Death Be Not Proud

by ShinigamiDad


Rookie

“So where do we begin?” Twilight asked.

Reaper stroked his chin: “Good question. I’ve been doing the job so long, I don’t really remember how I got started…”

Luna furrowed her brow: “You mentioned a rise in disembodied spirits, or hauntings, if you will. How are you able to sense such a presence?”

Reaper chewed his lip and stared at the ceiling for a minute: “Well, I feel a ripple or a disturbance--rather like someone slamming a door in a distant room. Then I just head for it, as though I had heard something.”

Twilight looked puzzled: “Are spirits aware they’re dead? Are they conscious? Do they tend to stay near the place of their death?”

Reaper unfolded his legs and sat up, summoning over another cup of cider: “Let me think--sometimes, sometimes and sometimes.”

Twilight rolled her eyes: “Not especially helpful!”

Reaper chuckled: “Agreed! Let me try to be a bit more specific. Most spirits are unaware of their passing, and are not conscious. As a result, yes--they tend to linger near their final location.”

“Then I would think we’d be able to find a suitable candidate, just by checking the Constable’s records, looking for anypony who may have died of an accident or violence or whatever within the last week,” Twilight observed.

Luna nodded: “That would stand to reason. Let me summon the Constable here with his records.”

She teleported away with a ‘pop’ and a flash of bluish-white light.

Twilight fidgeted with the sword: “Will I have to experience their death visions?”

“Yes,” Reaper replied, standing to stretch, “though many death visions are fairly low-key events: last moments with family, a fleeting vision of past loved-ones, things like that. Your vision, and Luna’s, are rare, since most ponies die fairly quiet deaths. Some really don’t have much of a vision at all.”

“Did you have a death vision? Do you remember it?”

Reaper closed his eyes briefly and shuddered, recalling the overwhelming, jarring mix of Aloe’s erotic attentions, and his violent battlefield death.

“Yes. I remember it vividly--I both lived it, then recorded it as I was being transitioned into my form as Death’s Harbinger. It was a unique position.”

“Not quite unique,” Twilight remarked bitterly. “I had to go through it, too!”

“I know,” Reaper said, apologetically, “and again, I’m sorry. But as Luna pointed out, that did allow you to break through and make a connection with the spirit realm.”

Twilight sighed: “I guess. I just wish there had been another way.”

“Sometimes you have to go back to the end of things in order to...summon a new beginning…” Reaper said, tailing off uncertainly.

Twilight cocked her head sideways: “What is it? Is something wrong?”

Reaper furrowed his brow: “Not exactly wrong, just troubling. I’m sure I’ve heard those words before.”

Before he could ponder it further, Luna and Canterlot’s Constable, Copper Shield, appeared at the foot of the dais in a flash of light.

“I have explained our request to the good Constable, and he has brought along his log book covering the last week,” Luna said, escorting Copper Shield to the cluster of pillows and benches where Twilight and Reaper sat.

“Thanks for your help, Constable!” Twilight exclaimed, standing to greet the nervous, bronze-colored unicorn.

His eyes darted back and forth between Twilight and Reaper. He stepped to the side, and slightly behind Luna: “Sh-sure! Let’s take a look at my logs!”

Twilight moved closer, and Copper Shield began to sweat and breath rapidly, swallowing frequently. Reaper noticed, and stepped between them.

“Do you have record of anypony who’s died in the last week anywhere in the district?” he asked, trying to distract the clearly-agitated Constable.

“Y-yes,” he stammered, focusing on Reaper, avoiding eye contact with Twilight. “An old mare passed away three nights ago out past the edge of town. She lived in a small cottage off an old, unused railroad spur.”

Luna closed her eyes for a few moment, then nodded: “That must have been Blue Belle.”

“Yes, Princess, that’s right,” Copper Shield confirmed, sidling closer to Luna. “Her son found her body the next morning.”

“Was there any sign of foul play, or anything like that?” Twilight inquired, trying to move closer, finding herself blocked again by Reaper.

The Constable laid his ears down and shuddered slightly: “N-no. She was old and not in the best of health. The Coroner confirmed that she just passed away. The undertaker gathered her up that afternoon. The funeral’s set for this evening. Can I please go now?”

Twilight was visibly annoyed by the Constable’s strange attitude, and Reaper’s apparent rudeness: “I guess, though I may stop by later with some more questions. Some things just don’t add up!”

Reaper caught Luna’s eye, and he jerked his head toward the exit: “I’m sure the Constable can send his full report later; no need to trouble him further!”

