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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2261073-Some-Call-Him-Death
Rated: ASR · Short Story · Horror/Scary · #2261073
Death goes on vacation... but work always seems to follow.
Some call him Death, but those that he works with know him as Spectre.

His occupation is Death. It's a role that is played out by thousands of individuals across the world. It is a misconception that Death is singular. Nobody believes that Santa Claus is just one guy...why would people think that of Death.

Simultaneous deaths occur in almost every moment of time. It is ludicrous to think that he could attend to every one of those deaths. Spectre is but one of an army of Deaths that roam the world.

He'd checked his schedule before leaving, a heart attack, a mugging gone wrong and an elderly fall down some stairs. A real light schedule and nothing to laborious that his compatriots couldn't handle while he was gone.

Time for a little vacation. He'd decided on the Caribbean islands for this holiday. Besides, at his last physical his doctor had informed him that he was vitamin D deficient. The doc had prescribed him some supplements, but insisted that he also get out and get some sun. With his occupation being Death, wearing a cloak and hood that very little light could penetrate, it isn't hard to believe that it would cause him some medical issues.

That's why, on his second day of vacation he had parked himself in a lounger on a really nice island beach. He wasn't the only pale body on the beach, but he did notice that nobody else looked as skeletal or as bone white as he did.

As he sipped the last of his tropical drink he noticed a commotion going on down at the other end of the beach. All the beachgoers were gathered at the edge of the surf gesticulating out into the water. That's when he saw the unmistakable bloody stain in the water off shore and the unmistakable fin of a shark. As he watched the drama playing out he also saw the hood of one of his cohorts bob to the surface. Of course Death was here...Death was everywhere. Spectre had to admit that he took some pride in that motto. He smiled a grim smile as he knew that there could be no rescue for that poor swimmer. It would be body part retrieval at best for the would be first responders.

Spectre was about to rise from his lounger to visit the cabana bar for another fruity drink. When he turned in his seat he nearly bumped into a female server that was just starting to crouch down to set another drink on the arm of his lounger. He was pleased that this establishment was so eager to attend to their guests. He was also stunned by the complexion of his server. All the employees here, regardless of their gender or nationality, were all deeply tanned. The woman that stood before him was ghostly white, nearly as white as he was.

That's when he recognized the facial features of this woman and said, "Morticia, what are you doing here?" The woman glanced both left and right to ensure that there was no one close enough to overhear before she responded, "You don't have your cell with you do you?"

"I left it in my room. What's the big deal? I'm not on the clock for another 12 days and I check my texts and messages every night anyway."

"Yeah about that, your vacation ends tonight at midnight."

"Oh come on," Spectre nearly shouted at her.

"Hey, don't kill the messenger," she responded just before she burst out laughing.

Spectre couldn't help but smile at inside joke that all the Death staff knew.

Morticia, got the rest of her jollies out before she continued. "Sorry to tell you, it's a all hands on deck situation. It came down from management earlier this morning. I just happened to be in the area when I noticed you lounging over here. Thought I would break the news to you as a courtesy."

"No, not your fault, sorry I got upset at you. What's the big push for anyway?"

"Oh Spectre, you always did have the knack for being at the right place at the right time. This island is ground zero for a mega volcanic eruption tonight. We're going to have our hands full."

Spectre shook his head as he reached out and took the drink from Morticia's hand. He took a good long pull on the straw as he nearly emptied the drink. He looked up at her, smiled and said, "There really is no rest for the Wicked."
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