Jane and Catie could smell cookies from downstairs. As they went through the hallways and the elevator, the smell grew stronger, filling their noses with its sweet scent. They finally reached the foyer and entered the kitchen.
"Morning, girls!" Mrs. Macabre said, reaching into an oven.
"What kind of cookies are those?" Jane asked, not quite being able to pinpoint the variety of smell.
"I bet it's something gross," Catie said with a devilish grin, "like bugs!"
"Or finger nails!" Jane tried to up the ante.
"Chocolate chip," the witch said, placing the tray of cookies on the kitchen table. She wiped her hands on her apron.
"Oh," the Gracey twins frowned in unison. Chocolate chip was indeed their favorite cookie, but they were hoping for something more gruesome. The Hallowland had made them accustomed to gross and ghoulish foods.
"Are they for us?" Jane perked up, hoping that she'd be able to taste that wonderful aroma soon.
"I'm afraid not," Mrs. Macabre said. "These are for the Grim Reaper."
"The Grim Reaper?" Catie looked at Jane in shock. "You mean like. . . . Death?"
"Well, yes," she responded casually, "he placed an order for them last night."
"Do people often do that?" Jane asked, remembering the card that she was given that night in her bedroom.
"Indeed they do. Baked goods, potions, back rubs, a whole variety of things."
"Do they pay you?" Catie inquired.
"A small fee, but that's not the goal of it. The doing of the task is its own reward," she snapped her fingers and a black box came flying out of one of the cabinets along with some red satin. The cookies floated in the air and were gently placed inside the box, which subsequently closed itself. The ribbon tied itself into a snug bow neatly on top. She snapped her fingers once more and a card appeared in her hand. A pen shot out of a drawer and she wrote:
To: G.R.
From: Mrs. Macabre
She smiled at her fine, cursive writing on the package. "Come along then," she said, taking off her apron.
"You want us to come with you?" Jane asked, stunned.
"Yes, why not?"
"Well," Catie started. "He's. . . he's Death.
"I'm sure he's a lovely man," Mrs. Macabre shrugged. "Never met him myself. Always made deliveries via magic to him. But, since I now have a pair of tourists, I thought they'd want to see the sights," she smiled and picked up the box. "But, if you don't want to come and would rather stay with Elvira and Jack instead, I understand," she walked out of the kitchen.
"Let's go," Catie turned to Jane.
"I'm not sure that's a good idea-" Jane said quickly, knowing that her sister would want to follow Mrs. Macabre without hesitation.
"Come on," Catie walked out of the kitchen. "We've got a witch as our guide. What's the worst that could happen?" She smiled.
Jane followed her with a huff. In between Catie nearly being killed by the nightmare trees, the strange way Mrs. Macabre reacted in the library, and now this, Jane was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the idea of her being so impulsive, but she followed her anyways. Someone had to be the ladder to rest her feet on.
"Without further ado, girls," Mrs. Macabre said, grabbing her broom from the umbrella holder, "I give you, the river Styx," she opened the front door and they were greeted, not by a majestic sight, but frankly a mundane one. The only things that were visible was the bank of the river itself covered in dirt, twigs, and leaves, along with a small boat that was beached onto it. The rest was a dense fog that covered where the river flowed. There was no soft purring of water, as the girls had expected upon the announcement of the location, only a soft wind blowing in the distance.
"This is it? Jane asked. "I thought it would be more. . . "
"Magical," Catie finished with a sigh.
"Oh, pish-posh!" Mrs. Macabre scoffed at them. "This is one of the most wondrous sights in all of the Hallowland! Look how beautiful the fog curls and overlaps against itself, like a wave. Marvel at how peaceful and tranquil the shore is!"
The Gracey twins looked at her with the same faces that they made upon seeing the pink socks that their grandmother had given them for Christmas one year.
"Very well, then," Mrs. Macabre clicked her tongue. "No appreciation for beauty these days. Off we go!" She marched to the boat and they all got in. "Everyone settled?" She asked, stepping in and handing the box of cookies to them.
