Visits to Granddad’s

Death’s presence at a birth was always under tragic circumstances. Tonight, however, was an exception.

It was, perhaps fittingly, a dark and stormy night. Death sat in the parlor of the Sto Helit’s manor. He flicked absently through a magazine while Mort paced the room, face tight and body tense.

I ASSURE YOU IT WILL GO SMOOTHLY.

“So you’ve said.”

YOU HAVE NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT.

“You’ve said that too.”

NOT MUCH LONGER NOW. 

Mort wanted to scream. He wanted to snap. He did not want the personification of death present at the birth of his child, no matter how good-natured he knew said personification was. But Ysabell had insisted. No matter how… complicated their relationship was she wanted her father there. And how could Mort argue with that?

Death certainly seemed to be trying to be reassuring, but this was simply not a task a seven-foot skeleton was designed for. Mort sighed and took a seat. Every few seconds he would glance at the clock, fidgeting, while Death watched in concern and gave encouragement.

Time crawled by.

After what felt like days, the clock chimed midnight. A traditionally dark and mysterious hour. Nothing much happened. Then at a quarter past, footsteps echoed in the hall. The parlor door creaked open.

“Lord Sto Helit it’s happen-” the midwife began cheerfully, before her eyes fell on the other figure in the room. She froze and her face fell. Like witches, midwives were familiar with Death.   

I’M NOT HERE ON BUSINESS. THIS IS MERELY A SOCIAL CALL.

She eyed him with suspicion before turning back to Mort. “It’s happened sir. Both mother and child are… healthy,” she said hesitantly. She had been certain of that fact before opening the parlor door.

Mort thanked the midwife and followed her out, leaving Death to wait behind.

A few minutes later he returned without the midwife. “Ysabell and I would like you to meet our daughter.” Misgivings aside, he was family. Mort and Death went to Ysabell’s room, where she lay on a pile of pillows, a small bundle in her arms.

“Father, meet Susan,” she said, holding out her arms so he could see. He looked down and saw, well, a typical human baby. Not especially interesting looking or beautiful except to the new parents. Nothing about young Susan seemed out of the ordinary except for a black streak in the fuzz of her hair, and a birthmark matching the scars on Mort’s face.

Death gently took the child into his arms, and in a voice like slamming coffins said COOCHIE COO. WHO’S A LITTLE CUTIE THEN?

*****

They sat in awkward silence around the tiny table in Death’s kitchen. Susan was perched on Ysabel’s lap, seemingly unaffected by the tension in the air. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence and poking at the meal of burnt egg and chips Albert had prepared, Ysabel bounced Susan on her knee to a shriek of delight and commented, “We’re teaching her animal sounds, she’s getting rather good at it.”

Mort smiled and lept on the topic. Anything to stop staring into those cold blue eyes in the eerie silence. “That’s right! Susan, what goes moo?”

“Cow!” the two-year-old exclaimed.

“That’s right!”

Death nodded. INTERESTING. AND THIS IS A USEFUL SKILL?

“Oh yes.” Albert nodded, “Very important at this age.”

WHY?

Albert shrugged. “It just is.”

FASCINATING.

Ysabel smiled. “Susan, what does a dog say?”

“Woof!” 

“Would you like to try father?”

SUSAN. WHAT SOUND DOES A CAT MAKE?

“Meow!”

If death had eyebrows, he would have raised one. THEY DON’T REALLY SOUND LIKE THAT.

Mort shook his head, “No, but well… It’s a human thing.”

I SEE.

And so it went, with Albert and Death and her parents asking all manner of animals and their sounds.

That is, until…

“And what goes neigh?”

Susan smiled brightly, full of confidence. “Binky!”

Ysabel and Mort shared a look. Susan had not met Binky yet, how could she know his name?

CORRECT.

*****

Death’s desk was vast and black, just like the rest of his home. An effort had been made at general deskishness, but clearly by one who didn’t quite understand how desks worked. The drawers were stuck shut, and several of the pens had never contained ink. The chair was much the same, although comfortable enough. 

When Death was in his study it was usually all business. He could be seen examining books from his library of life timers. At the moment, however, a large stack of dark cushions occupied Death’s usual seat. Atop the cushions sat Susan.

She solemnly regarded the blank piece of paper in front of her on the vast desk. Beside it was an array of crayons. The crayons, unlike almost everything else in the house, weren’t black. This was thanks to The Death of Rats, who had stolen them from the mortal realm.

Over her shoulder Death watched with curiosity. 

She reached out a small hand and clutched a green crayon in a tight fist. She drew several upright lines covering the bottom page.

WHAT IS THAT? Asked Death.

“Grass,” she said without looking up.

I SEE.

Susan set down the green crayon and her hand hovered over a selection of blue crayons, indecisive. As far as Death could tell they were all basically the same. After some careful thought, she picked one up and began scribbling at the top of the page.

AND WHAT IS THAT?

