Read The Fine Print II: When Death Becomes You

Bwalya was trying his absolute best to remain calm. He had always thought that all the special effects in the movies he watched and the video games he played would prepare him for just such an event. In the likelihood that just such an event ever occurred of course. But he was wrong. 'Dead wrong' he thought.
Death towered at about eight feet tall, looking down at Bwalya in his chair. Bwalya had to tear his gaze away from Death's face because his eyes (or whatever shadowy substitute it was that he had for eyes) seemed to be drawing out his very essence.
"Why are you here?" asked Bwalya, avoiding Death's void-like eyes.
"I am here because you agreed to carry out my duties during my sabbatical." Death replied.
"Haha, Death goes on holiday? ..... Wait, wait! Ati bwa!? I agreed to do what?!"
Bwalya knotted his eyebrows and began to piece it all together. The realisation hit him like a strong rancid smell, catching whiffs of it first and then finally getting struck by the stench of his error.
"The stale-potato-scented man; one of your guys right?"
Death nodded in agreement.
"And I just signed my soul to you by clicking 'I ACCEPT' in that program of yours, didn't I?"
"Nay, that is not so. If I was here to collect your soul, I would not need to use trickery," said Death. "The agreement you just accepted states that the agreer (that is you), will execute all of The Fourth Horseman's duties (that is I), for the duration that The Fourth Horseman is absent on his Millennial sabbatical. This entails collection of all departed souls and accompanying them to purgatory,awaiting Judgement day."
Bwalya could not believe what he was hearing.
"What?"
"The agreement you just accepted states that the agreer (that is you), will execute all of The Fourth Horseman's duties (that is I), for the dura --"
"Yes,yes I heard all that!" Bwalya interrupted, "So what you are saying is that I'm supposed to be the Grim Reaper while you go on vacation?"
Death nodded slowly. His desert-white bones squealing at their hinges as he did.
"And how long will I have to do this for? Because I have school and all."
"One hundred of your mortal years."
"And all this was stipulated in that 'software agreement'?"
Death nodded slowly again.
"I really should read those damn agreements!"

Death went on to explain to Bwalya that every one thousand years, he takes a leave of absence and finds a suitable replacement to carry out his duties. He stated that as the centuries went by, people had believed less and less in the supernatural and it had become more and more difficult to find substitutes for his macabre profession. He spoke about how in a time long before the Salem Witch hunts, a time when magic was a part of society, a time that had receded into the further reaches of universe's memories; when man had willingly agreed to do his part to maintain a balance. And now, in this day and age Death had resorted to using techno-sorcery to dupe man into agreeing to substitute him.
"There was a time when the name of The Fourth Horseman was revered and mortals trembled in terror at the mere mention of this creepy collector of souls! Why, they would try and win favour with me in hopes that I would perhaps grant them immortal life! Virgins would offer themselves to me in exchange for the freedom of their betrothed! What I would have done had I the flesh and the desires that came with it! Ha!" Death clasped his hands and made a rattling noise as he said that, "You could say they wished to 'Jump my bones' ha ha!"
"Though I have no impure and earthly desires, I still require time to retire to my own realm for a spell, to replenish my spirits---". Death's voice trailed off and became distant as Bwalya focussed his attention on The Reaper's mouth. It reminded him of the old skeleton in the science lab back in highschool. How it would just sit there during biology and seemingly stare at the class. 'Maybe this is all a prank,' he thought. 'Maybe Langi and some friends of his had stolen an old skeleton from the local highschool and used some C.G.I to pull off this over elaborate stunt. Yes, yes, that's what it is! The software they gave me to try out is something Langi has been working on! All that activity from the monitor of the computer-All just special effects! Yeah! That's what this is!'
But Bwalya knew perfectly well that that wasn't it. Because though Bwalya could hear Death's voice, he had observed that it did not come from a cheap and tiny speaker at the back of his neck. He had seen this in his efforts to understand how he could hear The Grim Reaper's voice though his teeth did not part to pronounce or give way to words. His face had a permanent grim grin painted across his stony face. Instead, Death's voice resonated from somewhere within Bwalya's mind. It was a bit of a strain on Bwalya's brain and made his head feel numb, like he had gone binging on bottles of strong spirits the night before and had a hangover. But these 'spirits' were not of the distilled variety. 'Special effects don't do that' he thought.
"---But people still respect the second horseman, WAR, don't they? Because war is a profitable business, isn't it? Not poor old Death, no. No money there! ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME, MORTAL!!!???" Death's eye sockets glared red with a fierce flame and his voice boomed so loud in Bwalya's head he attempted to block the sound by covering his ears.
"Yes, yes O' Deathly one! I tremble at your might!" said Bwalya, "But please, just say it, don't telepathically spray it."
"Sarcasm and witty remarks never got a body far."
"I'm sorry, it's a nervous reaction! I tend to do that. My bad."
"Come now! Time is a cruel mistress (who I think is currently on her premenstrual cycle!) We must hurry!"
"Haha! Time P.M.Ss?!"
"Yes," answered Death, "But I will not get into the technicalities of that now! We must go!"
"Where are we going," asked Bwalya.
"To your first day at the job," replied Death.
Death raised his scythe and struck across the air behind Bwalya, its long hooked blade giving off a glint as it came down. The blade was so sharp that it could slice through the fabric of the space-time continuum. A part of the reality in Bwalya's room tore like imitation silk and opened a portal where Death had struck the air. The room's space-time hung open in a long v-like shape, looking a little like a shirt unbuttoned down from the neck to the chest area. The Grim Reaper raised his arm in the direction of the portal in a gesture telling Bwalya to walk through it. Bwalya looked at The Reaper's face, making sure to avoid his hollow eyes. 'He's dead serious, isn't he?' he thought to himself, 'No pun intended!'
"I hope to DEATH, your office is not in hell!" said Bwalya, "Again, no pun intended!"
"What?"
"Oh, nothing..." Bwalya replied as he stepped into the portal

TO BE CONCLUDED...

