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"Buried In The Fine Print" by kshackelford

Short Story

Category: Short Story

Tags: horror, paranormal, short story

You can do an inline review of this work in the review tab.


Waves of throbbing pain washed over my lifeless body from hanging with a stick up my butt, waiting on the Grim Reaper. My mind silently screamed in frustration, trying to force my eyes to move, but they were frozen in place like the rest of me. 


I was ready for death to claim me.

           

What a joy it would be, I mused. Only my brain worked, until he collected me. Then it would be a whole new world in Technicolor.


“Tick, tick, tick,” rattled time as it rustled by, and laughed at my happenstance. It did not even stop to say “Boo,” or “How do you do?” It just rode with the wind, wild and free.


Unlike me, who was tied to a stick, waiting on the Reaper. In vain, I tried to focus on my nose, trying to stop it from smelling the putrid aroma of Hell’s Hounds overpowering the crisp, October night. Rotting, wet dog scent floated up to me in cruel wisps, as if mocking my not-yet-dead-state.


“How’s it hanging, Crow?” Reaper said in his throaty smoker’s voice and then laughed. His dark eyes shot up at me. His long, dead fingers snatched his hood off, letting it drop back behind him.  The moonlight danced, gleaming across his bald head.


“Enough with the Scarecrow jokes, Reaper,” I whispered. My voice only worked, because he was so close. Same joke, different day. Different thirteenth day to be more precise.


Every thirteenth night, according to my hellish contract, Reaper brings me along for the ride. He claims senseless deaths for the North Georgia area. I liked to call them Hell's Funniest Videos as most are caused by drugs, booze or a total lack of a working brain.


“Still funny as Hell.” He grinned, reaching up and dragging me off from my post. He loved laughing at his corny jokes.


Gently, he laid my limp body on the cold ground. In one swift motion, he raised his scythe up and brought it down hard, stopping just inches away from my chin.


My heart felt as if it had jumped into my throat as I waited for Reaper to slice me.


“I love to mess with you.” He grinned as he brushed across my heart with the blade.


A wave of energy started building, awakening each part of me as it pumped my blood. Thumping, thumping, thumping, harder and harder, until my lungs filled with air.


My legs ached, and my back throbbed. I was getting too old for this *****. Hanging lifeless ages the body, not to mention the dastardly things it does to my mind. Oh my dirty, sick, sin-filled mind that hangs and ponders the possibility of living again and reaping some fun of my own.


My neck snapped as I rolled it from side to side, working out the kinks. “Where are we going?”


“Got some rednecks, night noodling."


“Oh joy, a drowning!”


“Nope.”


“A boat explosion.”


“Notta.”


“A gun fight?”


“Trust me Crow, you will never guess the fun I have up my scythe for tonight,” he said and laughed. His fingers pulled his dark hood over his head. It was time to work.

 

***


An hour later, I shifted side to side as my butt went numb from sitting on the hard river bank of the Etowah, watching three grown men stick their hands deep in a hole in the murky bank. What idiot uses their own hand for bait when fishing for a hundred pound cat, I thought.


My eyes glanced up at the darkening sky, covering the moonlight. The wind whipped my blonde hair as a storm brewed.


“Crow, I been thinking. I am in the wrong line of work. It's time to retire.”


My eyes darted over. I did not know if he was serious, or yanking my pole. The Reaper loved sucking souls as much as I loved to watch.


Electricity ignited the air when Reaper sucked. The joy of others dying was catnip to my savage soul. It did not matter where their soul was headed. It was an acid trip without the shakes.


“Two years, I have been sucking shotgun. Never have I seen you hesitate.”


“I follow the rules to the letter.”


I grunted at that thought. Rules were for fools. Before my cursing, I had been a loving husband to my beautiful wife, and a shameless banker. A lying, cheating, money-hungry, son-of-a-***** that stole little old ladies’ houses. Until, one of them turned out to be a witch, and cursed me.


Unknown to the witch, she could not trap me forever in the Scarecrow’s body. Thanks to the fine print, I was given an out every thirteen days. That print will screw you every time. I longed for the day Reaper sucked her.


