Day 2

Michael shuffled along, just one step behind Death. "What exactly do people do in the Realm of Souls?"

Death sighed to himself. Most of the Recently Dead had a good spell of denial to start off with, then resigned themselves to trudging silently behind him. Every now and then, some idiot would get it in his head to run, but eventually they'd come back when they realized there simply wasn't a way back into their old body. A soul needs a body to do anything really useful, although every now and then one would run off for good and Death would get impatient and leave them. On a slow day, sometimes he'd make some rounds at a local haunted house. A ghost of a hundred years was usually bored enough to come along by then.

Michael, on the other hand,was not quite frightened enough to remain silent, and not quite stupid enough to be entertaining. He was just, well - irritating. And not in a very active way, either; he was just bland and dull and awkward and irritating. In fact, Death suspected he might be a real twit. He slouched along his bespectacled way, nervously flattening a few wisps of hair that looked as though they were still deciding between the color of straw and cauliflower. He still had a butterscotch in his mouth; he hadn't spit it out since it choked him to death, for some reason.

"The Realm of Souls," said Death in his most businesslike voice, "is not a place for 'doing' things. It is a place for being. A place for becoming, if you want to be optimistic."

The Twit was relentless. "But how can you be something without doing something?"

Death sighed again. In all reality, it was a very good question. But Death was tired of answering nervous questions. In fact, now that he thought about it, he hadn't actually been inside the gates of the Realm for several thousand years. He wasn't really sure how they were running things these days. He thought back to his last visit. He seemed to remember playing a lot of chess.

The Twit gave a small, startled yelp as they entered a Soul Tunnel. The flat, blank landscape of Kansas melted down the horizon like an impressionist painting, slowly forming the outline of a Chinese village. Michael gave another small yelp as Death took a more traditional form. He didn't particularly enjoy frightening small children, but the more superstitious elders would never follow him if he showed up in an American business suit. And the last thing anyone needed in this village was an old, cantankerous woman throwing a fit without a body.

The strange, gray bobcat jumped onto the dead woman's shoulder, staring at her with a Cheshire grin. It then leaped off and started back for the forest, where Michael was waiting. The woman followed, and didn't question him when he became a man again. He'd gained the respect he needed. He did, however, choose more traditional garb this time.


"Halt, Stranger! What business have you at the gates of the Dead?"

Death raised a hand and nodded his chin toward the gatekeeper. "Warm welcome to you too, Frodo."

The skeleton grinned (as skeletons are wont to do.) "Ted! Certainly you can't begrudge me a good introduction to the newcomers?" Of course, Ted couldn't. The Twit and the old woman stood with mouths agape as the two Myths exchanged news.

"Have you heard from the Oracle?"

"Nothing. I'm afraid she's been avoiding me lately."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"In a moment of rashness, I made an improper advance."

"Ah. That would do it."

"Why do you ask? Has she spoken of me?"

"No, I'm afraid not. She had some interesting predictions for the Gnomes, though. Rather high death count predicted in the east. Should be busy for awhile."

"How marvelous! Do send her my best, would you?"

"The best of a bag of bones might be difficult to work with, friend."

"I've told you, call me Frodo."

"We all know you haven't even read that book."

"But don't you think it's a fitting name? For a gatekeeper, I mean."

"Not really, no."

Frodo sagged a little into his ribcage. "Hmmph," he said moodily. "Well, then, let's see their papers." He waved a bony hand in front of the old woman, who was petrified. She had her eyes closed and was muttering feverishly in Cantonese. A large scroll of parchment appeared in the skeleton's hand, and he spent several long minutes examining the writing. Finally, he rolled it up, vanished it with another wave, and proclaimed, "C Sector, Lixlao Street, number 5K." A goblin appeared at his knee and escorted the woman through the gate.

The process repeated for Michael, whose knees appeared to be quivering like head cheese. "Do you still have that walking stick on you, by any chance?" Ted the Reaper asked.

"The All-Powerful Twig? You know only Time can use-"

"No, no," said Death. "I meant the knock-off. The Stick of Persuasion. I've got to pick up an alchemist next week, and it's going to take some doing. Thinks he's immortal, you know?"

Frodo nodded knowingly. "By all means. Let yourself in, Ted. It's behind my desk in the third office. I'd hate to have to persuade the man myself."