"How are we supposed to sail?" Jane asked, holding onto the box as she wobbled sitting down.
"Simple," Mrs. Macabre said with a smile, "by broom!" She tapped the end of her broom on the side of the boat and it became an oar. She dipped it in the water and pushed off.
The girls looked down and saw no river, they only saw fog. "Where did you get that?" Catie pointed to the broom-oar.
"My teacher gave it to me," Mrs. Macabre said, wisps of smoke rolling off her oar with every row.
"Teacher?" Jane asked. "You mean you went to magic school?"
"More or less. It was a graduation present. Look!" She pointed in front of them.
They both turned and saw that small candles had appeared in the fog. They curved, pointing them to the left. They glowed in the grayness like fireflies.
"What does that mean?" Catie said, excited.
"It means, we're almost there."
As they continued down the path of the candles, the fog opened up around a giant cave off to the side. Jane felt a chill go through her, as if the howling of the wind was a cry of warning in the distance. As they entered the mouth of the cave, stalagmites hung above them like razor sharp teeth.
The inside of the grotto was lit by candelabras that flanked the river on the rocks surrounding them. Wax dripped down onto the stones, the candle light bounced off the walls, shimmering with amber light. Skeletons dancing with mortals were carved into the rocky surfaces. They stopped at a small beach nearby and docked.
"Here we are," Mrs. Macabre said, placing the oar into the boat. "Thank you, dear," she said to Jane as she was handed the box.
"It's beautiful, in a strange kind of way," Jane said, getting up.
"And big too," Catie said, jumping onto the gray sand of the beach. She cupped her hands over her mouth and called out, "Hellooo!" But there was no echo. No sound came back to them, the Gracey twins exchanged glances.
"Interesting," Mrs. Macabre said with a sense of curiosity and delight. "Oh, Mr. Reaper? It's Mrs. Macabre. I believe you placed an order?" She held up the box, as if he was hiding somewhere.
There was a moment of silence, then a dark voice responded, "Yes. I believe I did."
The source of the voice was nowhere to be found. Then, out of the darkness, came a figure. The Grim Reaper was clad in long black robes that fell to the ground. He was nearly seven feet tall, as tall as Jack, Catie thought. His face was shrouded from view by his hood and in one of his hands he carried a long scythe. Jane couldn't help but remember the Weeping Widow upon seeing him.
"And I see you've brought a number of guests with you," he continued in a low, measured tone that made them all shiver.
"I-" Mrs. Macabre said, trying to compose herself, "I had some guests from the human world traveling with me and I thought they would enjoy visiting your beautiful home. And, I must say, as someone who has never met you, it is quite an honor, sir," she bowed and smiled slightly. For the first time since meeting her, Jane and Catie had seen something from their host that they had never thought possible until then. Intimidation.
"Very well," he said in a manner that could only be described as bemused. "Is the delivery as I instructed?" He held out a pale hand.
"Yes, sir. Chocolate chip," she gave him the box and he took it.
As the Grim Reaper went over to a nearby rock, Mrs. Macabre briefly looked at the children and gave them a wink, as if to reassure them that all was well. But Jane thought she wasn't quite as confident as she thought she was.
The Reaper sat down and placed his scythe against a wall. He carefully undid the ribbon and opened the box. He picked up one of the cookies between two fingers and placed them in the hood of his cloak. He drew his hand back and a bite mark appeared on the cookie. "Mmmmm," he moaned. "Warm. . . gooey. . . delicious," he took another bite.
"So glad you like them, sir," Mrs. Macabre said in almost a sigh of relief. "Do you have the payment?"
He reached into his robes and came back with a small leather pouch. He tossed it to her and she caught it with a metallic jingle.
"Thank you sir," she said, placing the money into her pocket. She quickly turned towards the boat. "Come along, girls. Let us leave Mr. Reaper to enjoy his-"
"Wait," he said.