Luna stepped between Twilight and Copper Shield: “Agreed! And I know you are a very busy pony, Constable. Please let the Captain of my Guard know when your report may be available.”

She quickly shepherded the obviously-relieved unicorn to the chamber’s and shut the door behind him.

Twilight snorted: “Hmpf! Something seems fishy! Did you see how nervous he was? I bet he’s covering something up!”

Reaper smiled indulgently: “Yes--he was covering up his terror!”

“He was clearly very uncomfortable in your presence, Twilight,” Luna added. “This is why Reaper and I tried to shield him from you, and conclude the interview post haste!”

Twilight looked at Luna with a puzzled expression: “What? Why would he be nervous? I wasn’t doing anything!”

Reaper nodded grimly: “You don’t have to do anything. Just standing there is enough for most ponies! Don’t you recall our first meeting, not even three weeks ago?”

Twilight sat down heavily on a padded bench: “Do I really inspire fear like that? This is awful! There’s no way I can ever be the Princess of Friendship, now!”

Reaper smiled sympathetically and sat down next to her: “Which is why it’s imperative we get you up-to-speed, so I can devote myself to figuring out how to get my power out of you--both of you--so we can all resume our normal duties.”

Twilight sniffled and wiped away a tear: “Then let’s get out to Blue Belle’s place, and make the best of this situation. I have a job to do, whether I like it or not!”

Reaper stood and offered his hoof to Twilight with a grin: “You’ve just summed-up my entire existence quite succinctly!”


Twilight and Reaper appeared in a flash outside Blue Belle’s cottage a minute later. Reaper shook his head and dragged his hoof down his muzzle: “Whether it’s Luna or you teleporting, it’s still really disorienting!”

Twilight smiled: “I’ll see if I can’t teach you the technique. It’s less disorienting when you do it for yourself!”

“Speaking of,” Reaper replied, “have you tried simply moving through space to a destination without teleporting? Or tried to phase?”

“No,” Twilight answered, raising an eyebrow. “I guess I could try that now…”

She faded and walked toward the cottage wall, passing through it without a trace.

Reaper nodded, and stepped to the entrance, opening the door and walking into the dark, stale space, his senses straining to detect anything out-of-the-ordinary.

Twilight stepped out of the shadows surrounding Blue Belle’s disheveled bed: “So what am I looking for?”

Reaper took a deep breath, and illuminated his horn, throwing shifting shadows across tables and chairs and counters as he slowly walked around the single, cluttered room.

“In cases of older ponies who just hit the end of the road, their spirits don’t tend to go far, nor are they agitated.” he explained. “In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised that Luna might have a bead on this one, too. Blue Belle likely died in a dream state.”

Twilight went back toward the bed: “So maybe her spirit just stayed with the bed?”

Reaper shook his head: “No, there’s always some drift--usually toward some cherished or long-used item. Look for heavily-worn items--stuffed toys, books, musical instruments…”

“A quilt?” Twilight interjected, lifting a faded, patched blanket from a rocking chair next to the bed.

Reaper regarded the quilt, running it across his hooves, sniffing and examining it closely: “I recognize this.”

Twilight took it back from Reaper and spread it across the bed. It lay still on the bed for a moment, then rose briefly as though it was covering a pony, before sagging flat again.

“This quilt belonged to Belle’s mother,” Reaper said. “She was wrapped in it when she died, some 30 years ago.”

“So what caused it to rise and take shape like that?” Twilight asked. “Belle’s spirit? Some effect of her mother, infused in the fabric?”

Reaper smiled: “Good questions! You were right the first time, but I like the direction you went with the follow-up question!”

He stepped forward and took the quilt from the bed, shaking it and holding it up for Twilight: “Lean in with your horn, and touch the fabric.”

She bent forward and pressed the tip of her horn against a pale, brick-red patch of fabric. It rippled briefly, and the air surrounding it shimmered with a pale silver light.

Twilight rocked back, startled: “I can see her spirit, her death vision, everything!”

Reaper nodded: “Time to take her onward, then. I can’t accompany you to the “Waiting Room” this time. That trick only works if we involve Luna and her dreamscape.”

Twilight shifted nervously and fidgeted: “I’m scared.”

Reaper smiled reassuringly: “Nothing to be scared of--it’s your “Waiting Room.” You have all the power and control there. She won’t be angry or hostile; in fact, she’ll be grateful that you’ve rounded her up and helped her conclude her life.”

“Alright,” Twilight said bravely, “wish me luck!”

She faded out, then disappeared altogether, leaving no trace. Reaper gently re-folded the quilt and set it back on the chair.

“You won’t need luck--you’re the Harbinger.”