A Nameless Soul | A Short Story

     A Nameless Soul

 By Addie Schlange 

        You were the first one to see me in my true form.

        You were the first one in centuries to make me truly regret what I had to do.

        And now you’re here listening to my story -- to your story -- in order to learn what you once knew but now forgot.

        And I regret to tell you that at the end of this story, I will have to complete my job no matter how much it breaks me.

        So please, please listen closely. I’ll tell it the best I can, but you must remember I’m not a storyteller by trade. Rather, I’m the complete opposite.

o  o  o

        You first saw me in my favorite form. You caught a glimpse of me in the park, a black owl with white streaks on his back. Our gazes met, your blue eyes as wide as my yellow ones. As you stood up, taking hesitant steps toward the tree I perched in, I realized you belonged to a curious mind.

        Curious minds have always made me nervous.

        So I took off, leaving the branch beneath me trembling as its brittle leaves flitted to the ground.The next day I visited you again, and though I should have changed forms I thought maybe it would be a good idea to remain an owl. I cannot explain my reasoning, nor can I explain yet how I have the ability to shapeshift. Please be patient -- It will all make sense by the end.

        This time, I concealed myself in a tree as I watched you meander down the path. Clouds puffed out from your nose and mouth, eventually fading into the frost-bitten air as you buttoned up your plaid coat. I can remember this moment so distinctly as I prepared to swoop down on you, the oranges and reds of your coat crisscrossing before my eyes just like the leaves on the trees. Your black boots clicked on the pavement with each step, echoing through the empty park.

        I bent down, unfolded my wings, and rested my gaze on you as one thought sung through my mind.

        But I won’t tell you that thought. I don’t want you to misunderstand me or what I was about to do.

        A gust of icy wind swept through the park as my claws unwrapped from around the branch, my silent wings slicing through the air.

        And then you saw me. A dark bird launching after its prey.

        But you didn’t seem to realize you were my prey, only that I was a predator. As I soared over your head, aborting my mission lest I give away my identity, your mouth hung agape. You had never seen anything like me, and in fact, no one alive has ever seen anything like me, except for one.

        You followed me.

        Abandoning the path just as I abandoned my job, you raced through the trees like a deer, leaping over rocks and sticks and undergrowth until the sounds of civilization were left behind.I don’t know why I let you follow me. Maybe, like a cat, I thought it would be fun to play with my mouse, but I refuse to believe that was the reason. I swear to you I’m good and kind despite what they all say. And though you may not be able to see that now, you will soon.

        We found an old barn, overtaken by the tangled trees and bushes. Your clouds grew bigger with each short breath as your chest heaved.

        I swooped onto the lowest point of the barn, peering down at you as you peered up at me.And then you spoke.

        “Hello, up there!”

        My talons tightened around the edge of the rooftop. I wasn’t sure if you were crazy or knewsomething others didn’t. Maybe those are the same thing, though.

        No one had spoken to me since… Well, I can’t remember. So I flapped my wings in response, much to your delight.

        “Your feathers are pretty.”

        I admired your accent before bobbing my head up and down, deciding not to be offended by being called pretty.

        “I’ve never seen an owl like you before. Oh--” You reached into your pocket, pulling your fist out a moment later. “Here. It’s a step up from mice and rats.” The chocolate granola bar landed several feet in front of you on the brown leaves littering the ground. And though I’m sure it would have been delicious, I ignored your kind offer.

        “Well, that’s alright. I wasn’t going to eat it anyway.” You paused, studying the barn. “Is this where you live?”

        I flapped my wings again, though it meant nothing in particular until one of my dark feathers floated down, landing softly at your feet without disturbing the leaves below it.And suddenly the predator was now at the mercy of his prey.

        I know none of this makes sense, and I apologize. As I said before, I am not a storyteller. In the end, you’ll understand what all of this means.

        Bending down, you picked up the feather by its shaft, studying it with a furrowed brow.My heart pounding, I swooped down and landed at your feet with a screech loud enough to make you cringe. That feather belonged to me, you understand. I can’t change back to my true form -- or to any other form -- if part of me is left behind on Earth.

        “Can I keep this?” you asked.

        I let out another screech.

        “I’ll take that as a yes.” With a smile, you slid it into your pocket.

        That was the woeful misunderstanding that started all this. I couldn’t do my job with that feather in your possession otherwise I would never get it back, and then I would be stuck as an owl for the rest of eternity.