Mrs. Macabre stopped dead in her tracks and closed her eyes for a moment. "Yes?"
"I'm sure you are aware of the rules, Mrs. Macabre," the Reaper continued, wiping his hands on his robes. "One cannot leave the river without offering a soul."
"I was. . . unaware of those rules," she responded, almost through clenched teeth. She turned around. "Whose are they?"
"It is the law of the universe. I only do its bidding. One of you shall not leave this place alive."
Skeletons shot up from the sands of the beach and held all three of them in an embrace, anchoring them to the spot. Jane and Catie twisted and turned, but the boney arms were wrapped too tightly around them.
"Let us go!" Mrs. Macabre said, struggling.
"Choose," the Reaper said, ignoring her pleas. "Choose which of you shall die."
The three of them could only look at one another in silence. They secretly thought that they would gladly sacrifice themselves for each other, but that was only their hearts talking. Soon their minds took over the conversation and the full gravity of the situation came into vision as clear as crystal. If one of them agreed, they would never see the other again. They would never know what it would be like to wake up on a beautiful morning, to laugh, to cry, to feel anything. They would cease to exist only because their hearts told them not too. And that terrified them.
"Fascinating," the Reaper spoke after a long pause. "Since the three of you cannot decide who shall be taken, I propose a challenge. Whomever defeats me in a game of wits, I shall set you all free. But should they lose, their soul shall sail to the netherworld."
"What game are you suggesting?" Mrs. Macabre asked.
The Reaper reached into his robes. Jane then remembered a story she read about a knight who played chess with Death. She hoped it wasn't true, considering she was terrible at the game and she knew Catie was as well. She prayed that Mrs. Macabre would be a master chess player, but that wish was no longer needed. What the Reaper took out instead was a dark polished box about the size of a small jewelry case.
"Within this receptacle," he explained, "are infinite cards. Upon each card is a question on the nature of someone's demise."
"It's a trivia game?" Jane asked, perplexed by how mundane it seemed.
"Do not underestimate my proposal, child. I have never lost. I suppose you are the one to accept it?"
Jane looked at her sister, Catie nodded, they both knew that she was the better reader of the two. "Yes."
"Jane, no! Please!" Mrs. Macabre protested.
"This is the only way we're going to get out of here," she said, reassuringly.
"But you're just a child!," Mrs. Macabre pleaded with her. "This is too big for someone so small to handle! "
"Well, what better time to learn how to be big than this?" Jane looked into Mrs. Macabre's eyes, battling it out with her. She could see the witch wasn't going to let her win, yet at the same time, she knew that Jane was right. That Jane truly was the only person who had the knowledge to win such a game. Mrs. Macabre finally gave in and nodded, mournfully.
"Very well," the Reaper said and the skeleton holding Jane turned back into sand.
Jane rubbed her neck where the skeleton's arm had been. She walked over, her heart racing. She couldn't believe what she was doing. Challenging Death for her soul in a trivia game? She must have been out of her mind! But it was too late now, she would rather take the risk than to lose both Catie and Mrs. Macabre. The thought of which terrified her the most. She sat down on the rock across from the Reaper, the box sitting patiently between them.
"Are you ready?" He asked.
She took in a deep breath and let it out. "Yes," she said.
"Begin," he opened the box and placed his hands in his lap, waiting.
She reached into the darkness, feeling nothing but cold air. Then a card appeared in her hand, startling her. Jane took it out and looked at it: Nothing. She looked on both sides and the card was blank. As she gazed at it, ink slowly appeared on one side, forming shapes, then letters, until finally, a question.
"What was the date of Julies Caesar's death?" She read.
"Simple," he responded. "March 15, 44 BC."
The date wrote itself below the question. "Correct," she said and the card evaporated.
The Reaper reached into the box and pulled out a card. "Where did Leo Tolstoy die?" He asked.
Jane's mind raced, searching the files of her brain for one scrap of information. Then, she found it. A memory of a documentary on Tolstoy that they watched in English class. "At the train station in Astapovo!" She snapped.
