Sabledrake Magazine
August, 2004
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Angel of Death
Copyright © 2004 Clint Wilson
Chester the job-assignment angel was an old timer, from back before the flood. It was not surprising to anyone when his hearing began to fail.
Still- God said that Chester still had the right "spirit" for the job. (God was fond of puns, and was of course, the master of them.) So he deemed that the archaic angel, who loved his work so dearly, would keep his job for all eternity- that is, if it made Chester happy.
The old ghost replied that it would put him on cloud nine to do so!
God patted him warmly on the shoulder. "Cloud nine! Good one old friend."
Chester turned back to the viewing screen, spotted a terrified man begging for his life in an alleyway – two rough-looking hooligans stood over him – and quickly dispatched the angel of mercy.
He had millions of angels at his beck and call, many of which were well known. There were many others however, who were far less famous. They had countless purposes for countless occasions, though some of them went for centuries without working.
Down on earth in the rural town of Pucker's-Junction, a crowd of over two hundred and fifty people gathered along the cracked sidewalks of Main Street. At the west end of town, a large wooden ramp had been constructed by the Loyal Order of Muskrats Men's Auxiliary out of plywood and two-by-fours donated by Woody's Lumber Yard. A similar landing ramp was situated a further two hundred feet down the way. While, between the two inclines, gnashed the spinning blades of a dozen large John Deere combines, donated for usage during Pucker's-Junction's centennial celebration, by the local farmers' co-op.
The day's festivities would be capped off, by an amazing display of courage and skill, by local hero Dwight Crawdad, otherwise known as "Captain Danger". He had been jumping motorcycles since the age of twenty-six, (he was now twenty-eight) and was about to make himself famous (or infamous, depending on how it turned out.).
He sat amongst the blue cloud of smoke belched out by the rip-roaring Husqvarna dirt-bike's exhaust. Smiling, he showed the crowd his nearly-toothless grin, and revved the Husky's throttle a couple of good raps. RAP! RAP! went the bike as more smoke filled the air. The scent of enriched two-stroke fuel mixture reached nearby spectators.
His greasy, mullet hairdo flowed down from the back of his three-quarter moon helmet with the big blue, hand-painted star on the back. As he sat there building up the courage to go; the recently-arrived camera man from KPUT News thought to himself, this guy don't look so bright; I bet this dumb bastard doesn't even know what he's doing! In fact, he looks about as sharp as a feather pillow!
Meanwhile back in heaven, Chester was assigning Cupid to a park where a young couple was in the process of meeting for the first time. Then O'Bannon walked up. He had a young, recent arrival with him.
What Chester did not know, was that the eager and much younger O'Bannon had been eyeing his job for some time; thinking that the old angel would soon retire.
He said to the assignor, "Hey Chess. How hangs it? I was uh, just showing Timmy here around a little, and thought maybe I could let him see what you do. In fact, if you wanted to take a break or something, uh I could sort of, you know, watch things for you?" He smiled innocently.
Chester thought, hmmm, I could stretch my legs a little with a stroll down to the ionosphere and back. "Okay," he finally said. "But remember, I've got the key to the storeroom. God won't let anyone else carry it. So if you need an angel to go out on a job, give me a shout, and I will release him upon the earth."
"You bet chief!" The younger angel answered. He smiled and gave the old spirit a salute. Chester nodded, returned the smile and went on his way.
With the assignor gone, O'Bannon quickly took control of the screen and started looking for potential jobs. He secretly hoped that God would come by and witness how well he was doing.
In a moment they came upon the scene in Pucker's-Junction, of the smoking dirt-bike at the east end of Main Street, and the spinning mayhem of the combine blades to the west.
"Oh my gosh!" exclaimed O'Bannon. This is my chance- was what he thought. He turned to young Timmy and said, "Go tell Chester that we need the angel of death right away!"
Timmy ran to the edge of the cloud. He could see Chester far below, ambling down the cumulus path towards the ionosphere. He shouted to the old angel. "Mister Chester! We need the Angel of Death!"
The assignor looked up to the young spirit. "Say again?" He shouted back, tilting his head upward, listening intently.
Timmy cupped his hands on either side of his mouth. This time he shouted as loudly as he could. "I said we need the ANGEL OF DEATH!!!" He thought, surely he must have heard that.
In answer to this, Chester smiled, waved up to him, and pulled out his storeroom key, holding it up so Timmy could see clearly.
Good, thought the young angel. He heard me.
Down in Pucker's Junction, a figure appeared in the crowd. Frederick couldn't believe he had been chosen. After almost a year in the storeroom, he finally had some work to do. He looked around at the citizens of the little burg. They were his charge; so with three fast blinks of his eyes, he cast his mighty power upon the people of the town.
"Who's that?" asked Timmy as he looked over O'Bannon's shoulder at the viewing screen.
"Oh no!" replied O'Bannon. "He sent the Angel of Breath!"
Suddenly, many of the large group of people felt a warm sensation in their mouths, as Frederick cast upon them all, the horrible halitosis of someone who has eaten nothing but bag-fulls of whole garlic cloves smothered in parmesan cheese, and drank nothing but brackish swamp water, strained through sweaty work-socks, for their entire life. As the spell took hold, his job here was done; so Frederick was instantly whisked back to the storeroom in heaven.
Fortunately, the mistake was not a major one- as this was Pucker 's Junction- and many of the people never even noticed the change. A handful of the more, upper class citizens fished through their pockets for gum or Tic-Tacs, but that was all.