        You strode away, carrying my freedom with you. I followed you through town -- I don’t think you ever noticed -- until you reached your apartment. I caught glimpses through your window:  your dog bouncing around when you first entered, you putting away dishes, your lights turning on as the sun dipped below the horizon.

        I would have to find my way in. Just before midnight you turned off the TV, slid open your window just a crack in the living room, and headed off to bed. Squeezing through the opening, praying your dog was fast asleep, I flapped around your dark apartment, grateful for the night vision of owls.

        Not a single item was out of place in any of the rooms, which I found quite impressive. But I couldn’t find a single feather, mine or otherwise. Which meant it must be in your room.As I landed in front of your door, left open a crack, I formed a plan. Get the feather, do my job, and leave as fast as possible. Don’t worry, I’m usually not this messy when it comes to my work.With my sharp beak, I pulled open your door, flapped over to your bedpost, and swiveled my head around as I attempted to locate the feather.

        Something shifted in the living room. I assumed it was the wind blowing through your window. Then it caught my eye, sitting in the middle of your dresser like a shadow. Not caring about the state it was in when I finished, I snatched up the feather in one talon, preparing to make my move as you slept blissfully unaware in your mountain of blankets.

        And then your dog started barking.

        I was startled out of my owl form as you sat up faster than a bullet, eyes as wide as two moons. And those moons landed on me as you reached for the phone on your bedside table, flipped on its flashlight, and jumped out of bed.

        “Oh my gosh.”

        The light blinded me as I stumbled back, my true form leaving me discombobulated. I bumped into your dresser, lamp, and the wall before finding my footing on the stringy carpet.

        The dog burst in, growling in my direction but not daring to get any closer. You waved him over to you, lowering your phone but not taking the light off me.

        You were quite a sight in your baggy t-shirt and sweatpants, hair pulled up in what was once a messy bun. “What--” You swallowed hard, grabbing the dog’s collar as he tried to jump toward me. “What are you?”

        I couldn’t answer that question, but you already had seen too much. So, although I almost never change forms in front of others, I shifted into something I hoped would be less frightful. Though your eyes never left me, you reached over and flipped the bedroom light on. “You’re… human now? What’s going on?”

        Even if I had something to say, you wouldn’t have been able to hear it over the dog’s barking. You bent down, running a hand over his back to soothe him.

        “You were an owl, then you were… something. And now you’re human. That’s not normal.”A smile tugged at the corner of my lips. Of course it was normal, most people just don’t realize it.

        But horror gnawed away inside me. You had seen my true form. No one but God and the devil themselves had seen my true form until now. Would it have consequences? I didn’t know. I still don’t know. But my true form is almost sacred to me, and to have been scared into it on accident… This was turning into one of my messiest jobs.

        “Please say something,” you squeaked.

        “I don’t have anything to say.”

        Your eyes widened as my deep voice reverberated through the room. “I deserve an explanation.” Maybe you were right. They rarely get explanations, or they figure it out themselves the moment I arrive.

        So I did what I shouldn’t have done, and what I maybe shouldn’t do again, as I am now. Yet here we are, and here are the words I spoke.

        “My name is Death.”

        The room froze as your mouth dropped open. Even the dog fell silent as if he could understand me. Sometimes I wonder if they can.

        And then you ran. Faster than even I could. Out of the apartment, down the stairs, through the dark streets. I didn’t pursue. I had met others like you. In fact, most people run from me. I always catch up--

        No, please don’t leave now. The story isn’t over--

        You have to understand. Wait. Sit back down, please.

        Let me tell you the rest of the story.

        Thank you.

        I didn’t return to you for a few days, but during that time, though I hesitate to admit it, I grew fond of you. In your absence, I realized what a unique mind and soul you had and I wondered why he asked me to take it.

        I finally fought myself into going back to you. This time you were at a different park across town, watching children on a playground from afar.

        I found myself having to prepare my mind for what I had to do. I still wonder why. Maybe because when you saw me in my true form, you got a piece of me no other human has.

        I was in my human form, so I sat down beside you. You were focused on a squirrel hopping through a nearby tree until he disappeared from view.

        I cleared my throat, hoping to lead you away from the children and families before I did my job. Surprised, you turned to look at me. The moment our eyes met you jumped up just like a squirrel. “Not you!”

        I offered you my shaky smile. “Please don’t run away again.” I didn’t say that because it made it easier for me, but because I was fascinated with you. I really did want you to stay.