“The sky.”

AH. YES OF COURSE.

An attempt at clouds was made. They were somewhat patchy and hard to make out against the already uneven sky.

EVAPORATED WATER. WELL DONE. Death observed, his tone encouraging.

A tree followed suit, misshapen brown trunk with a round lump of green on top for the leaves. Death thought he was beginning to understand the process, basic colors and shapes, probably easier for a small person to draw.

But then Susan reached for a red crayon, which Death did not understand. 

She started pressing the end of the crayon to the “leaves” of the “tree” creating several red dots.

AND THESE ARE? Death tilted his skull to the side inquisitively. 

“Apples.”

MY GOODNESS. 

A yellow quarter-sphere was added to the top corner of the page, with little yellow lines coming out from it.

Death watched and mused. It was in the sky, with the clouds. There were no large yellow balls in the corner of the sky that he knew of. No corners of the sky for that matter. He tilted his skull to the other side, peering closer at the child’s drawing. After a long moment, he hazarded a guess.

THE SUN?

“Yes.” Susan looked up from her drawing to smile at him at the correct guess. She was enjoying all the attention, her parents were never so intrigued and confused by her art. She laughed. “You’re funny Granddad.” 

If Death could have frowned at that, he would have. FUNNY HOW?

But she didn’t explain, just reached for another crayon. Black this time. Death was clearly not that familiar with children’s art, but even he knew enough to find this unusual. 

She formed a black blob, about the same size as the tree. Perhaps it was one of the trees from his garden? But no, that didn’t seem right, because she left a circular hole of white at the top of the… back pillar? where the white of the page showed through. She added stubby black rectangles to the sides of the... trunk?

With the black crayon again two black dots were drawn in the circle and deep blue dots within those. The rest of the drawing had been puzzling, but Death was even more puzzled by this new shape and its odd familiarity.

He watched as a thin brown line was added, stretching up from the grass to the… arm? of the black shape. A grey curve was drawn at the end of the. He knew that shape, far more elegant and refined but. 

MY SCYTHE. It was a statement not a question. THAT’S ME.

She nodded anyway.

He paused then. With Ysabell and Mort’s concerns… He had agreed to certain conditions to be allowed to meet his granddaughter.

YOU’VE NEVER SEEN THE SCYTHE. Again, not a question. He doubted she even knew who he was, in an anthropomorphic sense. So that meant.

YOU REMEMBER IT?

“Yes.”

So she was remembering things before they happened already. That would worry her parents and no mistake. 

He watched as the final detail, an unrealistic smile, was added to the picture. 

Susan picked up the drawing and proudly presented it to her grandfather. “It’s you!”

(picture link) https://cdn.drawception.com/sandbox/745610/1xaJhRtcam.png (incorporate on ao3 somehow?? 

IT IS ME. VERY GOOD.

She pressed the page into his hands. “Take it.” 

 I SHALL HANG IT ON THE FRIDGE, AS IS CUSTOM. 

Susan grinned, Death grinned back. He didn’t have much choice except to grin, being a skull, but something about this one looked real. 

*****

Albert was dusting. Not that any dust dared settle here, but it was the look of the thing. He heard a cough behind him and turned.

The small child looked up at him, and with absolute certainty said, “Albert.”

He nodded. “That’s right.” Something more seemed to be expected of him, but he wasn’t sure what. He’d never been good with children, never really been around them, to tell the truth. He met her gaze and in a way he couldn’t pin down was reminded of the blue glowing eye sockets he’d grown familiar with. Albert shivered. “Did ya need something?” 

“I’m Hungry,” she stated. “Want banana.”

“ ‘Course,” he said gruffly, a faint smile appearing lost on his face, unusual territory for such an expression. 

She lead the way to the kitchen. Somehow she already knew her way around Death’s house, and she walked as if she owned the place. Perhaps, said a small voice in the back of Albert’s mind, one day she will. 

*****

The library was tranquil, barely a sound disturbing the peace. Just as libraries should be. Death relaxed in a big armchair, as much as it was possible to relax your body when you’re a 7-foot skeleton. Susan sat on a pillow in his lap.

In one hand Death held an open book with “Susan Sto Helit” embossed on the cover. A boney finger of his other hand traced the words as they appeared on the page. They read silently together. 

Susan shifted in her seat. The single cushion was NOT enough to soften the hard bones beneath her legs. It was uncomfortable! 

The air of the Library grew awkward as they read and death realized…

SORRY.

“SORRY,” said her grandfather.  

*****

Albert, Ysabel, Mort, Death, and Susan all sat around the Hogswatch tree in the middle of the room. The tall, magnificent pine tree was black. All of the ornaments hanging on it were also black. The Hogfather hat Death was wearing was black. The wrapping paper on all the presents was black with a “jolly” pattern of bones and scythes. It was all rather dark and gloomy. 

