Grim

[hatuhsawl]

I don't remember falling asleep or even being in bed before this, but this has to be a dream. It has to be, because I'm not where I was just a second ago. Wait, what was I doing a second ago? Where was I?

I don't remember where I was, but I know where I am now.

Well, not "know" as in I know my location, but, eh, nevermind. I'm rambling because I'm trying to distract my mind from what I'm looking at.

My body's chosen fright when it was presented with flight or fight, and that means I'm too scared to move or do anything except stand here.

I'm standing in a gray empty void, and I _would_ have no sense of direction or depth perception, if not for the fog hanging low to the ground. The fog, and the office desk I'm standing right behind.

Seated at that desk in an old wooden rolling chair is a hooded figure, who is covered almost head to toe in a black robe. I'm standing behind them, looking over there shoulder like I'm their boss checking on their work. On the desk is an old timey lamp, a desk-sized grandfather clock, and two stacks of papers.

They're repeating the cycle of taking a paper from one stack, writing something on it, and moving it to the other pile. Jesus, that's a lot of paperwork, both done and left to be done. There's no sound anywhere except the ticking of the clock, the low hum of the lamp, and the scratching of pen on paper followed by the flutter of papers being moved.

I'm still dancing around the elephant in the room because I'm still not wanting to admit it I'm actually seeing it.

Fuck it, fine, it's a skeleton in that robe. You happy? I know it is, because despite the robe and hood, I see bony hands doing the writing on and moving of the papers.

I can't quite make out what any of the writing is, it's very clearly visible but also very blurry at the same time, it's hard to explain.

a fancy nice but old-fashioned sealed envelope is slowly wafting down from out of nowhere, like a leaf falling from a tree. I didn't see it appear, and I don't see where it could have come from either.

It landed directly on the paper they're writing on, they've paused. They stopped writing and haven't moved to take the letter off their still hand.

Are they studying the envelope? Is this new to them? Were they expecting it?

They just gently set the pen down, picked up the envelope in both hands.

Wait, was that a sigh? That definitely sounded like a dejected, "I really don't want this right now but I have to." kind of sigh. Jesus Christ, I must be projecting my own thoughts, because this is a fucking skeleton. Right?

No, I definitely heard a deep breath, and it's leaning back as it's opening the letter.

> . . —̥̳̰̙̖̲̪̊̉͋̌̈̓̾͟͢͝—̝̺͚͔̗̰̮͆́͋̏͗—̡̱͙̮̲̤̰̔͗̓͆͛̑̚̚͝͞—̧̯͕̩͚̜̗̳̩̔̽̽̆̒͑͐̎—̸̡̢̛̲̻̭̄̑̋͛̀—̴͚̟̗̘̙̈́̌́̀̾͌̈͌̕͜͜͟͡—̨̧̢̜͎̿͌̒͊͆͛̂̔̿̚͢-̷̢̛̠̻̫͉̭͔̓̉̏̇ .

As they were leaning back they saw me and I scared it. They yelped something that didn't sound like any language I'd ever heard, definitely not from Terra Firma or human.

They're getting up and looking at me now. I'm guessing I have an empty look on my face, since they seem to be repeating the same "sentence" but in different languages. I'm not recognizing any of these.

If they would have hurt me, they would have it done by now, so I'm a little braver now. I can tell by their body language (definitely not facial cues, that's just a skull) that they're getting frustrated that none of these languages are working. I'm going to try to save us both some time here.

"English?" I try.

They sigh relieved, and slump back in their chair.

> "You speak English? Wait, hold on."

He bolted up in his chair and spun back to his desk. He's quickly flipping through the finished stack of papers, like he's looking for a specific one.

He finished that stack, tapped his fingers on his desk like he's thinking.

He put his hood down, half turned to look at me again. Again, there's literally nothing but a skull looking at me, but I can feel with context clues he's squinting with a perplexed look on his face.

A hear (but don't see) an epiphany tongue click, and he turns back to his desk, and starts flipping through the not done pile.

> "English-speaking. Hmm. That must mean..."

He's saying this and other things under his breath, clearly trying to narrow done something about me.

"Why am I here? What is this place?"

He doesn't stop flipping or look at me, but answers back:

> "We'll get to that second question, but not until I figure out that first one."

"Well if it helps, my name is Catie."

> "That does help, thank you, don't know why I didn't think to ask. Hmmm..."

He's reaching the end of this pile too.

"Catie, uh, Earth year, uh 2019 AD. Wait, no, 2019 _CE_"

> "Wait, really? No shit?"

He pulled his hand out of the stack, and turned to look up at me. He's now resting his elbows on his knees and holding his head in his hands, rubbing his temples.

That's such an odd sound, bone scratching bone like that.

> "For fucks sake. Okay, look..."

He sat up,

> "I know who you are now, and you're not supposed to be here. Well, I mean, nobody except those of us who work here are ever supposed to be _here_ per se, but I mean, you're not even supposed to be hearing from any of us. Not yet, anyway."

"Are you the Grim Reaper?"

That made him chuckle.

> "Not quite, but he works in this building, so you're not too far off."

"Why do you sound like me? My accent, my way of talking? Did you live where I'm from when you were alive?"

Another chuckle. My silly questioning seems to be lightening him up, which is good. He seemed stressed before.

> "Nah, that's part of the job. We're trained to get a sense of how a living being communicates to help us deal with them.

"So why couldn't you at first?"

> "Because you appeared, out of nowhere behind me and scared the shit out of me, you threw me off guard a little bit, wouldn't you say?"

> "Speaking of which..."

He reclined his seat, put one leg up on the other.

> "How did you get here, exactly? Why did you come here?"

"I have no idea, actually. I've actually forgotten what I was even doing before I got here to be perfectly frank."

He's rubbing his chin. This is so uncanny, these human mannerisms being done by someone with nothing but bones.

He's getting up, and heading to in front of his desk, while gesturing with a bony finger for me not to move.

I don't know how I didn't notice it before, but we're actually in an office. It looks like a police office from an old black and white movie.

He's currently sticking his head out into the hallway like he's checking if the coast is clear.

He's leaning back in, and waving at me to go to him.

> "Come on, I'm going to sneak you out of here."