The DEATHLY artwork by Lo.

Read The fine print

"So, let me get this straight-This is free?"
"Yes, free."
"And if it busts my computer, you'll give me a brand new one?"
"Yes, brand new."
Bwalya narrowed his eyes and looked intently at the man behind the counter. The man looked like he hadn't had a meal in longer than anyone cared to remember. His cheek bones were very pronounced and his eyes  looked two sizes smaller than their sockets. Not to mention the fact that he smelt like he bathed in stale potatoes. His smell quietly stuffed the nostrils like two dirty stubby fingers.
"And you said Langi is sick?" Bwalya asked.
"Sick." the man confirmed.
Bwalya shrugged his shoulders and then leafed out a few notes from his wallet. He paid for his new anti-virus and watched as the strange man placed it in a carrier bag, along with the black box containing the free software the man had given him. Bwalya thanked the strange man and made his way to the exit. Before he walked out, he turned his head toward the counter; his bones creaking like a battered door as he did. The stale-potato-scented man was staring blankly at him, his eyes cradled in dark ringed skin and looking almost lifeless. 'This guy looks like a zombie wearing a bad human costume.' Bwalya shuddered and quickly left the computer store.

Langi had worked in the computer store for the last three years, and as far as Bwalya knew or could remember, he had never fallen ill, not so much as the sniffles. He'd always boasted that scientists would someday do a study on his awesome immune system. 'Why, this is the stuff that superheroes are mad of man!' he bragged. 'I guess even wannabe superheroes can catch a bug' thought Bwalya.

Eerie as the man filling in for Langi was, he'd offered Bwalya a really sweet deal. The black box contained some software under development, the man had explained. He did so in a series of gestures and non-I.T related lingo. 'Another strange thing for a guy working in an I.T related shop'. He'd told Bwalya that it was a customisable operating system; that all he had to do was test drive it and give them a review. If it damaged or altered his computer in any way, the shop would gladly replace it.

Art by The Mighty Lo.

The box had no labels, no logos or any form of writing on any of its faces. Bwalya inspected it carefully as he backed up the information on his computer onto an external hard drive. 'Wouldn't want to lose all those "music videos" I've collected', he thought. When the back-up was done, he opened the black box and examined the disk it contained. It was just as black and label-less as its box. He inserted the black disk into the computer and somewhere in the back of his mind he hoped that it would get damaged. He related it to how some people would put their dogs down when they were in the twilight of their dog years. His P.C had been failing him recently, it had really began to show its age. The video playback had become sluggish and its monitor looked like an old analogue TV. A new machine would be such a blessing.

A small window popped up on the screen as soon as the disk spun a few times and loaded. It was nothing amazing, no special graphics or flash player. The window only had one sentence in it. It read;

‘THANK YOU FOR AGREEING TO TEST OUR PRODUCT. BEFORE YOU INSTALL THIS SOFTWARE, PLEASE READ OUR TERMS AND CONDITIONS.’

Bwalya clicked on the link to the terms and conditions and naturally did what most people do. Who really had time to read that legal jargon? 'This product can not be distributed, altered or sold without prior consent from the proprietor of the property forthwith, forth withholding all held in accordance with legislation and terms of agreeance of service....'...'Or something along those lines' Bwalya thought. He scrolled down through the body of words, unconsciously reading bits that his eye caught. He finally reached the bottom of the page and clicked on the 'I ACCEPT' tab.

The computer screen suddenly went black, except for a small white dot in its centre. He stared at his screen waiting for something to happen. 'Maybe this is all part of the installation'. After a while, he noticed that the small white dot had been growing very slowly. The computer began to 'beep' and 'boop' and then it shrieked, the shriek sounding more organic and lifelike than digital. The white dot grew larger and brighter before it started to exude a thick liquid-like smoke. The machine trembled like it was holding back some colossal energy. Bwalya's jaw dropped in utter amazement, his senses struggling hard to comprehend what was happening. The liquid-like smoke formed something similar to a small cesspool and it bubbled continuously on the floor. He leapt from his chair and reached behind his computer to pull out its plug. But disconnecting the power did not stop whatever had manifested itself through the computer screen.
The liquid smoke dripped and vaporized into what seemed to be its last bits in streaks at the base of Bwalya's monitor. Bwalya watched wide eyed and muscles tensed; ready to bolt for the door. If he had not taken a piss earlier, he would have probably wet himself when the black substance on his floor rose to form a body. Something sinister was coming to life right before his eyes, like a tar black mannequin or a charred Pinocchio becoming a 'real boy'. Two shoulders jutted out from either side of the body and extended into arms, one with a skeletal hand holding a long scythe. The black liquid smoke formed a hooded cloak to drape the terrifying figure. Its head slowly looked up from its chest to face Bwalya, revealing a ghost-white skinless skull. The skeletal man seemed to have a permanent grin on its face because he had no skin to cover his crooked teeth. His voice sounded like he was gargling crushed glass when he spoke.
"Bwalya Fungamwango, I am the fourth horseman; the severer of ties between life and what lies beyond. Some have referred to me through the ages as The Grim Reaper, though, my true name is, DEATH. But do not be alarmed, I have not come to claim your soul."
Bwalya remained silent for a moment. He had to choose his next words wisely, because they could have literally meant life or death. And then he said,
"You guys owe me a new computer.”

TO BE CONTINUED...

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