The Reaper Diaries

Louise has an unusual job, to say the least.
She's death.
But it's not what you think.

Wouldn't it be awfully lonely to have to go alone?


3. Alfred Fitzgerald Anderson


Alfred Fitzgerald Anderson was a guy from down the road when I was growing up. I didn't recognise him at first, but he knew me.

And do you know what he said?

“Jesus Christ. Did I end up in Hell?”

Charming. And that’s when I noticed.

“Alfred?” Frankly, in all the time I’d been doing this, I’d never thought of walking down someone I knew. And it would be one thing to see someone I knew well. My mum. Or my sister. But hopefully I won’t be here that long. No, they’ll lead happy long lives, and greet me on the other side of the door. But Alfie? He hadn’t crossed my mind since I was about fifteen years old. We used to egg his car on Halloween because he didn’t give out candy, and ride past his house on our bikes. And five- even six- years later, he still knew who I was.

“I am in Hell. Or I’m not dead, and this is... this is the stupidest irrelevant dream ever.”

“Not hell. Not sure about that, by the way. No confirmation on this side about the existence of that. I’m Death, actually. It’s kind of my job.

“Huh. So you landed one in the end, then.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. This miserable man who I’d been so terrible to in my life, at least shared my gallows humour. I should’ve given him more mind.

“Hey. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. About all the... you know. And. You being dead and all.”

He shrugged. “Frankly, I hadn’t thought about you in years. Not since your funeral.”

“You... you went to my funeral?”

“Woulda thought you knew. Dontcha get to see everything?”

“Kind of not how it works.”


“How’re... my family... and friends?” My eyes are watering. This is pathetic. “Sorry. Sorry. This is meant to be about you. I’m meant to make sure you’re at peace.”

“It’s alright. I’ve had eighty-five years. I can answer ‘yer questions, and I’m not afraid of the other side of that door. It is the door I have to go through, right?”

“It is.”

“Anyway. You know. They’re okay. As okay as people with dead daughters. They’re gettin on with – well, they’re not getting on with it too much, y’know, they miss yer and –“

“I get it. Thanks.”

“Anything else?”

“No. I’m... that’s enough, thanks.”

It would break my heart to know more.

“Good luck, Alfred.”

He nods. “Good luck to you, too.”

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