The Shinigami at Ushibori

Everyone was shocked, and understandably so, when Death revealed himself to be a fisherman living in Japan. Wary at first, dozens of brave reporters from around the globe heeded his summons to attend a press conference outside his humble home— a little harbor house and old port-side barn on the bay of Hitachi. It was a bit run down and ramshackle, but that only added to its unmistakable charm and surprising aura of warmth for so chilling a dweller. Death had caught everyone’s attention earlier that month by releasing a series of videos and posts online asking the world to pay close attention to the news in the coming weeks for any disasters and tragedies, natural or otherwise, and to observe the fatality tallies. The weeks unfolded as shootings, outbreaks, crashes, collapses, tornados, floods, fires, and a great number of daily calamities all reported zero deaths.

This unexplainable phenomenon spiked interest in the posts by so called ‘Death’ and world leaders scrambled to gather intelligence on the mysterious author. Their search was cut short when the same ‘Death’ asked for a press conference.

His face was a skull, but it was not as frightening as one might imagine. Intimidating, sure, but there was a softness to the ‘eyes’ that was disarming. And though the sockets appeared empty, there was definitely something there, blacker than black, and you could tell when his gaze was locked with yours. He wore a smart silk robe, not the kind for relaxing, but something you would see on a runway— well cut, and beautifully patterned with yellow and white chamomile flowers.

His fingers were also bone, and that was the only other part of his anatomy visible to the conference.

“Thank you for coming everyone,” his voice was low and high at the same time, gentle, yet firm. At the sound of it, as if the auditory greeting was the last requisite piece to make him real, nearly half the reporters passed out, falling with thuds to the ground.

“Oh my… they will be fine,” he chuckled, "I'm off the clock." The crowd shifted nervously and he resumed his address, “I have called you all here today to announce that I have decided to retire early and spend some time here in Japan to rest and reflect on a very long and trying career. I am very tired and need to prepare for what’s next.” his hands clicked against the makeshift podium constructed from an old, broken boat mast. “Any questions?”

The stunned silence persisted, then in an uproarious cacophony the still conscious reporters all started shouting at once.

“IS YOUR RETIREMENT THE CAUSE OF NO DEATHS THE PAST MONTH?”

“WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO THOSE WHO HAVE ALREADY DIED PRIOR TO YOUR RETIREMENT?”

“WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO THE DAMAGED BODIES OF THE RECENT DISASTER VICTIMS?”

“WHERE ARE YOU FROM?”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY ‘PREPARE FOR WHAT’S NEXT’?!”

He ‘closed’ his eyes for a moment, “One at a time please...” his weariness was apparent but underlaid with an air of amusement.

He pointed with a long, elegant finger to a woman in the front. “Hello, Collete Morten with the New York Times." She said in a voice more confident than she looked. "Your retirement means that people can no longer die? What of the injured, maimed, or burned bodies of the survivors of recent events? what will happen to them? Their families are in a state of horrified alarm at their undead loved ones.”

“Ah yes, an excellent question, and I’m sure my answer will not completely satisfy you. The best I can do is remove their pain. Their bodies I cannot mend. But they are alive... and to answer your first question, yes, you and they can no longer die.” he pointed again.

“H- h—i. Hi Sir,” stammered a young man in the middle. “Does that mean we will live forever? Will ou—”

“Your name please?”, Death interrupted softly.

“Oh! Oh— sorry sir! I’m Isamu Shio with the Asahi Shimbun, is it alright I am asking in Japanese?”

“Certainly, I need no translator.”

“W— will our bodies continue to age? And will we still heal if hurt?” he lifted his eyes and then quickly looked back down.

“The people of this planet will still age. If you are hurt you can heal, but eventually your bodies will leave you and you will look like me, as I stand before you now. Even I am on my way to dust.”

“So we won’t live forever?!” Someone yelled from the back.

“Forever... there is no such thing,” Death smiled again, or at least it felt like he smiled.

A reporter from Spain asked, “Those who have already died, in the past, will we see them again?”

Death paused for a while, “The past is not a place, it cannot keep them. It will depend on where they have gone… and where you go, after.”

“After what?” The reporter pressed, tears beginning to well as he thought of his wife and three children lost in an auto accident.

“After the end of all things.”

Another reporter jumped in, “You said it depends on where we go, does that mean there is a heaven and a hell?”

Again, Death contemplated the question, “I do not know in those terms, but where we go after is not here, and it is not all the same. I have had one purpose on this Earth, and I have chosen to step away from that purpose and rest before the end. It has been so long now— I do not remember who brought me here… I am from a place outside of time, and I imagine that is where I will return when the last of me is ashes.”

Dozens of voices clamored, desperately vying for his attention to have their questions answered. Questions of religion— who was right?! Will the wicked be judged?! How long until the apocalypse?… What now? ...What next?

