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Even the Reaper was familiar with sentimentality; it often struck in the loneliest and most quiet of times. Boredom was another fragment of his loneliness, enough to spark a curiosity at the potential of something new – a chance to experience old memories a man supposedly 'treasured most' with the user acting as a spectating ghost. Nothing new. It was an experimental device but he doubted the potential, his memories feeling like nothing more than the belongings of a long-dead resident left behind to sort and discard, tainted by bitterness and dust.
It couldn't possibly work as there was nothing treasured, he didn't think he was capable of looking back anymore and reflecting on brighter times. Yet here he was, suddenly cloaked in the shadows of a certain fall evening in Los Angeles, surrounded by familiar buildings and the rumblings of excited children wandering the streets in their little gremlin packs. Of course, hardly a second was needed to notice the commotion nearby and he knew what time this was – Halloween.
He knew these streets like the back of his hand, even still; the shortcuts and hiding places, the backstreets he used to sneak home when tensions were running high. He wondered where the little brat must be now; he didn't have much interest for following such a memory, not when down the street he could see his home as he remembered it – that narrow and rundown two-storey townhouse.
It would be nice to see his mother young again, perhaps even the old haunt.
A ghost in the open street, Reaper passed old houses and cars toward his old dwelling, spotting the occasional decoration and watched as cheerful kids run by with their costumes, their joy and excitement wretchedly contagious. It was the best time of year and he couldn't deny that, that fondness for dressing up had never gone away for him though he'd never admit to still being a child at heart. No, that would show he still cared about something.
Soon enough he was there, standing before the steps leading to the old Reyes homestead; a warm and inviting place, often smelling of mama's cooking in the evenings when he'd come home. Not tonight, but dinner must have been early. His carved pumpkins sat on the stairs and didn't look half bad, though it had been his mother's craftsmanship that had saved them from the brink of death.
He gazed up to the window on the second storey with the warm lamplight, his bedroom. The climb to said window was easy with his abilities, using the breeze to carry him up through the always ajar window, too stiff for the kid to successfully fix it. He wandered over the deathtrap of obstacles on the floor to materalise where there was space. He looked around the cramped and warm little room, big enough to fit a single bed and desk that largely was used as a makeshift shelf. The peeling walls were masked and patched up with battered posters of bands and horror films he had managed to collect over the years, a miniature gallery of the things he used to enjoy. The made bed was a halfhearted attempt lest his mother would wag her finger at him or worse, but the floor remained a warzone of laundry. Efforts had been made to hide some of it but Halloween was far too important, with he obviously having decided he'd rather shirk chores and face wrath later.
As he moved forward to gaze at his surroundings he felt a certain crack of plastic beneath his boot. He lifted it and gazed down curiously at the now-broken soldier action figure, some hero he can't remember the name of anymore but he remembered it had seen many a battle. There was a time Gabriel used to believe in heroes and even dreamt of being one, but he'd always struggled to do it right – it was always cooler to solve conflicts with attitude. At least make believe could fix his reality, sometimes. Reaper made a hollow laugh as he continued to gaze; he'd managed to snap off its rocket launcher and arm. It didn't matter; most of the kid's toys were broken, anyway – what difference was one more? He kicked it aside and the soldier rolled under the bed for himself to find later when cleaning.
All that was left here were childish memories, it was time to move on.
He made his way out into the small hall and slithered down the stairs in a plume of smoke to avoid the particular steps that had always creaked and alerted his mother, not wanting to disturb her if it was even possible in this state. He moved down the warm entrance hall and lingered in the open walkway to observe the living room from the shadows. Mama sat at the couch, her sewing kit still out, hardly watching the horror movie on tv as she kept checking the time. He knew exactly why – she'd been shrugged off by her son who seemed to think he was an adult simply because he could find his way back home.
She looked so young yet so tired, her tied up hair not yet gray from stress. In his youth he'd learned quickly that life was difficult for the two of them, yet he never quite understood the stresses he'd left with her in his absences. It was rare he saw them for himself, always wanting to get away on adventures and wriggle out of her arms when she was overbearing, always hated feeling smothered by people. He'd realised he'd been a pain years later. She was the only soul he had some pity left for in this godforsaken world.
It was then there was a knock at the door and she sprung up to her feet only to head through the doorway and pass right through him. Instinctively he'd faded as he watched, but she doesn't appear to notice as she answered the door only to find some trick or treaters. She wasn't ready for them, needing to fetch the nearby bowl to pass out the few homemade candies she had left. He wondered how many times she'd answered the door in the past hour hoping it was him.
The kids seem disappointed and he seethed at the little ingrates as they left, wishing he could pluck the candy from their clammy, greedy hands and keep it for himself. One always missed the little things once they were gone.
“Your efforts went in vain so often, but I know apologies mean nothing now. I never realised how cursed we both were.” Reaper spoke to the air as she closed the door and made her way back toward the living room to pass through again. For a brief moment her footsteps ceased and he turned to look at her, her wide stare cutting through him. She shook her head and anxiously glanced towards the cross on the wall beside them before she retreated to settle again.
“I'll be home soon, quit worrying about that brat.” His last words to her before he slipped out through the crack beneath the front door and phased back onto the street to force some space between them. He couldn't stand staying there any longer, something deep down had stirred and shifted uncomfortably.