My mind flashed to my wife, and how much I adored her. My body ached to touch her one more time, to feel her skin under me. Her body enveloping mine, but such carnal pleasures were against the rules. Reaper would not allow it. "Rule-following, soul-sucker," I mumbled under my breath.


“I want to suck tonight,” I said, my eyes darting back to the Reaper.  My body ached to feel alive again, and I wanted someone to pay for my misery.


Reaper stood tall and proud. His dark silhouette shadowed against the full moon fighting to peek out from the dark clouds. He once told me that he was the fifth generation of claimers. Now that was a job, I would sell my soul for, I thought.


“Can’t. Against the rules.”


“What the hell dude. You are the Reaper. What rules?”


 His hand slid under his robe. I held my breath. Maybe I had gone too far. My mind raced trying to guess what torture device his fingers were going to whip out and beat me with.


 “Oh my God,” I cursed, as my pulse quickened at the creepy sight.


 His fingers were wrapped around a mammoth book entitled, 'Roberts Rules of Reaping.'


“It has to be over two thousand pages,” I gasped. “What the hell is wrong with you suckers?”


 Even my banker’s book of rules was not that long. Of course, I had never actually read or even owned a copy, but I had seen one. Once.


“Rules run the world, Crow.” His fingers started flipping through the huge book. “On page 989, it clearly states that only Reapers suck.”


He slammed the book, shoving it back under his dark robe. He looked at me, shaking his head as his eyes danced in assurance. He lived for the fine print of his job. Always, reading and re-reading the paperwork, before he finished the deed.


How could a harbinger of Death get a hard-on just by the feel of paperwork? I mused, happy that Reaper could not read my thoughts. I would hate to feel where he would stick that scythe.


“It is almost done,” he whispered, pointing to the three men, who were wrestling a large catfish.


The water foamed in row after row of frothy waves. The biggest of the men hollered in triumph as the cat plunged down. The beast took his arm still trapped in her mouth, and snatched him under the waves.


The trapped noodler’s body erupted out of the water. The cat still attached to his hand, thrashed back and forth, dragging him with her every move, as she fought like a mad woman. He had rammed his hand in her home and stolen her eggs. Now, she wanted blood.


“What a pity,” the Reaper said. He bowed his head in thought. “A wife at home and twins.”


My heart skipped.


It would be a sheer delight to watch as his soul was sucked, and their lives smashed.


I did mention I was a SOB, right?


The doomed man gasped for breath as the fish pummeled him, smacking her body against his legs. They buckled under the brutal beating. One of his friends wrapped his fingers through his hair and yanked hard, trying to pull him out from under his watery tomb.


Big drops of cold rain started pelted the man as the sky finally surrendered and opened up.


A grin spread across my face. I loved a good fight to the death. No one ever won against Reaper, and I knew it was almost time for him to give the doomed man a final blow.


My hand slid across my face, slinging drops away from my eyes, so I could get a better view.


My days as a poop pad for the birds were filled with reliving these deaths over and over. If not for these sucking, my mind would burst from boredom.


“A boy and a girl,” Reaper said. He knelt by the bank and wept.


“What the devil is wrong with you?” I demanded. A cry baby Reaper is not my idea of death. Maybe, Reaper had lost his passion for sucking and needed to retire, and I knew just the man for the job.


He laid his scythe down and sighed as rain pounded. “Every 100 years I get to spare a soul.”


“I cannot wait thirteen more days before I get my fix,” I shouted over the wailing wind.


“You have no choice.”


My eyes darted to Reaper as he bent over, tenderly taking a form out of his rule book. He hunched over the precious paper  as he filled out the form that would save the poor sap’s life.


The scythe was lying on the ground. Its silver-tip glistened in the rain, calling me. I eased over as Reaper flipped back and forth in his rule book to see how to fill the form out correctly. Reaper whistled The Andy Griffin Tune, ignoring the winds shouting their protest at his choice.


The doomed man leaped out of the water as the fish released him. His hands reached up, digging into the muddy bank. He grabbed at a tree root, heaving himself to safety.


Loud, rebel yells filled the night as the other two men celebrated their friend's victory.


My mind screamed out in pain. I could not allow such celebration to continue. My trembling  fingers reached for the scythe, wrapping around its wooden handle coated with the blood of countless souls.