“Please, please, that is enough for today, I truly am very tired. I will be available again tomorrow. Same time, same place. One of you may join me for tea in the barn if you like, any takers?”

Everyone was suddenly silent again, their terror at the current situation seemed less immediate and terrifying as a one-on-one chat with Death himself.

“No one?” a bit of a twinkle in the eye sockets.

Isamu tentatively raised his hand, “I—I would join you for tea.” He let his eyes meet Death's without looking down this time.

“Aww wonderful, follow me to the end of the dock.”

The rest of the crowd slowly dispersed, frantically calling their governments to report the day’s events and extend their stays indefinitely— for as long as Death would entertain their questioning.

Isamu followed Death down the pier, “This used to be an old harbor house used by fishermen to store their boats and nets. I spent many a stormy day fishing with them, back when this place was called Ushibori.” Death opened the door for him and beckoned, “Come in, come in.”

“Make yourself at home,” he reached for a kettle, already gently boiling above a low, hearth fire. Isamu looked around, the interior was cozy, not at all what he had expected from the shack-like appearance on the outside. At the far end of the barn, straw was still neatly stacked where the fishermen had let their dogs sleep after a hard day’s catch. Boats and nets and rods still filled much of the space. Death had carved out just a small corner for himself, large enough for a thin bed, a couple of rattan chairs, and the glowing fireplace behind a low tea table set atop a tatami mat.

“WHAA?!!!” Isamu suddenly screamed and jumped nearly a foot high as something brushed against his inner leg.

Death calmly looked up from pouring the tea, “Oh don’t mind him, that’s just Hige.” A fluffy white and orange cat purred, undeterred by Isamu’s scream and continued weaving between his legs.

“I’m sorry... he startled me is all,” Isamu took a seat in the chair closer to the barn door. Hige jumped in his lap, and he pet him slowly, still startled, and unable to pull his eyes from Death’s skeletal form.

Setting down the tea, Death reached out, “Ah here you go, now I can formally introduce myself, I have had many names, but my favorite is Chōju, the Long One.”

Isamu shook the long ivory bones that were Death’s hands. They were surprisingly warm and smooth, like pearls hot from sitting on sun-soaked sand.

Reclining, he sipped his tea, the steam of it faintly visible rising in the cavernous eye sockets. “Now, do you have any other questions for me Isamu?” he asked.

Isamu looked into Death’s eyes, a bit of his composure finally returning. He said with resolve, “Do you know who my family was? I never met them…”

“Hmm... Yes I did, I remember taking them. Your mother was as lovely as the sakura blossoms this time of year and your father reminded me of my fishermen friends – strong, steady, and spirited like the sea. Your sister was—”

“I had a sister?” Isamu interrupted, tears finding their way down his chin until one dropped into his cup.

“Yes,” Death said, and he touched his finger to the surface of Isamu’s tea, stilling the ripples. In their place, three faces reflected on the water. A young woman, man, and little girl— all smiling, looking at him. He gasped, his hands trembling, the ripples returned, and the faces were gone. He wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands, “...how did it happen?”

“You had just been born, my counterpart was there to greet you,” Isamu interrupted again.

“Your counterpart?” he thought for a moment, “… Life?”

“Yes, she is an old friend, Tsukanoma, the Brief One.” Death replied.

“I do not remember her... I’m sorry, please continue.”

“It is alright, you had just entered the world and you were ill. Life, your mother and your father stayed with you day and night while your sister was cared for by your mother’s sister. On the third night, the hospital received a call that the building where your sister was staying had caught fire. Your parents raced to the building, the firemen tried to stop them, but they ran inside… and I was there to greet them…”

Isamu’s teacup shattered against the stone floor, his face in his hands. “I am sorry Isamu,” Death put a hand on his shoulder, “… they were happy and all together when I brought them to the other side. They are waiting for you. It may seem like a long time... but time is nothing.”

After a while Isamu looked up, “thank you,” he breathed.

The cat reclaimed its perch upon his lap. “Death?” Isamu asked. “What is going to happen now? I am afraid the world will devolve into chaos now that you are gone. People will lose their minds as their bodies wither or worse. They will abandon all caution and decency as they believe death is no longer a consequence. Is this the end of everything?”

Death sat quietly for a long time, finishing his tea. “You are right Isamu. The world will very likely tear itself apart, but not everyone will react as you fear…” he leaned forward.

“Can you keep a secret?” Death whispered. Isamu nodded. “I am not really retiring, more of a sabbatical really. But the world needs a wake-up call. They need to believe I am gone. They need to believe in more than what they see in front of them. They need to know that death is not an end... there is no such thing.” His empty teacup clinked lightly on the hearth.

Isamu smiled wryly, “so you’re just on vacation?”

Death laughed, “I suppose so.”

“When will you return?”

Death leaned back, his vertebrae clicking in succession, “When they realize that death... is a gift.”