I was Raised by Death. There are Some Things They Don’t Tell You.

Hi everybody. I’m Benjamin…well, I actually don’t know my last name. I’m 26-I think-and, just like my admittedly crazy title says, death is my father.

He’s not like, the Grim Reaper, or some serial killer, or something, no. In fact, I’m not even quite sure what he is.

He could be the wind blowing through your hair at the graveyard, or the crow that looks at you through the window after your grandma dies. He could be in the corner of the hospital room your grandpa always pointed at before he passed. He can really be anything he wants-but usually, for me, he takes the form I’ve called dad my whole life; a heavyset old man with greying hair and a beard that tickles you when he picks you up.

He’s not my actual dad, obviously. I don’t think he’s capable of doing that. He’d always say, “you’re like nothing I’ve ever seen before.” Basically, I’m not supposed to be alive. By all means, I shouldn’t be. They don’t usually tell you this, but everybody has a fate. It’s not always a good fate, in fact, usually it’s not, but it’s a fate, one you can’t change. I was supposed to meet my fate very early in life-three days after I was born, in fact. I was supposed to have been left in the rain outside of the hospital and succumbed to the outdoors.

But when dad came to collect me, I was alive. This had never happened before. See, dad doesn’t kill people. In fact, he’s never hurt a soul. His job is to collect the souls of people who’ve met their fate, and put them to rest. So by the time he came for me, I should’ve, by all accounts, been dead. But I wasn’t. My existence, I’ve been told, is a weird one. I don’t fit into this timeline. I shouldn’t be alive-and me partaking in the simple act of living could cause serious consequences. But, like I said, I can’t be killed, since technically I’ve met my fate. So, my dad decided to do the next best thing-taking me under his wing.

I had a normal enough childhood. Well, I didn’t go to birthday parties or daycare. Most of the time I traveled with dad; by the way, if you’ve never experienced traveling through time and space waves, you’re totally missing out. I’d visit all sorts of people-grandpas who were ready, ambitious risk takers who weren’t ready, and everything in between. But I’m here to tell a story that’s stayed with me for a long time.

Dad isn’t perfect at his job. Some people don’t go to rest. Either because dad’s unable to help them, or they died with too much anger in their hearts, something happens to the souls who overstay their welcome on earth.

They stop being people. Since this incident, I’ve seen plenty of these things, and yet every time they scare me. They lose all their humanity. Their faces become mangled with pain, forever twisted in agony, their limbs stretch farther than you could imagine, their eyes glowing with rage and a desperation to leave their torturous existence.

Usually, they come out at night. They often frequent dark places like empty alleys or deep woods; somewhere where nobody will see what they’ve become. They’re a nuisance, however. Dad’s bosses don’t seem to enjoy having these wildcards littering earth, and it usually causes a media frenzy if one happens to be spotted. So, a semi-frequent part of dad’s job is to find these things and put them to rest.

This story started like the usual take-your-son-to-work-day did; in the middle of the night, in the thick bush of Australia, hunting down a monster.

“Stay here, Benny.” Dad said. “It’s too dangerous in the bush.”

“No, daddy, I want to go with you.” I complained. I think I was about eight years old.

He sighed, and thought for a moment. “Alright. But stay by me, and cover your eyes when I say so.”

I did as I was told, gleefully grabbing his hand as he traversed through the thick plants. Soon, we started to hear something.

“Good.” Dad muttered. “She’s comin’ out.”

I held dad’s hand a bit tighter as I heard it growl. I saw a glimpse of glowing yellow eyes and a sharp snarl.

“Close your eyes, Ben.”

“But dad, I-‘

“Close your eyes.”

I did as I was told, although I knew what he was going to do. Like I said, my dad isn’t a person. He’s not the guy I see him as. In cases like these, he likes to change form. Something he knows the soul knows well. For whatever reason, he didn’t like it when I saw him change forms.

I heard what sounded like a big fight-I heard a yell as something was tackled to the ground, and some ear-piercing screams. Eventually, it subsided. I tentatively opened my eyes again to see the thing gone.

Her name was Linda. She had a son around my age, she said, and missed him dearly. She had been killed by her husband three months ago. She never got to say goodbye.

“I don’t want to go on without ever saying I loved him one last time.” She cried.

“He knows, love.” My dad said in his firm but gentle voice. At some point before I opened my eyes he had switched back to the dad I knew.

“What about me?”

Dad closed his eyes. “He loved you. He loved you very much.”

