The Haunted Traveler December 2017 Edition

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wore white gloves on its enormous hands.
Trist noticed that the room seemed unnaturally cold. The two looming henchmen
pushed the men into the chairs in front of the desk and then departed. Trist knew it
would be of no use to run to the door as it would likely be locked. He looked over at
Morrel and saw that he was sweating nervously even though the room was strangely
chilly. Trist remained silent and gazed expectantly at the hooded figure in front of him.
The figure lifted its head and seemed to notice the two men for the first time. Its face
was yet to be seen, obscured by shadow, when it should have been in plain view by the
light of the candle.
“What the hell’s going on?” blurted out Morrel. Impatient as usual, thought Trist. It
was obvious. This was a kidnapping ploy and a ransom would have to be paid. After
all, the two men were worth millions. The figure didn’t flinch, so Morrel shut up. There
was a moment’s pause and Trist knew it would be of no use to ask questions. The figure
would speak when it was good and ready.
“You are both, I suppose,” began the figure in a loud deep other-worldly voice that
made Trist’s skin crawl, “entitled to an explanation for our behavior this evening. I
suppose you will find it difficult to believe what I have to tell you, but you’d better…as
it’s gravely important.” The figure seemed to chuckle at that moment.
“You’ve probably already guessed,” it began again, “that I was the one who put the
texts into your respective phones. How I did it is of no great consequence to either of
you. Why I did it is of grave consequence to both of you.” Again, a slight chuckle in the
voice. “I shall tell you why presently.”
“You,” he said, pointing to Morrel, “are one Thomas Elias Morrel,” he added, “As
you well know.”
“And you,” he said pointing to Trist, “are James Michael Trist.” He paused as if
contemplating what he had just said.
“You both know who I am,” he continued, “As I have been in your eyes since the day
you were born.”
Trist wondered what the figure meant by that. He shivered in spite of his efforts to
control his fear. What was going on? Who was this guy?
“I know what you’re thinking, Mr. Trist,” said the figure without emotion. “You’re
thinking, “Who is he and what does he want?” I will tell you, although I do not expect
you to believe me. At first. But you will, I assure you. You will before this night is over.”
Trist straightened up in his chair to prepare for the revelation of his kidnapper.
“I…” said the figure, “am Death!”
Both men sat staring unequivocally at the figure. Then suddenly, Morrel burst out
laughing. The figure turned ever so slightly to Morrel and he stopped immediately.
“One does not laugh at Death, fool,” said the figure coldly. Trist was so confused
he could only stare dumbly at the figure. He didn’t feel like laughing at all. This was a
bad dream. He expected to wake up at any moment. But it wasn’t a dream and he was