Ginny's house was relatively ominous to look at. Three floors, gray paneling and windows that almost looked like stained glass looked down upon me like I was the smallest thing in existence. It was the epitome of every haunted house Hollywood had ever made and it genuinely scared me. How the hell had Ginny ever lived in this terrifying place?

I gulped and hugged my bag tight to my chest. I felt like the final girl in a horror movie forced to flee from a Jason Voorhees knock off. This place was scaring me so much I could only think in movie tropes. Goddamn it. This already felt like it was going to go badly.

I walked up to the front door and knocked. Just when I thought I should have rung the doorbell instead, the door opened and a thin man in his early fifties with a very gray mustache stood there, glaring down at me and making me feel even smaller than the damn house had already made me feel.

"You sellin's somethin'?" he asked, in a tone that suggested he wanted me out of his sight before I answered the question.

I shook my head nervously. "No, sir, I'm… My name is Danielle, and I was one of Ginny's friends. Your wife texted me with Ginny's phone, asking me to come."

He looked like he didn't want to believe me, then jerked his thumb at the inside of the house. I anxiously walked in and he led me to a room with bookshelves lining one wall and a couch and chairs in the center surrounding a coffee table. On the wall opposite the bookshelves was a large oil painting of the Crucifixion. The wall opposite the door was adorned with several framed family photos.

None of them showed Ginny.

I sat down on the couch and felt extremely out of place in this house. Mr. Mouser disappeared for a second and then returned holding a beer can. He sat down in one of the chairs and loudly popped the can open.

"Louise told me she was gonna send you that message. I didn't know she had. I didn't see a point. I was ready to chuck the phone along with the rest of Ginny's crap."

I bit down my desire to say something about calling his only daughter's possessions crap. I didn't want to antagonize him or anything. Whatever the hell they wanted to see me for, I was there to listen. Then I could bite his head off with scathing remarks and potentially the threat of sending him to Hell for hating his daughter.

"So… Um… Why exactly did you want to see me?"

He shrugged. "Hell if I know. Louise just found your number and said she'd call you. I figured you for Ginny's pussy licker, so I didn't much care."

Ooooooohhhhhh, he was trying my patience something awful. I desperately wanted his wife to show up so that I could find out why I was there and just leave. Just being around this asshole was infuriating me. This was already starting to feel like a worse idea than it already had been.

He leaned forward. "You two ever… Y'know… Clean each other's carpet?"

It was taking everything I had not to punch him. "I have a boyfriend, actually." Not exactly the truth, but Kevin was close enough.

Oh, shit, I told him I'd meet up with him after school. Dammit.

Mr. Mouser let out a beer-drenched laugh that made me sick to my stomach. How many had he had before I got there? "Here I thought you was right up Ginny's alley. Oh well, guess not."

I tried to keep calm, but it was difficult. He just wasn't a pleasant man to be around. I should've known that from what Ginny said about her folks, but to hear the man talk about his daughter the way he was, I wanted desperately to go off on him, but I didn't want to at the same time.

I made my decision that hopefully Ginny's mother was easier to deal with. She was now the only reason I wasn’t just leaving right now. I hugged my bag even tighter than I had been before. If it was alive, I'd probably be suffocating it right now.

"How good of friends with Ginny were ya'?"

I tried to find my voice for a second. "She knew my cousin, and he died a few days ago. I had only met her once or twice, but we got along pretty well?"

"Even though she woulda wanted to see your cooch up close and personal?"

Did he… No, I didn't need to ask myself that. Of course he believed he needed to say it that way. Jesus, now I knew what it felt like to hear what guys said about girls in the locker room. And I was once one of those guys who talked like that, but I was never this vulgar, and definitely not about someone I was supposed to care about.

"When we found out she was a faggot, Louise and I did our best to try and get her to understand that she shouldn’t be. It wasn't what God wanted of her, what we wanted of her."

