and wrist then spun him around and slammed his back into the statue.

"Hey! Let me go!" Todd screamed as he struggled under the fallen angel, who watched apathetically with its one good eye.

"Hold him still," Frank said, his eyes still following the writing inside the tome.

"Come on guys, cut it out!" Todd yelled as Pony-boy subdued his thin arms with one hand and put him in a headlock with the other arm.

Morrigan's fist clenched. Were they just scaring him, or were they serious about this? How bad were they planning on cutting him?

Frank began reciting from the book in a dark cadence. The words were some foreign language, but the chant had an ominous rhythm. With one hand clutching the book and the other brandishing the knife skyward, Frank's incantations grew fervently, echoing through the graveyard. Todd's pleas for mercy grew more desperate.

Morrigan looked back, assessing her options. What could she do? She was probably stronger than Todd who was a twig, but what could she really do? Maybe yelling that she was going to call the police would back them off, but she didn't have a working phone. Her cellphone was a brick, which she only pretended to answer on occasion.

Frank's voice reverberated, creating a chilling echo. The rhythmic chant was only disturbed by Todd screaming as the knife came closer.

"Help! SOMEBODY HELP ME!"

Just leave, Morrigan thought, adrenaline gripping her heart. This is none of my business!

But, Todd's scream was genuine; the kind that knew this wasn't just a prank. She couldn't just run without doing anything. He was, in fact, currently the victim of two sociopaths who would seriously injure him.

Without another thought, Morrigan leapt from behind the crypt, yelling, "Hey! Cut it out, you freaks!"

All three boys instantly turned to face her. Frank's brow furrowed in annoyance, Pony-boy's lips twisted into an amused smirk, and Todd's eyes widened in gratitude.

"Who the fuck are you?" Frank demanded, snapping the book closed with one hand.

Todd managed to break out of Pony-boy's hold, stumbling with his first steps of freedom.

"You better get out of here! I'm calling the cops!" Morrigan bluffed, holding her dead phone up like she was threatening a vampire with a crucifix. Unfortunately, neither of them seemed to care. Actually, Emo-boy-Frank seemed delighted, his twisted sneer turning into a giddy smile as he flipped his hair away from his eye. "I-I'm doing it now!" Morrigan reaffirmed, her voice wavering as she put the phone to her ear. "It's ringing!"

Frank sighed. "Just grab her." The words came with such a chilling calm that it did not register in Morrigan's mind right away. What actually registered first was Pony-boy suddenly charging at her like a pit bull let off its leash.

She turned and ran, the phone slipping from her grasp as everything cleared from her mind other than fleeing.

She could hear him closing in on her. He was fast. She was not particularly athletic herself and his steps behind her got louder and louder. She veered off the pathway, jumping over graves and slipping around the sides of them. She hoped the rougher terrain would be enough to compensate for her physical disadvantage.

She risked a glance back, saw him in arms reach, and screamed, willing her legs to move faster. Her hip struck the side of a grave with a painful scrape that barely registered.

The fence was now in view, but she'd have no time to jump it—he was too close! The best she'd be able to do is lock her fingers around the grates and scream for help. That was too risky; if nobody was in earshot on the other side, she'd be done for. Her best escape route would be through the open entrance of the graveyard. But that was so far away!

Then, the chase came to a halt as trying to lose him between the graves backfired. Her foot caught something, a loose stone on the poorly maintained ground, and she instantly fell, banging her elbow and rolling into another headstone. Before she could even get her hands under herself, she felt her shoulders jerk back. He grabbed her bookbag and lifted her to her feet with it.

She swung around and laid a balled fist across his face, but it only made him laugh as his arms became more invasive, pulling her into him. She screamed again, praying someone was close enough to hear. The fence was right there! If only someone was walking by!

"LET ME GO!" She yelled, hitting him with balled fists that might as well be pillows for how little he reacted.

"Shut the fuck up!" he yelled, and then her whole body rocked as the air was forced from her lungs. He had punched her in the stomach so hard her knees gave out. She would have fallen to the ground, but he apparently had other plans.

He hoisted her onto his shoulder so easily it was as if she were weightless, and he began carrying her back to the angel statue.

Frank sat on a tombstone, laughing as they approached. "Oh man! I can't believe our luck! The ritual might actually work now. Look at this prissy bitch! She's perfect for a sacrifice."

"Sacrifice?" Todd finally spoke up. "Y-you said you just needed blood."

"See, I wasn't sure if it would work with you one way or the other, so this was supposed to be practice. But just look at what we got now!"

Pony-boy threw her down in front of the angel, the scattered rocks jabbing her back as she landed. She weazed and rolled to her side, still trying to find her breath.

"Think she's a virgin?" Frank asked.

"Don't know," Pony-boy answered, and nudged her with his foot. "Well, are you?"

Morrigan felt her head spinning as she finally managed to draw air into her lungs. Her fingers felt around the ground beneath her as she tried to crawl away. Her hand ended up clasped around one of the rocks from the angel's broken wings, and she gripped it tight, hiding it under her body.

Frank looked amused as he flipped open his knife and opened the book. "Can't believe our luck. It's almost like she was delivered to us. Know what I'm saying? A preppy bitch like her here in the graveyard? It's got to be a sign that today's supposed to be the real thing!"

They are going to kill me… or something else horrible. I have to get away!

She started to get up but felt herself hoisted by the back of her denim jacket. She realized she had lost her bookbag somewhere in the struggle.

"Hold still, bitch!" Pony-boy yelled as he effortlessly swung her over to the angel's feet, between the black candles.

This time, she came alive in a sudden burst of movement. Her heel found purchase on the ground, her fist clenched the rock, and she violently swung at his face—scoring a direct hit!

The rock ripped his cheek open with a spray of blood that sent him stumbling backward. She then wasted no time steadying her feet. She panted with a desperate scream, summoning all her strength to make a run for it.

But the effort was in vain.

Emo-boy grabbed her hair and yanked her back. She stumbled into Pony-boy, who recovered enough to lay a solid punch into the side of her head. Her vision swam. She'd never been struck like that before in her life—the blow sending a nauseating ripple through her body.

"Look what you did to my face!" he yelled, grabbing her by the shoulders.

She drove her knee between his legs, causing him to holler out and push her away.

She spun around, tripped over a rock, and landed in Emo-boy's arms. As she did, something collided with her, and all the fight drained out of her in an instant.

It didn't hurt, precisely, but suddenly her body did feel very cold. She looked Emo-boy in his eyes, which were wide with shock. He looked more like a child caught skipping school than the sociopath from a moment ago. His hands were shaking as he stepped away, the knife no longer in his grasp.

Did he drop it?

Morrigan scanned the ground as she weakly stumbled backward. If she could grab the knife off the ground, then—

Her back fell against the angel statue. She was still standing but now staring in shock at the knife, not on the ground, but sticking out of the center of her chest.