I jumped up and ran towards the men.


“Oh *****,” I heard Reaper curse, stuffing his paperwork back into his robe before he took off after me.


Power scorched through me. I was the Reaper. My legs pumped harder and harder as I ran for the man. He would not escape.


Rain pelted, but it did not slow me.


“Jesus,” one of his friends shouted as I broke through the clearing. The scythe swung wildly in midair.


My eyes locked on the man. His body laid flat across the ground as he tried to regain his breath from the death-match with the cat.


My lips pulled into an evil grin as water poured around me. To hell with Reaper. I was death.


My arms shot up as I got ready to deliver the death-blow. The man’s eyes widened in fear.  My nose sniffed in delight at the scent of him fouling himself.


Ah, I would relish that smell of power for weeks. As a man, I never took a life. My wife Arianna and making lots of money were my only pleasures.


Now, I was going to do what Reaper did not have the balls to do. I raised the scythe higher.


Suddenly, a jolt flew through me as lightning struck, hitting the silver scythe, sending its quivering juice down my body. Every nerve-ending in me twitched in agony as I collapsed.

The doomed man’s buddies grabbed him by the arms and ran, dragging him behind them as they shouted in fear and prayed for mercy.


“If you would have just let me finish the paperwork,” Reaper said, standing over me, shaking his head. “It was your soul I was saving.”


I grunted in disbelief.


“It’s buried in the fine print. I get to release an apprentice every 100 years.” He bent down, his fingers snatching up his abandoned scythe.


“Help me,” I begged as Hell’s Hounds barking filled my ears. My heart throbbed at the blood-curdling sound of one of them howling, claiming their prey.


“Arianna was pregnant with twins when you were cursed,” He said, his shoulder slumping down. “It is over now. The rules clearly state that your end has come. I cannot break them.”


He turned away as the first hound’s sharp fangs snatched my ankle, dragging me to Hell.


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Category Name: My Thoughts

I did not enjoy this story. I am not even sure what problem the protagonist faced. This story was okay. The story would have been better if the author had introduced the problem differently and made it feel more pressing. I really enjoyed this story. The author did a good job pulling me into the story by introducing an immediate and important problem for the protagonist.

This section is for overall comments and general ideas. The score should reflect how much you enjoyed the story.

Category Name: Character Development

The characters were not dynamic, credible, interesting, memorable or unique. I don’t care about or understand the characters because they were poorly developed. The characters were somewhat dynamic, credible, interesting, memorable and unique. I partially understood the thoughts, feelings, and actions of the characters. I somewhat connected with and care about the characters. The characters were very dynamic, credible, interesting, memorable and unique. I thoroughly understood their thoughts, feelings and actions. I felt connected with and cared about the characters.

This is act of bringing a character to life on the page. It is a combination of the author’s description of the character and the character’s dialog, action, and thoughts. Though all characters should be believable, the protagonist and antagonist are usually the most developed characters.

Category Name: Plot

I finished reading the story so the plot must have unfolded, but I am not sure what the plot was. The characters did not achieve or grow by solving the problems they faced in this story. There were definite wrinkles in the way the plot unfolded leading to the final conflict. The plot was loosely tied to the achievement and growth of the characters. The way the protagonist overcame some of the problems flowed unnaturally with the story. I could see the plot unfolding through a series of escalating problems that lead to the final conflict. The plot helped me understand the achievements and growth of the characters. The way the protagonist overcame the problems flowed naturally with the st

In fiction a plot is all the events in a story, particularly rendered towards the achievement of some particular artistic or emotional effect. In other words it's what mostly happened in the story. The plot draws the reader into the character's lives and helps the reader understand the choices that the characters make.

Category Name: Dialog

The dialog seemed like cold words on paper. I had a hard time following it. I didn’t learn very much about the characters through the dialog. Through the dialog I could sometimes see the characters learn and grow while occasionally discovering new facets of their personalities. The dialog was generally consistent with the character. Through the dialog I could see the characters learn and grow while simultaneously discovering new facets of their personalities. The dialog was true to the character and it helped me understand the characters emotions.

