KittenAttack

Once upon a time, there was a Witch. Well, she wasn’t exactly a witch, but her full title of “Voodoo-Priestess-Occultist-Cthulhu-Mythos-Investigator-Secretary” is a bit long for practicality. Anyway, continuing on. This Witch was a very lonely witch, and sad. Lonely, not because she didn’t have any friends, but because the “Cthulhu-Mythos-Investigator” part of her title kept those friends she had busy- or killed them. The latter was what made her sad- most of the time. The rest of the time, she was thinking about her other friends, who lived in another time and dimension, which makes it quite hard to keep in

I pulled the soul along after me, talking about Déjà vu. Which I wasn’t, but never mind that now. I had to get the soul back to its body before it was too late. Of course, “too late” meant various things. The body could already be dead; not everyone can survive the removal of their soul. Sometimes, the body would not “accept” the soul again. So, technically, the body was left alive in a vegetative state. This was particularly detrimental to the soul; until its present body died, it couldn’t move on to the next plane of existence, as it was still “alive.” Kicked out of Heaven on a technicality

So I’m a bitch that switches from First to Third person with no social skills. So? I’m DEAD. Or Undead, as the case may be. I feel, as a livingly-challenged individual, that I have the right to complain and make my employers suffer as much as I want to. Speaking of which, what stopped me from leaving Death and Life altogether, I hear you ask? I was already dead; what could they do; now I am a being of reasonable power? Well, for a start, they could forcibly send my soul to its proper place of rest; Death could, anyway, if I deserted. And any life; even a half-life such as this, was better than that. I know, I know; ‘but what

Death looked over his spectacles at the retriever. Makes her sound like a dog. And the soul-catcher was not as good natured as a dog; that was for sure. Scowling at the paperwork in front of her, at least, by the twist of her lips he assumed she was scowling; the upper part of her face was hidden by a hood. A strange affectation; most retrievers had them. Hers was a long robe, designed to look like the idyllic appearance of death, he assumed. Deep grey in colour, with long, flowing sleeves and skirt, the latest retriever was the most…Ghoulish? Evil? Monochromatic? Something. She was certainly the grumpiest, most aggressive. Admittedly al

What do you think happens to the wayward souls of the dead?  Do they wander for an eternity, forever remaining where they once lived? Never at peace, perpetually haunting those they loved, unable to move on? Eventually fading altogether, destroyed and incapable of completing their journey? Yeah, well, if that happened, I wouldn’t be doing my job, now would I? You see, I’M what happens to those ‘wayward souls’. I pick them up and return them to Death, to be sorted. I don’t know where they go; I don’t want to, quite honestly. I am sort of a ‘Soul Man’ or in this case, a soul ‘Woman’. I get to

Cast down from Heaven. Was there anything more embarrassing? Lucifer glowered at Leviathan. This mess was his entire fault. Somehow. When he sobered up, he’d think of a logical reason listing all of the reasons why it was Leviathans fault. When he sobered up. Lucifer looked around his surroundings disgustedly. Sure, being banished to become one of the four Kings of this miserable lump of shapeless rock was better than some of the other punishments the Almighty could have come up with; It didn’t mean he was going to dance for joy. At least the new powers God had “bestowed” (Lucifer rolled his eyes remembering the extravagan