The Deathmonger's Daughter

There is no guide book for what one is meant to do after discovering a dark family secret. At no point in elementary or middle school do you have class and the teacher says, “today students, we are going to go over what to do when you discover that your very own father is a Deathmonger.” And certainly there is no follow up lecture, Being A Deathmonger, A Familial Obligation You Cannot Escape. Maybe there will be one once I reach High School but seeing as I learned all this today at the age of Thirteen those will hardly be any use to me then.

My father is a Deathmonger and his father was a Deathmonger, and his father before him was a Deathmonger, and because my father bore no sons and I am his only child it is my destiny to become a Deathmonger. I have no interest in the macabre, I do not want to capture the souls of the dying. There is no part of me that wants to go into an old person’s house at night, and take their last breath from them. Even worse, what if it’s someone young? A child who is ill? I couldn’t possibly… A mother with a baby to watch after and love? How could I ever come to terms with taking someone’s mom away?

Wait, does this mean that Dad did this to…Mom?

“No!” I caught myself shouting out loud. The birds in the dark forest canopy above me flew away startled by my voice. I heard a crunching of leaves from the other animals nearby. None of them sounded very large, luckily.

Yes, with no guidance on what is appropriate in this situation I had started to run. Run from the warm living room where I was sitting when my father came home from “work.” I offered to take his coat for him and he handed it to me. Inside the coat was a long black cloak. I didn’t recognize it but something about it seemed familiar. I felt the cloak between my fingers. It was unlike anything I had ever felt before. Thick and warm, yet delicate and light all at the same time. Then my arm started to tingle. I looked down at my hand and my flesh had disappeared. My fingers, hand and wrist had turned completely to bone. I screamed.

My father turned around shouting “Annabelle, what are you doing!” He took the cloak from me and I felt the muscle and skin return to my boney hand as I watched his flesh melt from his body. Standing before me was no longer the ruddy cheerful man I had known my whole life but a gaunt, terrifying, skeleton. I screamed again while he tried to stop me.

“Annabelle, calm down!”

Nothing could possibly calm me, “what have you done to my dad?”

“I am your dad!”

“No, you’re a Deathmonger, get out of my home! No one is dying. I am not dying! You are not taking my dad away from me!”

I turned to the fireplace and grabbed the iron fire poker. I lunged at him. I was not met with the kind of resistance I was expecting when you stab someone, not that I ever have, instead my weapon passed through him and I stumbled forward and fell onto my hands and knees. I looked up, the skeleton holding its cloak looming over me.

“Shit” I spat under my breath.

“What did you just say, young lady?”

“Ok, maybe you are my father.” I said, my voice shaking.

He threw the cloak over the chair. The skeleton disappeared and my father returned. Dad explained everything to me, or he tried to. I couldn’t help but to escape into my own mind, to think about Mom. To remember what it was like to have her hold me. I could almost feel the warmth of her hand on my cheek when I snapped back into reality.

It was all too much to handle. From what I can understand is that he is a Deathmonger, meant to take the souls of the living as they die. Several generations before us were Deathmongers and I’ll become a Deathmonger when I turn sixteen. Whether it is a curse placed upon our family or a just part of our destiny, he isn’t sure. He didn’t want me to find out this way. That I’m far too young to understand. That death is important and necessary for all existence. It’s not fair though. He got to keep his mom. Grandma is still alive and he’s fifty. I lost my mom at eight. He doesn’t understand the pain death brings when it comes at the wrong time. How could he?

When I realized, he’d never understand was when I realized I needed to run. I got up, grabbed my coat and bolted out the back door. I ran straight into the woods and I didn’t stop running until just now. I think I heard him calling after me but I didn’t dare stop to look back. I think I heard him running after me but he’s not as nimble as I and he was getting caught in the branches. I’m not sure how long I ran for but looking around this clearing in the forest I am definitely far from home.

I wish I had packed a bag before I decided to run. All I’ve got are jeans, a shirt, a coat and my mother’s locket. Why did I run so impulsively? I could have just listened to dad a little longer, waited till we went off to bed and then packed a bag before sneaking into the woods. Then I’d at least have a blanket, maybe I would have grabbed a tent. Stupid. This clearing was as good as any other to spend the rest of the night in. There’s a new moon tonight so no light to see anything. I sat down against a tree, the base of it covered in moss. I took long deep breaths. I closed my eyes, I thought about Mom.

I felt something heavy on my leg. I opened my eyes. Had I been sleeping? A barn owl was perched on my knee. The white alien face looked deep into my eyes. It’s talons digging into my jeans but not gripping so tightly that it hurt. It was comforting. The bird was translucent and each feather had their own iridescence to them.

“Why hello there, Miss. Owl. How are you tonight?”

The owl cocked its head to the side and lifted its wing towards me. She rubbed her feathers against the skin of my cheek. It felt warm.

“Do I know you from somewhere” I asked the owl. “I don’t encounter owls often so I would think I’d remember but something about you seems familiar.”

The glowing owl let out a coo, pecked at my chest and flew straight up and let out a deep call. She hung flapping her wings in the air hovering for a few moments until a larger owl swooped in. This one the same in species but not in looks. This owl did not have the same ethereal shine as the first. Both owls perched upon a branch high in the tree above me and put their faces in each other's necks. They let out low coos.

“Can birds whisper to each other?” I thought out loud. Just then the first owl disappeared in an emerald light. The second owl flew down from the branch and sat before me. It lifted its wings above its heads and began to grow and morph. As it grew taller the creature seemed more and more familiar. When the transformation was finally done it was my father standing before me.

“What… did you just? Was that you...you were an owl?” I was at a loss for words. He nodded yes, “there are a lot of things that you don’t know yet about becoming a Deathmonger it’s not just about taking souls. I know you don’t understand the importance of that yet but you will. It’s a beautiful thing to be and there is so much to learn”

I stopped him, “Like shapeshifting?”

“Yes, like shapeshifting.”

I paused to marvel at the concept. Could I be a shapeshifter?

“Who was that?” I asked, “the other owl. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen Did she lead you to me?”

“Who did you think it was, darling?” He looked down at me, love in his eyes.

“Mom?” I looked up to meet his gaze. He nodded. I grabbed my necklace.

“Let’s go home” I said. Dad took my hand and we walked together through the forest back to our little home. I’m not sure I want to be a Deathmonger, but I am certain about two things:

I am the daughter of a Deathmonger.

I need to see my mom again.