Category Name: Setting

The setting created a haze in my mind that detracted from the story. I am lost in time and space because I don’t know when or where this story takes place. The setting was described adequately, but not well enough to bring it to life in my mind. The setting did not add to or detract from the story. I am pretty sure I know when and where the story takes place. The author engaged all of my senses while vividly describing the setting. The setting helped me better understand the setting and plot. I know when and where this story takes place.

The setting is where a story takes place. The choice of setting and its description helps the story come alive in the mind of the reader. Appropriate setting contributes to the plot and mood of the story.

Category Name: Mechanics

The story contained so many mechanical errors that it was hard to follow the plot or understand certain sentences or paragraphs. Occasional mechanical errors were distracting, but these errors did not inhibit me from being able to understand the plot or connect with characters in the story. I rarely if ever noticed mechanical errors. As far as I could tell, the writing was clear and correct.

Mechanics includes sentence structure, verb agreement, grammar, spelling, voice, punctuation and aspects of basic style.

Note: The purpose of ReviewFuse reviews is NOT to provide comprehensive copy editing, but rather to "ignite creativity." Reviewers should not feel obliged to point out every grammar or spelling error (though they certainly can if they wish), but should focus on this area only to the degree that errors make a story hard to follow or understand.

Inline comments are the most helpful and important aspects of your review.

Click on a paragraph or highlight text from the paragraph to provide inline comments. While detailed grammar correction is welcome, the purpose of inline commenting is to spark the author's creativity. This is best done by expressing feelings, questions, and concerns you have about the story while you are reading.

1.

2. Waves of throbbing pain washed over my lifeless body from hanging with a stick up my butt, waiting on the Grim Reaper. My mind silently screamed in frustration, trying to force my eyes to move, but they were frozen in place like the rest of me. 

3.

4. I was ready for death to claim me.

5.            

6. What a joy it would be, I mused. Only my brain worked, until he collected me. Then it would be a whole new world in Technicolor.

7.

8. “Tick, tick, tick,” rattled time as it rustled by, and laughed at my happenstance. It did not even stop to say “Boo,” or “How do you do?” It just rode with the wind, wild and free.

9.

10. Unlike me, who was tied to a stick, waiting on the Reaper. In vain, I tried to focus on my nose, trying to stop it from smelling the putrid aroma of Hell’s Hounds overpowering the crisp, October night. Rotting, wet dog scent floated up to me in cruel wisps, as if mocking my not-yet-dead-state.

11.

12. “How’s it hanging, Crow?” Reaper said in his throaty smoker’s voice and then laughed. His dark eyes shot up at me. His long, dead fingers snatched his hood off, letting it drop back behind him.  The moonlight danced, gleaming across his bald head.

13.

14. “Enough with the Scarecrow jokes, Reaper,” I whispered. My voice only worked, because he was so close. Same joke, different day. Different thirteenth day to be more precise.

15.

16. Every thirteenth night, according to my hellish contract, Reaper brings me along for the ride. He claims senseless deaths for the North Georgia area. I liked to call them Hell's Funniest Videos as most are caused by drugs, booze or a total lack of a working brain.

17.

18. “Still funny as Hell.” He grinned, reaching up and dragging me off from my post. He loved laughing at his corny jokes.

19.

20. Gently, he laid my limp body on the cold ground. In one swift motion, he raised his scythe up and brought it down hard, stopping just inches away from my chin.

21.

22. My heart felt as if it had jumped into my throat as I waited for Reaper to slice me.

23.

24. “I love to mess with you.” He grinned as he brushed across my heart with the blade.

25.

26. A wave of energy started building, awakening each part of me as it pumped my blood. Thumping, thumping, thumping, harder and harder, until my lungs filled with air.

27.

28. My legs ached, and my back throbbed. I was getting too old for this *****. Hanging lifeless ages the body, not to mention the dastardly things it does to my mind. Oh my dirty, sick, sin-filled mind that hangs and ponders the possibility of living again and reaping some fun of my own.

29.

30. My neck snapped as I rolled it from side to side, working out the kinks. “Where are we going?”

31.

32. “Got some rednecks, night noodling."

33.

34. “Oh joy, a drowning!”

35.

36. “Nope.”

37.

38. “A boat explosion.”

39.

40. “Notta.”

41.

42. “A gun fight?”

43.