I was slightly confused. I wasn't entirely sure when I'd asked him for exposition on why he hated his daughter, though I couldn't deny that I was curious about just how much he hated her. Using my boss as a scapegoat for your reasoning wasn't sitting well with me, but I kept quiet about that part.

“We sent her to one of them normalizin’ camps, hoped to get her to come to her senses, but all that ended up happenin’ was her hookin’ up with one of the other girls there.”

Ginny hadn’t mentioned that she’d actually had a girlfriend once. I wondered if the relationship hadn’t worked out very well.

He leaned forward and pressed his hands together. “My baby girl, and she was a goddamn dyke. I didn’t want it to happen, but I couldn’t stop her from givin' into such a monstrous sin."

I finally felt I'd heard as much as I could take. "A sin? You think your daughter loving someone was a sin?"

He looked surprised. "My daughter lovin' on another girl was a sin!"

I stood up. "I don't think I wanna hear anything you or your wife has to say. Ginny deserved better than either of you."

Now he stood up. "That little faggot got what she deserved!"

I felt my hand ball into a fist. Granted, he was taller, broader, and simply more physically fit than I was, so my throwing a punch at him probably wouldn't do much, and then there was the fact that there was a coffee table between us. None of that mattered to me, though, because I just wanted to lay into this motherfucker and shut him up.

There was a look on his face that he couldn't believe what it was he was seeing. Considering he was looking at me, that unnerved me just a little bit, but I put it out of my mind almost immediately as a blinding rage took over. I reached for the coffee table and, with one hand, flipped it into the bookshelves on the one side of the room.

I took a step toward him, barely registering that he was now cowering in fear. "You think God believes as you do? That God decided to purposefully send people He created to Hell because they're different from such a tiny portion of the population? Why?” When he said nothing in reply, I shouted, “Answer me!”

Mr. Mouser dropped to the floor. “I don’t know! I swear I don’t! Please!”

I didn’t understand why he was so frightened, but I also didn’t much care. I wanted him to be frightened. To want to fall to his knees and cry. To pay for what he’d done to his daughter. And then when his wife got home, I wanted to do the same to her. I couldn't feel anything for these people besides an intense desire to punish them.

I reached out toward the bookshelf and to my surprise, a bible flew into my hand. "You read this book and you think it's fact, that it's the true Word of God, but it's nothing but a creation of Man. It was Man that decided your daughter was a sinner, Man who ordered you to hate her for her differences, Man, not God!" I threw the bible at the wall. "Don't use God as your excuse to be a piece of shit!"

A door slammed from down the hallway and then suddenly Mrs. Mouser was standing in the room with us. Her eyes widened as she saw me and then she covered her mouth as she saw her husband on his knees on the floor. She backed away from the doorway and tried to run, but as I shouted "Stop!" she stopped dead in her tracks and dropped to her knees as well.

With Mr. Mouser on his knees in front of me, I caught sight of my reflection in the picture frames across from the door. I wasn’t standing there, or at least not as I was before. Hell, I didn’t even have my feet planted on the floor. I looked to either side of me and saw… Wings. I had wings. Legitimate angel wings, with feathers and everything. I looked down and saw my outfit had changed into a sleeveless white dress that barely hit mid-thigh.

Holy shit, I was an angel.

And that really shouldn’t have surprised me, because Hadraniel had told me that. And in reality, that just made sense. I was the Angel of Death, after all.

And for what they'd done to Ginny, these people deserved Death.

I felt my scythe appear in my hand, and I reached down to grab Mr. Mouser. The look in his eyes was pure fear, especially as he glanced at my scythe. I brought it up and positioned the blade to curve around his neck. “You think God is an excuse, giving you the right to hate people because God says so. You’re wrong. Certainly you’ve heard the phrase Love thy neighbor? Did you think that was a suggestion, but discriminate against the gay people was a goddamned Commandment?!”

“Please!” Mrs. Mouser cried. “Let him go!”