Albert was, of course, used to this, to things being ever so slightly wrong when the master tried some new human thing and didn’t really understand it. Susan also didn’t seem to mind. She had asked curiously “why’s it all black?” but had then accepted it in the way only small children can. 

Mort and Ysabell had given each other, Albert, and Death boring parent gifts, like socks and kitchen tools and other useful but uninteresting items. The gifts from Death had all been rather… odd… thus far. Only the gifts for Susan were, in her opinion, worth having. 

Still, Susan was having a great time running around under the tree, picking packages, and bringing them to their recipients. Now she found one decorated with a pattern of grinning skulls and jet black ribbons addressed to Albert from Death. 

Susan grabbed it in her small hands and pulled. It didn’t budge. She frowned and tried again, putting all of her determination behind lifting it. This time she got.

Albert took it from her and raised his eyebrows at the unexpected weight. He shot a look at Death. Consider the other gifts that had been unwrapped this morning, this could be anything. He tore the paper from the rectangle, expecting to find a box holding something heavy. Instead, he found himself holding a brick. It was black. 

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Nice. Thank you master. I’m sure this will… come in handy.”

YOU’RE WELCOME. Death pointed to another gift under the tree. YOU SHOULD GET THAT ONE NEXT. 

Susan went to it. It was soft and lumpy, and addressed to her “From: Grandfather”.

“What’s that honey?” said Ysabell, sounding slightly worried. Susan held up the package for inspection. She shared a concerned look with Mort. What would Death think a proper present for a child would be?

OPEN IT. He encouraged. 

She did, tearing through the goth paper to find the soft object beneath. It was a plush toy, a familiar white horse. Mort and Ysabell untensed. 

“What is that Father,” Ysabell asked.

YOU SAID SHE WANTED A LITTLE PONY TOY. THIS IS A MY LITTLE BINKY. 

Indeed, on the rump of the toy Binky was a skull and scythe mark, similar, if more macabre, to the marks on the popular brand of kids toys.

Susan beamed and hugged the toy to her chest. “Thank you, granddad! I love it!”

*****

Susan had been given a piggy back ride all through Death’s cottage, perched high up on his shoulders and squealing with delight whenever her head passed through the wall above the doorway. Recognizing her delight, Death had taken them through a number of walls as well.

Now they were in the field of wheat outside of Death’s garden. Susan surveyed the area from her high vantage point. There was color here, and movement from an unfelt wind. In a way her young mind couldn’t put into words this place felt important.

They stood there in silence for a long moment, just watching. Her small hands clung to the top of his skull as she tried to understand. 

*****

It was a pleasant day in Sto Lat. The family had just returned after a few days visiting Susan’s grandfather, though mysteriously no time seemed to have passed when they got back. 

A state dinner was planned for that evening, and Mort poured over a list of guests. Meanwhile, Susan played with dolls on the floor by his desk. Occasionally he smiled down at her and the drama being enacted with the dolls. 

“Ysabell, dear, do you remember if the mayor of Quirm is coming tonight?” he called down the hall.

Before his wife could answer Susan looked up from her dolls and answered in a quiet, matter of fact voice, “He’s not going to make it here.”

Mort raised his eyebrows. “What’s that sweetheart? Did your mother tell you that?”

She shook her head. “I just know.”

Mort was puzzled but unconcerned. “Ysabell?” he called again. This time she bustled into the office.

“What is it?”

“Is the mayor of Quirm attending the dinner dear?”

“Yes he is, he said-”

“He’s not.” Susan interrupted. “Granddad took him this morning.” 

That got their attention. The color drained from Mort’s face and Ysabell looked alarmed.

“How do you know that Susan?” Mort’s voice cracked.

She shrugged. “Just do.”

There was a fight after that, where her parents thought they were out of Susan’s earshot. And then there were no more visits to Grandad's house.

*****

At least, that was the last visit to her Grandad’s for many years.

But on a dark night when Susan was much older, after that nonsense with “music with rocks in”…

YOU’RE WELCOME TO COME AND VISIT, OF COURSE.

“Thank you.”

 YOU WILL ALWAYS HAVE A HOME THERE, IF YOU WANT IT. 

“Really?”

I SHALL KEEP YOUR ROOM EXACTLY AS YOU LEFT IT. 

“Thank you.” 

A MESS.

*****

Years passed. Time changed things, as it does.  Old relationships rekindled, familial bonds regrowing. Again, almost two decades since the last time, Death and Susan were in the golden fields of wheat outside of his cottage. They stood side by side and watched.

“I remember this,” she mused. “It’s… important. But I’m not sure why.”

Death nodded, remaining silent for a long moment.

IT REMINDS ME.

Susan opened her mouth to ask what it was meant to remind him of, but closed it before speaking. She had a feeling she knew, even if she couldn’t put words to it. It was about life, and change, and the things that made him different from humans. And perhaps more importantly, it was about the ways he was not so different after all. 

They watched in companionable silence, understanding each other completely.