44. “Trust me Crow, you will never guess the fun I have up my scythe for tonight,” he said and laughed. His fingers pulled his dark hood over his head. It was time to work.

45.  

46. ***

47.

48. An hour later, I shifted side to side as my butt went numb from sitting on the hard river bank of the Etowah, watching three grown men stick their hands deep in a hole in the murky bank. What idiot uses their own hand for bait when fishing for a hundred pound cat, I thought.

49.

50. My eyes glanced up at the darkening sky, covering the moonlight. The wind whipped my blonde hair as a storm brewed.

51.

52. “Crow, I been thinking. I am in the wrong line of work. It's time to retire.”

53.

54. My eyes darted over. I did not know if he was serious, or yanking my pole. The Reaper loved sucking souls as much as I loved to watch.

55.

56. Electricity ignited the air when Reaper sucked. The joy of others dying was catnip to my savage soul. It did not matter where their soul was headed. It was an acid trip without the shakes.

57.

58. “Two years, I have been sucking shotgun. Never have I seen you hesitate.”

59.

60. “I follow the rules to the letter.”

61.

62. I grunted at that thought. Rules were for fools. Before my cursing, I had been a loving husband to my beautiful wife, and a shameless banker. A lying, cheating, money-hungry, son-of-a-***** that stole little old ladies’ houses. Until, one of them turned out to be a witch, and cursed me.

63.

64. Unknown to the witch, she could not trap me forever in the Scarecrow’s body. Thanks to the fine print, I was given an out every thirteen days. That print will screw you every time. I longed for the day Reaper sucked her.

65.

66. My mind flashed to my wife, and how much I adored her. My body ached to touch her one more time, to feel her skin under me. Her body enveloping mine, but such carnal pleasures were against the rules. Reaper would not allow it. "Rule-following, soul-sucker," I mumbled under my breath.

67.

68. “I want to suck tonight,” I said, my eyes darting back to the Reaper.  My body ached to feel alive again, and I wanted someone to pay for my misery.

69.

70. Reaper stood tall and proud. His dark silhouette shadowed against the full moon fighting to peek out from the dark clouds. He once told me that he was the fifth generation of claimers. Now that was a job, I would sell my soul for, I thought.

71.

72. “Can’t. Against the rules.”

73.

74. “What the hell dude. You are the Reaper. What rules?”

75.

76.  His hand slid under his robe. I held my breath. Maybe I had gone too far. My mind raced trying to guess what torture device his fingers were going to whip out and beat me with.

77.

78.  “Oh my God,” I cursed, as my pulse quickened at the creepy sight.

79.

80.  His fingers were wrapped around a mammoth book entitled, 'Roberts Rules of Reaping.'

81.

82. “It has to be over two thousand pages,” I gasped. “What the hell is wrong with you suckers?”

83.

84.  Even my banker’s book of rules was not that long. Of course, I had never actually read or even owned a copy, but I had seen one. Once.

85.

86. “Rules run the world, Crow.” His fingers started flipping through the huge book. “On page 989, it clearly states that only Reapers suck.”

87.

88. He slammed the book, shoving it back under his dark robe. He looked at me, shaking his head as his eyes danced in assurance. He lived for the fine print of his job. Always, reading and re-reading the paperwork, before he finished the deed.

89.

90. How could a harbinger of Death get a hard-on just by the feel of paperwork? I mused, happy that Reaper could not read my thoughts. I would hate to feel where he would stick that scythe.

91.

92. “It is almost done,” he whispered, pointing to the three men, who were wrestling a large catfish.

93.

94. The water foamed in row after row of frothy waves. The biggest of the men hollered in triumph as the cat plunged down. The beast took his arm still trapped in her mouth, and snatched him under the waves.

95.

96. The trapped noodler’s body erupted out of the water. The cat still attached to his hand, thrashed back and forth, dragging him with her every move, as she fought like a mad woman. He had rammed his hand in her home and stolen her eggs. Now, she wanted blood.

97.

98. “What a pity,” the Reaper said. He bowed his head in thought. “A wife at home and twins.”

99.

100. My heart skipped.

101.

102. It would be a sheer delight to watch as his soul was sucked, and their lives smashed.

103.