"Captain Danger" spat once as he made ready to pop the clutch of the snorty little machine. This was not due to any notice of the bad-breath spell, but merely coincidence as he had been making ready to hock the bothersome throat-oyster for some time now anyway.
Up in the clouds, Timmy was back at the edge shouting down once again to the deaf, old angel. "No! Not the Angel of Breath! The ANGEL OF DEATH!!!!!"
Chester gave an oooh! THAT angel! look. And then gave Timmy a big over-dramatic wink and an even bigger thumbs up. He then produced the storeroom key once again.
Down in the crowd on the sidewalk of Main Street, another figure appeared. Sanchez was a busy spirit, and knew how to perform his task with great expertise. He looked upon his quarry with a smile, scribbled a few figures onto the clipboard which he held, and then nodded twice.
A bright-red light flashed on his belt-buckle and a loud, rude-sounding buzzer squawked from within his robe. Perplexed, the angel again nodded twice. Again the red light flashed and the buzzer sounded. Now he appeared worried. That was two buzzers. He only had one more chance to do his job. For the third time he nodded, trying valiantly to use his power. For the last time, the buzzer and light signaled the failure of the spell to cast. He was instantly whisked back to heaven.
"What happened there?" asked Timmy.
O'Bannon replied, "Every person in that desolate, little town owes more money than they will ever be able to earn in their pitiful, short lifetimes to big banks, in big cities far away. The Angel of Debt could do no further harm here."
Soon they were both on their stomachs at the edge of the cloud shouting in unison. It appeared that Chester was now making his way back up towards them, and had gotten a lot closer. Surely, they thought, he would be able to hear them now, especially with both of their voices combined.
Together they yelled in stereo. "NOT THE ANGEL OF DEBT!!! THE ANGEL OF DEATH!!! THE GRIM REAPER!!!"
Chester suddenly came to a look of realization. He rolled his eyes back and slapped himself in the forehead. With embarrassed laughter, he nodded acknowledgement to them both. Then, out came the storeroom key for a third time.
On the east end of Main Street, Dwight Crawdad, otherwise known as "Captain Danger" cranked the throttle with his right hand, and released the bike's clutch lever with his left.
The Husqvarna's front wheel came up as the grinning man sped away, surrounded by the ruckus of the two-stroke engine. WHAP-WHAP-WHAP! went the Husky as he changed gears. His mullet hair streamed straight back as his eyes watered in the buffeting wind. A bug flew into his mouth and down his throat as he passed Pop's Liquor Store. He hardly noticed.
Meanwhile, amongst the crowd, a very skinny man appeared. His robes hung off of his skeletal shape like a grown-man's shirt on a baby's plastic hanger. Slowly he maneuvered through the people towards the sidewalk. When he reached the road, he lifted one bony finger to the deep depression on the side of his face that was his temple, and tapped four times. He would not fail at his job. It had been too many hundreds of years to count, since he had been last called upon.
Suddenly the street beneath, and the entire ramp before Dwight Crawdad became completely coated in a very slippery substance.
The crazed redneck barely hung on as the powerful little machine began to slide. Finally it hit the plywood incline at over sixty miles an hour, going completely sideways. The bike began to lie down as it, and its rider, neared the crest of the ramp.
As Chester came up the last couple of steps to the plateau, he saw O'Bannon with the young newcomer. They were bent over his viewing screen, looking intently at the image.
Timmy heard the old angel and turned to him. "You didn't send the Grim Reaper, you sent the Thin Greaser!"
"What?!? " exclaimed Chester. He quickly ran to the screen and pushed the other two spirits aside.
He saw with horror, the bike leaving the end of the ramp, and the spinning combine blades below. With great haste, he produced the key to the storeroom one more time.
As Dwight Crawdad followed the still-revving dirt-bike over the edge of the greased incline, he thought, I still got lots of speed – I just might make it!
And he was almost right. If Chester had been any slower with the key, the hapless stuntman would have achieved new-found fame as the first man to jump a motorcycle two hundred feet sideways!
Below him, the great blades of the John Deeres churned. The slick ramp was behind him now, and ahead – over a vast sea of nothingness – was the landing ramp. In slow motion, he watched as the Husky carried him across the void.
Then suddenly, he could not help but to cry out- as before him, in mid-air, floated the horrible specter of death that was The Grim Reaper himself. His skull face laughed from beneath his dark hood. Those deep eye sockets seemed to go on forever. He held his scythe high above his head, and then brought it slicing down in one, powerful motion. Then, as fast as he had come, he disappeared.
Captain Danger followed the bike in its downward arc toward the deadly blades. He closed his eyes, and said aloud, "I'm going to make it! Skeletor from the He-Man cartoons told me so. It's a sign from Gawd!"
The crowd screamed in unison, exhaling a cloud of their garlic, sock-water breath, as a tirade of blood, bones and motorcycle parts spewed forth, over and onto the landing ramp. The helmet with the hand-painted blue star rolled down the crimson-splattered incline with Captain Danger's head still inside.
Back in the storeroom, the angel of death hung up his scythe and headed toward the showers. There he ran in to the Thin Greaser. The Reaper patted the gaunt spirit on the shoulder. "Nice work on that slippery ramp my friend. You handed him right over to me!"
The Thin Greaser replied excitedly, "That's nothing; you should've seen what I did in Egypt this one time." His thin shoulders then dropped slightly, "Oh yeah. You were there too."
**