Chapter 1
My name is Thomas Edwards and I am a death eater. What most people would refer to as the grim reaper. There are a couple of differences though, between what I am and the type you see on cartoons and witty comics in the newspaper. You know what I’m talking about. The ones with a gigantic black cloak covering the whole of its body and casting a shadow across his face. The two skeletal hands gripping a large scythe. Well you can pretty much throw that picture right out the window. Right now I’m wearing a pair of blue jeans, some converse, a white shirt, and my old beat up brownish leather jacket. I certainly am not a skeleton, maybe a little pale but that’s about it. There is no way in hell that I would carry around a scythe either. Oh and another thing, I’m not the only one around who takes the souls of the dead or the dying. There is a whole bunch of us.
It’s not like I’m Santa Clause or something. We also never have to talk to the souls or anything. A soul isn’t a copy of the body it was occupying like in ghost stories; mostly they all look the same to me except for the really bad ones and the really good ones. And thank God they don’t talk to you, not like they could anyhow. They don’t have mouths or anything like that. It’s more of a ball of light that you only see for a split second when it gets absorbed by your scythe. I already know what you’re thinking. I just told you I don’t carry one; well I do, but not the kind with a blade at the end of it. It is nothing like that, not even a weapon, just something that holds the souls that we collect during the day. It can be anything too, just a random object that you pick, the only thing that you can take with you when you leave your human life behind. Mine is a necklace. It is made of bronze and in the shape of a circle. On the front side there is a tree engraved into it, on the back, a phoenix. Very fitting considering that the phoenix is a symbol of re-birth, from life to death and then back to life again.

I work out of my office where I run my own business. Reaping souls doesn’t pay much, well nothing at all really. The payment is the extended life span--and all the cool abilities that come with it. Don’t even bother asking my age because you wouldn’t believe me if I told you, but don’t let that fool you. I don’t have one grey hair on my head, no wrinkly skin. It was all part of the deal. And don’t worry, I never shook hands with Satin or anything like that. The ability is passed on once you die. An extended life didn’t mean immortality, which means I still have to eat. Food costs money so that’s where the business comes in. It’s called Private Paranormal Investigation. It’s got a bit of a ring to it. Don’t you think?

I have an office in Queens, New York. That is my reaping territory. Well, parts of it are. I’m also the sheriff, which means I’m in charge of all of the other death eaters in my zone. I didn’t volunteer for the job. I’m simply the oldest in this region. Trust me the promotion doesn’t come with many perks, just a lot of work, especially on top of the business

At least my job is interesting, most of the time anyway. Today was one of those exceptions, when it was extra boring. There were only a couple of trips to the hospital early this morning. Reapers spend quite some time in nursing homes and those types of places. Usually in there we don’t even have to go hollow. That’s when a reaper turns translucent, just another one of our many abilities. We definitely keep a few tricks up our sleeve.

In terms of the Private Paranormal Investigations thing, business is slow. At least it was, up until I received a very strange phone call. I picked up the ringing phone and answered as professionally as I could possibly sound. “Hello, Thomas Edwards speaking. Private Paranormal Investigations”