I watched in silence as Linda’s eyes turned from yellow, to a hazel brown. They were beautiful. She smiled, her straight white teeth a far cry from the sharp snarl I saw before.

“It’s time to go.” My dad said as he held out his hand.

But that’s not the main part of the story. I’ve dealt with plenty of Lindas in my “life.” The one I’m about to tell you is…different.

I was probably around 10, and was trusted by dad to spend more time unsupervised. But I did have some strict rules to follow. He truthfully didn’t know what would happen if I was to interact with other living people. “Everything fits like a puzzle,” He’d always say. “The fates move with precision-everything happens for a reason. If an anomaly like you were to get out, it could damage the timeline.”

Unfortunately, though, I was a dumb kid, and thought I knew better.

When he was away, I’d go for walks. That in it of itself wasn’t too bad-as long as I was somewhere remote enough I’d never see anyone, dad said it should be fine. This time, though, I didn’t listen to him. I had seen many playgrounds in my travels with dad, but was never allowed to play on one. Just like he said, “Always tread on the side of caution,” whatever that meant. I decided to sneak away and find a playground somewhere near where he was collecting souls.

I swung on the swings a few times and attempted the monkey bars. Overall, it was more disappointing than I expected. I was just getting ready to leave when I heard a voice.

“What are you doing?” I turned around to see a boy, around my age, with dusty blonde hair and a shirt with a cartoon on it.

“My dad says I shouldn’t talk to strangers.” I said.

“My name is Tyler. Now I’m not a stranger. What’s yours?”

“I’m Ben.”

“Cool. Wanna go throw rocks in the pond with me?”

We made fast friends after that. We spent until dusk climbing trees and chasing squirrels. For once in my life, I felt like a real kid.

“I gotta go. Mom says I have to be back before the sun goes down for dinner. Wanna come over? We’re having sloppy joes.”

I hesitated. “No, I shouldn’t.” I said, and kicked myself for not coming up with a better excuse.

Tyler shrugged. “Okay. Let’s meet here tomorrow, alright? Let’s build a fort.”

When dad got back to me, I was informed we’d be spending a little more time where we were for the time being (as it turned out, Colorado had many more deaths than anticipated.) It was out of the ordinary, usually we never spent more than a day at one place-we had 40,000 souls to free.

“Did you get up to anything fun today?” Dad said as he served my dinner.

I contemplated telling him, but decided against it. “Not really.”

I played with Tyler the next day, too. We agreed to meet up in the same place the day after.

But he wasn’t there. I waited a few minutes. Still no. After dark, I snuck past my dad to try and see if he had ever come back.

As I stood in the dark woods, I heard something. A growl that I had grown all to familiar with.

I frantically spun around, trying to see everywhere I could. I knew how dangerous these things were. I could hear it getting closer.

“Dad! DAD!” I cried out.

This thing…could it have killed Tyler? Was this our fault? Did I lead it to him?

Suddenly, I saw a crow looking at me from a branch.

“Dad, please!” I said louder as I saw the thing stand on its hind legs.

But through its viscous yellow eyes, I saw something behind it. Blue eyes, and they were full of fear. Those blue eyes I played with yesterday.

“Tyler?”

The reunion didn’t last long before he charged at me. I screamed and tried to run away as the crow swooped down. It looked at me, and without even hearing dad’s voice I knew what it wanted me to do. I shut my eyes.

Then, I heard a familiar voice. My voice.

Confused, I opened my eyes.

My dad had transformed into me. I watched, frozen in fear as Tyler attacked my dad. I witnessed blood pouring from my own face, but saw hope as the monster became more and more human.

Eventually, Tyler was back to normal. Well, kind of. Dead, he was dead. Dad, now back to his usual form, glared at me.

“This is what happens when you talk to other people, son.” He said in a low voice.

“Did I kill him?” I said in a quivery voice.

“No…no. He was…he was always going to die at this age. I just didn’t know it would be because of you.” He turned to face me. “I know now, Benny, that this was destined to happen. He was always going to die at 10. But maybe if I had been able to hide you better, his end wouldn’t have had to be like this.”

“Daddy, I didn’t mean to-”

“Let’s go, son. We’re off to Mongolia.”

We didn’t talk about this incident much afterwards. I had to accompany dad to do his job for years after, until he could trust me again. I was hidden away from the rest of the world, even moreso than I used to be.

In reading this, I hope the same fate that met Tyler doesn’t meet you. Keep me posted, I guess.