As he looked back at his home from a distance he wondered how his life may have been had he not fled the moment he could enlist for the military. All those years his mother spent alone, wondering and worrying over her reckless son, the videocalls from afar until eventually he'd stopped answering. It wouldn't have killed him to talk a little more, at least... not while he'd still been alive.
But what was the point of questioning it all? The reality was these streets would be ruins without his sacrifices and there would have been no one to talk to, he needed to think with his head. None of this mattered now. The past is simply the past.
“Woah, sick costume, man!”
The voice was oddly familiar but it took a moment to register he was the one being addressed, it was only the aggressive tug at his coat that earned his attention. As he turned around he had to glance downward at the hooded youth peering up at him, eyes shining vaguely from behind a customised hockey mask. The kid did the devil's horns and shook it in the air toward him, entirely unafraid of the cloaked monster before him.
That was … but how could he see? That didn't seem right. Must be the device's imperfections, he'd been warned it was still a prototype. Reaper hissed and stepped back.
"...thanks.” He replied with some hesitance, unsure and mildly suspicious of the boy's ability to see him out in the open.
The kid must have been about eleven or so, puberty hadn't quite blessed him yet, still somewhat a runt among his peers. It would have been endearing had it not been himself, a proverbial thorn in everyone's side, a miniature hellraiser.
“Voice effects, too? Niiice!” The kid was impressed with him, one could tell by the way his hood bounced as he spoke, practically hopping on the spot. “Oh, oh, say somethin' for me like... oh, I know! Like, the Darth Vader line? You know; 'Luke... I am your father.'”
If only he knew how painful his own existence had become, how it wasn't just a cool voice effect for some stupid Halloween costume and how his body was constantly strained, trapped between life and death itself. The kid doesn't know what hell is, what fear is, for that matter. And that was all the more painful to have to live with in this moment and watch this doe eyed youth admire him like it was something cool.
“...no.”
“...what, you don't know who Darth Vader is or you won't do it?”
“No.” He seethed, adamant.
“Awww c'mon! It'll be cool!”
Reaper lingered in silence, unimpressed.
“...wimp.” The boy huffed.
It was hard to believe he used to be so insufferable as a youth, no wonder friends were rare in school.
“...why don't you run on home, kid?” He hissed at him.
“Yeah, yeah... just got a few more houses to hit.”
Reaper eyed the two trick or treating bags that weigh down the boy's arms, already creeping on overfilled. It'd always been stockpiling for him more than anything, the kid learned fast to be an opportunist with treats to tide him over for the winter if they lasted that long. He doesn't understand how he used to get away with it, hardly a sweet kid... perhaps it was the enthusiasm and going overboard with the poor fools who left out the candy bowls unattended.
Why his mother left the little monster unattended at all was a mystery in itself.
“Too much candy and your teeth will rot, you'll also have nightmares.” Reaper warned, voice low and sinister. Of course, none of that bothered the kid, he didn't know what fear was just yet. For a brief moment he loathed the child, how easy it was for him to live without a care in the world, doing whatever he pleased and unaware of the responsibility that would inevitably weigh him down and pull him six feet under.
“So...? Nightmares are cool!”
He was exhausting. Reaper sighed toward the boy and shooed him with a lazy claw. He knew how stubborn he could be, that meant it was time to bring in the big guns. He leaned low, mask staring into mask, his voice deathly serious.
“...you know your mother won't be happy if you stay out past ten.”
The kid tilted his head and made a curious noise. Reaper waited for the gears to shift; little Gabriel was a slacker but he wasn't a fool. It was then he felt the fear rise, the tension in the air.
“...how d–”
“You heard me. Tick tock, you're running out of time. Don't you break your promise.”
The kid took a few steps back and hurriedly headed on his way. Reaper can't help but chuckle as he straightened up and watched the boy manage to spill a few candies in his haste. Hardly a loss, Tafflers were disgusting and put real taffy to shame, anyway. The boy was better off.
Something tells Reaper the boy was finished with his route hence his return home but he had to make the night worth it, sneaking a few more goodies until he had to stop. He'd always pushed his luck and knowing the kid was running out of time, he decided to wait around beside the entrance steps.
He lingered in the shadows until it struck ten. Sure enough, little Gabriel reappeared and leapt up the stairs, proudly displaying his bags of candy at the door when it was opened, much to his mother's horror as she'd only sent him out with one. Either way, he still caught a glimpse of her smiling, lowering to hold the boy in a tight squeeze before she beckoned him inside for the night.
Despite how hard life had been, how much of a drag school was and how little friendships he'd been allowed to keep either by circumstance or sheer luck, Gabriel could always return home to her back then. The textbook definition of patience of a saint. He can almost remember the warmth of her arms around him as the door closed behind the pair and Reaper was left standing in the dark. Alone.
The wraith had been too lost in his own thoughts to notice an offering had been left behind on the stone stairrails near where he'd remained hidden, and plucked up the packet to examine it. Sour gummy ghosts, very funny. Now, that was definitely deliberate, the little menace.
He can remember how sick he'd felt after that night but it'd so been worth it – the greatest haul he'd ever achieved. No other year had come close, and every year that had followed was full of growing pains, but at the least there'd been hugs and candy without a care in the world. Once.
He suddenly stirred awake with that warmth lingering and looked at the little device in his hand that rested there instead of the candy.
He didn't like this.
How dare it make him feel something.