The screams of restless souls awoke me from my sleep.

I went to Father’s room and tried stirring him awake, but like always he was sleeping like his clients; the dead.

So I decided to take the call.

Grabbing my father’s scythe from off the wall and donning his cloak I swung the blade and tore a hole into the air which I promptly glided through.

What I saw disturbed me to my core.

A man stands with his back to me, his hair unkempt and white, his lab coat grimy and covered in dirt, standing with his arms reaching up to the heavens, from the reflections of the hundreds of test tubes and beakers lining his walls I see his toothy grin glistening against the grey backdrop.

Before him lay the souls.

Stitched, stapled, and grafted together into an unholy beast.

“Help us!” The flesh screams to me.

“Please, my God, what did I do to offend you?”

I stand behind the man, looking over his shoulder at his abomination.

“It’s alive!!!” He cries out. “I’ve done it!!!”

My disgust turns to anger as I grab the man by his shoulder.

He turns to me, looks me dead in the eyes and laughs in my face. The wrinkles on his skin portray someone forty years older than his actual age. His obsession with conquering the dead has snatched the youth from him, and likely anyone who ever tried to get close to him.

“I could feel you, I knew you were close, and now I see you. I have found a way to beat you. A way to defeat Death.”

I smirk and his large bloodshot eyes widen beneath his excessively large goggles.

“Death is asleep.” I whisper into his soul.

“Then what are you?” His lip quivers as he notices me for the first time. A face he never anticipated.

“I’m his daughter and I am not restrained by the rules he is bound by.”

I bring the blade down upon him, his blood splashing up and painting my face. Painting his once white lab coat into an even deeper crimson.

His creature looks to me with pleading eyes as I make my way over to it.

I unstitch every thread, unstaple every staple, and I free every piece of trapped flesh. I carry each piece back to the graves they came from and bury them. Putting them once again to rest.

I wipe my brow after a job well done, and just as I’m about to leave, I feel the cold shadow of my father leering behind me.

I turn and smile awkwardly, he grabs me by the wrist, snatches the scythe from my hand and drags me back home. But despite the anger in his tired eyes I know deep down he’s more upset at having his sleep interrupted and the large amounts of paperwork I’ve burdened him with than with what I’ve done. I know he’s proud of me. Annoyed, but proud.