The Passing

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Note from the author: The convergence of death’s presence in my life, the impending Halloween holiday, and my deep immersion into the haunting works of Poe have ignited a gothic flame within me. Dear reader, I invite you to immerse yourself in a chilling and macabre tale, where a man grapples with the essence of death in both its metaphorical and literal forms. Embrace the story in whichever way resonates with you, and may it send shivers down your spine.

————————The Passing————————

As I approached the foot of the steps, a chilling wind caressed my hair, its unseen touch akin to a warning from forgotten spirits. Goosebumps prickled upon my pallid skin, a result of the prolonged absence of sunlight in this perpetual land of midnight frost.

The steps led to the abode of my former master, a man of few words but immense significance. It was he who provided me with an opportunity to climb the ladder of success, albeit not as high as himself. Nevertheless, I reaped the benefits of his patronage, finding solace in the comforts that shielded me from the biting cold.

He was present during the joyous occasion of my first marriage, as well as the sorrowful moments of burying my beloved wife and our only child, both prematurely claimed by the relentless grasp of consumption. His eerie presence during the pivotal events of life and death bestowed upon him an enigmatic sheen. Conversations between us were scarce, confined to the solemn rituals of laying our departed loved ones to rest.

We were never truly friends, and the term “coworkers” felt too abrupt to describe our relationship. We were silent companions on our journeys, and now my traveling companion was reaching his final destination. But let me address the enigmatic sheen you inquire about. My suspicions began to stir early on during our business dealings. The man had a peculiar habit of attending the funerals of his adversaries, and rival firms often witnessed their downfall in his presence. It seemed that anyone he shook hands with would meet their demise within a year.

I voiced my concerns to others, including my late wife, but they dismissed it as mere misfortune and attributed it to the prevalent diseases of our time. However, deep within my soul, I sensed something more sinister. The man unsettled me in ways I couldn’t fully comprehend. Though he appeared amiable in my presence, and we shared drinks and while we exchanged few words, it was more than he did with others, my traveling companion instilled a peculiar fear within my bones.

To give you a clearer picture of what I mean, the sensation he evoked within me mirrored the one I experienced now as I approached his chamber, where he lay on his deathbed. It was a coldness that defied any warmth, a breath upon the nape of my neck from an unseen specter. The man made me feel as if I had journeyed alongside Death itself all these years. And now, as I pulled up a chair beside his bedside, I bore witness to the fading presence of the shrouded, intricate form of the reaper.

As I settled into the chair, he weakly turned his head to gaze upon me. His eyes were clouding over with the veil of impending death, and his breath carried the ominous rattle that signals the approach of the inevitable. He spoke, his words strained and labored, “Thank you for coming, my companion.” He struggled and coughed as he uttered these words.

Reaching for the water pitcher on his bedside table, I poured a small amount into a glass and assisted him in moistening his parched throat. He spoke again, this time with slightly more ease. “You have been by my side for many years, and though we never grew as close as friends, I believe you are the closest semblance to one.” He paused, interrupted by another fit of coughing, his handkerchief stained with streaks of blood concealing his mouth. “I must ask something of you,” he pleaded, his gaze fixed upon my eyes, his voice lowered to a whisper.

“You know what I am, I am certain of it. You know the true nature of my role in this world in recent years. I have performed my duty diligently, although not always willingly or with kindness. Your family was the most difficult, and they will be the burden I carry with me into what lies ahead.” His words grew clearer now, and I felt no surprise, as if I had long known the identity of my companion. However, I was unprepared for what he would request of me next.

“My companion, my friend,” he spoke, “I bequeath to you all my possessions and the fruits of my labor, ensuring your comfort in the years to come. However, I must also entrust you with my true calling. You must carry on the work and assume your dreadful place in the delicate equilibrium of existence.” He paused, allowing his words to sink in, sensing that my silence conveyed understanding.

“It will cast an eternal shadow of solitude upon your being, but like me, you will encounter a younger man who will inherit the mantle when your time of casting darkness upon the land is complete.” He extended his hand, and we shook, sealing our pact. My companion reclined, his gaze drawn upward to the ceiling of his chamber, and uttered one final word before drifting into the realm of either heaven or hell, whose embrace I knew not. “We are the keepers of balance, the true end, we are death.” With closed eyes, he departed this earthly realm peacefully. As the doctor approached the bedside, I quietly departed from my companion’s abode.

Gone was the fear that once consumed my very soul, replaced by a profound sense of solace in finally understanding my purpose. I found comfort in this final promotion, and as I settled into the carriage that bore me homeward, the words flowed from my lips effortlessly, without hesitation. “I am the keeper of balance, the true end, I am death.”

The wind howled with an eerie intensity, and as I gazed into the abyss, a malevolent grin adorned my visage, for I knew my true purpose.