104. I did mention I was a SOB, right?

105.

106. The doomed man gasped for breath as the fish pummeled him, smacking her body against his legs. They buckled under the brutal beating. One of his friends wrapped his fingers through his hair and yanked hard, trying to pull him out from under his watery tomb.

107.

108. Big drops of cold rain started pelted the man as the sky finally surrendered and opened up.

109.

110. A grin spread across my face. I loved a good fight to the death. No one ever won against Reaper, and I knew it was almost time for him to give the doomed man a final blow.

111.

112. My hand slid across my face, slinging drops away from my eyes, so I could get a better view.

113.

114. My days as a poop pad for the birds were filled with reliving these deaths over and over. If not for these sucking, my mind would burst from boredom.

115.

116. “A boy and a girl,” Reaper said. He knelt by the bank and wept.

117.

118. “What the devil is wrong with you?” I demanded. A cry baby Reaper is not my idea of death. Maybe, Reaper had lost his passion for sucking and needed to retire, and I knew just the man for the job.

119.

120. He laid his scythe down and sighed as rain pounded. “Every 100 years I get to spare a soul.”

121.

122. “I cannot wait thirteen more days before I get my fix,” I shouted over the wailing wind.

123.

124. “You have no choice.”

125.

126. My eyes darted to Reaper as he bent over, tenderly taking a form out of his rule book. He hunched over the precious paper  as he filled out the form that would save the poor sap’s life.

127.

128. The scythe was lying on the ground. Its silver-tip glistened in the rain, calling me. I eased over as Reaper flipped back and forth in his rule book to see how to fill the form out correctly. Reaper whistled The Andy Griffin Tune, ignoring the winds shouting their protest at his choice.

129.

130. The doomed man leaped out of the water as the fish released him. His hands reached up, digging into the muddy bank. He grabbed at a tree root, heaving himself to safety.

131.

132. Loud, rebel yells filled the night as the other two men celebrated their friend's victory.

133.

134. My mind screamed out in pain. I could not allow such celebration to continue. My trembling  fingers reached for the scythe, wrapping around its wooden handle coated with the blood of countless souls.

135.

136. I jumped up and ran towards the men.

137.

138. “Oh *****,” I heard Reaper curse, stuffing his paperwork back into his robe before he took off after me.

139.

140. Power scorched through me. I was the Reaper. My legs pumped harder and harder as I ran for the man. He would not escape.

141.

142. Rain pelted, but it did not slow me.

143.

144. “Jesus,” one of his friends shouted as I broke through the clearing. The scythe swung wildly in midair.

145.

146. My eyes locked on the man. His body laid flat across the ground as he tried to regain his breath from the death-match with the cat.

147.

148. My lips pulled into an evil grin as water poured around me. To hell with Reaper. I was death.

149.

150. My arms shot up as I got ready to deliver the death-blow. The man’s eyes widened in fear.  My nose sniffed in delight at the scent of him fouling himself.

151.

152. Ah, I would relish that smell of power for weeks. As a man, I never took a life. My wife Arianna and making lots of money were my only pleasures.

153.

154. Now, I was going to do what Reaper did not have the balls to do. I raised the scythe higher.

155.

156. Suddenly, a jolt flew through me as lightning struck, hitting the silver scythe, sending its quivering juice down my body. Every nerve-ending in me twitched in agony as I collapsed.

157. The doomed man’s buddies grabbed him by the arms and ran, dragging him behind them as they shouted in fear and prayed for mercy.

158.

159. “If you would have just let me finish the paperwork,” Reaper said, standing over me, shaking his head. “It was your soul I was saving.”

160.

161. I grunted in disbelief.

162.

163. “It’s buried in the fine print. I get to release an apprentice every 100 years.” He bent down, his fingers snatching up his abandoned scythe.

164.

165. “Help me,” I begged as Hell’s Hounds barking filled my ears. My heart throbbed at the blood-curdling sound of one of them howling, claiming their prey.

166.

167. “Arianna was pregnant with twins when you were cursed,” He said, his shoulder slumping down. “It is over now. The rules clearly state that your end has come. I cannot break them.”

168.

169. He turned away as the first hound’s sharp fangs snatched my ankle, dragging me to Hell.

170.

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