“Quiet! You’re next, you heartless bitch, don’t make it worse for yourself!” I turned back to her husband. “Your daughter was a kind, warm person who deserved so much more in life, but you decided she was a sinner.”

“But the bible says--” Mrs. Mouser squeaked.

“The bible is a book written by a bunch of people who threw in their own prejudices and beliefs into a pot and claimed God spoke to them. God is a kind man, who would never tell you to hate someone in His name.” I turned back to Mr. Mouser again. “But in hating your daughter as the two of you did, you led to her committing suicide just because she felt unloved. You’re basically murderers, and murder is a sin.” I lowered my scythe and threw Mr. Mouser at his wife. “Taking your souls to Hell is obviously the right option here."

Mrs. Mouser began to sob loudly, as if she just didn't understand why this was happening. I could've sworn I made myself pretty clear, but these were people who hated their daughter for being gay, so I was almost positive neither of them truly saw anything wrong in their actions. Actions that led to their daughter being dead. Hell, Mr. Mouser outright said Ginny deserved to die. These were people who should be taken to Hell, and maybe dropped off by the security office or whatever the hell counted as legitimate punishment there.

I raised my scythe, ready to rip their souls out of their bodies so that I could drop them off in Hell where they belonged--

--and then I was tackled to the floor.

My wings were suddenly gone, I was back in my old clothes, my scythe was once again a book bag, and the room was the Reaper office back off of Mobil Avenue. The person that tackled me was Samael, who looked out of breath. He ran a hand through his hair to push it away from his face, then stood up and helped me up.

“Whew… Thought I wasn’t gonna make it for a second.”

“How…”

“Boss sent me to pull you out of there, but you’d managed to lock that house up bug good.”

“I… Did?”

“Yep. And that’s part of the reason the Boss sent me after you.” He pointed at me. “The Angel of Death form isn’t something you’re supposed to be able to use, not yet. The Boss has to give you permission for that, and it’s supposed to be locked up inside you until then.” He walked over to the water cooler in the corner behind the desk and poured himself a some water in a styrofoam cup. After an extremely long gulp, he tossed the cup away and walked to the door. "Now c'mon, babe, we've gotta go."

"Don't call me 'babe'," I said, almost instinctively. "Go where?"

"To see the Boss, of course."

---

God sat behind his desk and tapped his fingers loudly. He didn't look happy to see me in the slightest, and if what Samael had said was true, I could understand why. I felt like I'd been called into the principal's office, and to a certain extent, that was entirely the case. What was God if not the principal of the school of existence, after all? Wow, I sounded pretentious when I tried to be philosophical.

Samael and Wendi were both in the room, standing over on one side. Hadraniel wasn't there, but I wondered if that was because Samael was. I still didn't know why those two didn't seem to get along, but I also knew I probably wouldn't get an answer. Wendi looked concerned, Samael looked bored. I couldn't really decide which worried me more.

No, that wasn't true. God's look of almost barely contained boiling rage concerned me more, because if he wanted, he could just decide I didn't exist and then somebody else would take my job. Maybe that wasn't too bad an idea, honestly.

After several minutes of uncomfortable silence, God finally spoke: "I don't want you to think I'm disappointed, Danielle. Just the opposite. I'm proud you stood up against those who use my name as justification for their sinful acts." He sat back in his chair. "Unfortunately, the problem lies in how you carried out these actions. The form you used is only for specific situations, and reaping the souls of your friend's parents for contributing to her suicide is not one of them. That's on top of the fact that you somehow gained access to this form without my granting it to you." He started tapping his fingers on the desk again. "That means only that your internal magic power is much greater than most humans, or even most angels."

I meekly said, "I don't know how I did it."

He nodded. "I do, however. The Angel of Death, same as the other three Horsemen, is fueled by emotion. In your case, sadness stemming from a friend's death and anger at those who were in some way responsible." He stood up and walked over to the window. "The combination of them triggered a chain reaction that let you become this powerful form."