"Correct," the Reaper said with a sigh and his card disappeared.
Jane looked over and saw Mrs. Macabre frowning with worry. Her sister struggled to give her a thumbs up. She pulled out another card. "When did Joan of Arc die?"
"May 30, 1412," he said casually.
"Correct," Jane said.
Their battle of wits continued for what seemed like hours.
"When did Abraham Lincoln die?"
"April 15, 1865."
"Where is Napoleon Bonaparte buried?"
"Les Invalides. Paris, France."
"Where was John F. Kennedy assassinated?
"Dallas, Texas."
On and on the questions continued. Jane's mouth grew dry and her hands started to ache from reaching into the box over and over again.
"Growing tired, little one?" The Reaper said without a hint of slowing down.
"No," she said, placing her head in her hands. "Are you?"
"I have never known the meaning," the Reaper responded and pulled out another card. "What day of the week did Percy Shelley die?" He asked.
She snapped back upright. How lucky was she that he would ask such a question about the Shelleys! The date itself was July 8, 1822, but the day of the week? That had slipped her mind. She of course had read the biography of Mary Shelley countless of times, but that one piece of information had evaded her memory bank. Her heart raced, was this it? Was this how she was going to die? Because of some stupid game?
"Give up?" The Reaper spun the card between his long fingers.
"No!" She nearly screamed in panic. "No, I know what it is. It's. . . it's. . ." She glanced at Mrs. Macabre and Catie, their faces filled with fear. Then it clicked. "Monday! He died on a Monday!"
The Reaper paused. Not being able to see his face made the whole situation that much more agonizing. "Correct," he finally said.
"Yes!" Catie cried, but stopped after she saw the Reaper turn his head towards her.
Jane reached into the box and got another card. She looked at it for a moment, then smiled. "How did Edgar Allan Poe die?"
"What a simple question!" The Reaper said, sitting back. "Such an easy inquiry that I'm sure the game will end. Prepare your final words to your friends, girl. Edgar Allan Poe died, of course, of. . . . " he trailed off and looked to the side, as if in thought. "He died of-" his hand clenched in frustration. "Give me a moment."
"Take your time," Jane said, trying her hardest not to laugh. She looked at her companions and they both shared the same enthusiasm.
"He died of. . . " The Reaper paused again. He slammed his fist on the rock. "Hell and damnation, what is it?"
"Unknown!" She slapped the card face up on the table. "Though there are many theories on how Poe died, no one knows for certain!"
The skeletons holding Mrs. Macabre and Catie turned to sand. They both ran up to her and embraced her.
"I knew you could do it!" Catie said.
"Come on girls, let's go home," Mrs. Macabre smiled, but her eyes glared at the Reaper like daggers.
"Fair game," the Reaper held out his hand as Jane was about to follow them to the boat.
"Fair game," she reluctantly shook his hand, it felt like ice. He pulled her forward.
"I saw a vision," he said, a black void staring back her. "Someone whom you hold dear will soon die."
"Who?" She asked, scared. She looked over at Mrs. Macabre and Catie, but they were too busy getting into the boat.
"I do not know which. The road of fate has not one path, but many. One way or another, my debt will be paid, girl."
She yanked away from his grip and quickly ran towards the boat. Though she couldn't see his face, she sensed something that terrified her more than his prophecy. She knew that he was smiling at her.
***
"I'm sorry, girls," Mrs. Macabre later said on the river, the candles illuminating the night air. "I should never have put you in danger like that. I was foolish to think I could trust him."
"It's okay, Mrs. Macabre," Catie said. "At least we have her!" She nudged Jane on the shoulder, but she didn't notice.
Deep in the fog, Jane could just barely make out the figure of the Weeping Widow inside of it. Her long black arm was waving to her in the distance. She was beginning to feel that the Widow was becoming her only anchor, as her own river was slowly growing cloudier.