        You and your curious mind must have been fascinated too because you lowered yourself onto the bench, hands stuffed in the pockets of your plaid coat. “Please don’t… kill me.”

        I licked my lips as they began to dry out in the cold air. “I’ve never killed anyone.”

        “But you’re Death.”

        And no one ever doubts it from the moment I tell them. “I don’t kill things, I merely cause them to die.” I struggled for a way to explain. It never made sense to humans.

        “That’s the same thing.” You scooted back until I was on one end of the bench and you were on the other. 

        “It’s not, but that’s unimportant right now.”

        “I have so many questions.” You produced mittens out of your pocket and pulled them over your hands.

        “I will answer any questions you have if we find a place with fewer people.”

        Fewer people meant I could do my job without any interruptions. Though now it would be hard either way. I found myself just as curious about you as you were about me.

        You contemplated, chewing your bottom lip as your eyes bore into mine.

        I’m rarely unsettled by humans, but your intense gaze made me turn mine away.

        “Alright,” you announced. “Let’s go.”

        So you led me down a little-known path, the laughter of children fading away into the late autumn air. You would not take your eyes off of me for a single second, and I didn’t blame you.

        “Why do you want me dead?” You rubbed your pink nose, another cloudy puff of air escaping your lungs. You didn’t know how precious those clouds were, and by the way you carried yourself I knew I had never visited anyone close to you.

        “I don’t want you dead,” I answered.

        “Then who does?”

        “I’m not able to tell you that information.” I paused, staring at the space in front of me and hoping my own cloud would appear. But the air remained clear. “I get all my assignments from either God or the devil.”

        You frowned, shaking your head in confusion or disbelief. I couldn’t tell. “But what if I don’t believe they exist? I don’t, like, worship anything.”

        “Everyone worships something.”

        For the first time, you looked away, into the trees on your other side. I considered making my move then, but that would be cruel.

        “So, if you don’t kill anyone, what exactly do you do?” You leaned in closer, eyes squinted against the cold.

        I watched you for a moment, thinking only of the way you walked with a bounce and how you swung your elbows while your hands rested in the warmth of your pockets. No, you had certainly never known a loved one to pass from this world. “I simply help them journey from here to the next part of life. I’m merely…” I paused, trying to find an analogy you would understand. “A boat, or a train, getting you from one destination to the other. Dying isn’t what people think it is, which makes my job much harder than it needs to be.”

        You kicked a rock off the path, watching it skitter under a bush. “Alright…”

        My shoes scuffed on the dirt as I fell still. “That’s what you need to understand. I’m not here to end you. I’m here to continue you.”

        Hair fell in front of your face, but you brushed it away and stopped in front of me. “Do I really have to go now?” Tears sprung into your eyes and guilt rushed into me like a raging river, crushing everything in its path.

        “Yes, you do, but not here.”

        You turned your face away from me, and though I wished I could watch you think, I turned away as well, studying the tree branches cutting through the sky like knives.

        I hated this conversation. Maybe I should have been used to it by now, though I’ve only had it a few times. I felt like trees invading your sky, though it wasn’t my true purpose. That’s all I wanted you to understand.

        “Can I choose how to die?” You spun around to face me, arms crossed.

        “Not really.”

        “What about Ollie, my dog? I can’t leave him locked up--”

        My sigh cut you off. “You may go home and let him out. I’ll come with you.” If I let you out of my sight I could miss my window of time. I was cutting it close, and I didn’t want to have to start this all over.

        “Thank you!” Face lit up with a trace of hope, you spun around on your heel and made your way home. I followed, lagging behind to think. I won’t repeat for you my thoughts. You likely don’t care to hear them, though I will say they were about you.

        You entered your apartment but I remained outside until Ollie scampered past me, his ears flopping. Taking a deep breath, I stepped inside your meticulous living room where you sat dazed on the couch.

        I had taken too long.

        See, if someone sees me but runs away, after a certain amount of time their memories of me fade. It’s for protection, though I don’t know what exactly it protects.

        You turned to see the strange man -- or what you thought was a man -- standing in your apartment and jumped to your feet, questions bubbling out of your mouth just like before. But I don’t need to tell you this, you remember that perfectly well.

        And now here we are, your memories retold to the best of my ability. Or rather, my memories of you.

        Yes, I still have to do what I first came here to do. Maybe I’ll see you again someday.

        Never before have I apologized for doing my job. But I can truthfully do so now.

        I’m so sorry.

        I never even found out your name.