I wanted to ask questions, wanted to say I couldn't help myself, wanted to say… Something… To defend myself, but the only words that came out of my mouth were, "I'm so sorry…"

He barely looked over his shoulder at me. "I know. But there's still a problem to be solved." He turned around and walked over to me. He placed his hand on my forehead and then I felt him doing something I couldn't really describe. Finally, he removed his hand and patted me on the shoulder. "For a period of time, until we can figure out how this happened, I'm temporarily reassigning the responsibilities of the Grim Reaper to another. This is not a reprimand or a punishment, it's to understand what went wrong so that we can get you back to your post as soon as possible."

I looked up at him. "So, I'm a normal human again?"

He nodded. "For the time being. Hadraniel will remain on Earth with you to make sure you're not somehow still holding onto any of the power." He walked back over to his desk.

"Is that possible?"

He shrugged. "In the last two years, a pair of reality warpers with power that rivaled mine have appeared, and Satan's son managed to find a way to free his father, though he failed at his attempt. I may have created existence, but things beyond me are starting to pop up. At this point, I'm almost as in the dark as everyone else." He motioned for Samael. "Sam, take her home."

As I was leaving the office, Wendi leaned down and hugged me. "Oh, Ma'am, I'm so sorry for you!" She looked me in theeyes and said, "Don't you worry. We'll be doing our best to make sure you're back soon."

I smiled for her. "Thanks, Wendi."

"Until then, Mr. Hadraniel will keep good company, even if he is a little surly."

I almost coughed out a laugh. Wendi had never really told a joke before. It was actually kinda funny.

---

I arrived at home and immediately, Mom scooped me up into her arms and held me tightly. It reminded me of when Paul was little. He cried a lot then. I wasn't crying, but Mom knew I needed the hug. Musta been a Mom Thing. Mothers just know sometimes.

After a minute or two, she let me go and I went to my room. There was a box of chocolates on my desk, with a note inside. I figured it was God who left it. I promise that you’ll be back before too long, and with any luck this will all be behind us. I felt a faint smile on my lips, then grabbed a piece of chocolate and tossed it in my mouth. I guess the stereotype of girls eating chocolate when they’re depressed is true. I just had to make sure I didn’t turn it into a habit.

I rooted around in my closet and found my old bookbag. I couldn’t rely on the scythe to transform into it anymore. Now that I thought about it, I didn’t have the cloak anymore but my clothes hadn’t changed. Must’ve been God’s magic, or something. I didn’t really want to put much more thought into it, so that’s what I was going to go with.

I stuffed the chocolate into my bag, grabbed my phone, and left. I didn’t tell anybody where I was going. Hadraniel and Paul weren’t even there, and Mom didn’t ask when I left. I would’ve told her if she’d asked, because I was just going to Kevin’s house. I needed to apologize for not catching up with him after school.

I thought back to lunch when he’d asked me to meet him after school. He said he’d had some sort of feeling, that something seemed wrong to him. I wondered if he’d somehow known, without really knowing, that this was all going to happen. It seemed too coincidental to be nothing but a coincidence. Maybe the universe had tried to use him to stop me from doing what I’d done.

Ten minutes later, I stood on Kevin’s porch and knocked on the door. Once again, the idea to use the doorbell completely slipped my mind. So much had happened since the last time I’d done that, and yet it had only been a couple hours at most. A trip to Heaven and back after massively screwing up your post-reincarnation responsibilities screwed with your sense of timing.

Luckily, Kevin opened the door and I immediately saw concern in his face. “What happened?”

I shook my head. “It’s not important right now. I just need to be around somebody… Somebody important to me.” I held up my bag. “I brought chocolate.”

He smirked. “I guess that makes up for ditching me after school.”

I smiled faintly. “Kevin…”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

He stepped out of the way for me to come inside, and I felt a strange mix of both comfort and shame. Shame because of everything that had happened since I left the school. Comfort because I was with someone I cared about.

I’d lived without being the Grim Reaper for fifteen years. I could live without it again for however long I needed to.