When Death Comes to Call

By Edwin J. Stokirmas

"When Death Comes to Call" is a collection of (5) fictional short stories about Death the entity and mortal encounters with the Grim Reaper. These stories are titled "Death and Taxes" where a small town reporter encounters the Grim Reaper, "Pie to Die For" which finds Death facing his own mortality, "The Reaper" where a hitman has the tables turned on himself, "The Curse of the Bambino," in which four college students are told that they have one year to live and "This Death to Come" which follows the experiences of a woman who can communicate with the spirits in the afterlife.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Edwin J. Stokirmas
• Release date: Jun 17, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201996963

Edwin J. Stokirmas

Edwin J. Stokirmas continues to use his writing as a therapeutic means to help him deal with the demons within. He writes when time allows as he works at his regular job by day and lives in Canada.

Book preview

DEATH AND TAXES

If it hadn't been for bad luck, Brian McCann wouldn't have had any luck right now. He forgot to set his alarm and had to rush out the door in a panic when he overslept and was late for work. Brian was to interview an elected government official at the politician's office in Stanton this morning but would be hard pressed to make it there for his scheduled appointment. It was just over an hour's drive to Stanton and he would have to make up some serious time.

Traffic was light on the highway, so Brian decided to tempt fate and push the speed limit. If he was lucky, he wouldn't run into any police cruisers before he reached Stanton. He couldn't afford a speeding ticket right now. Brian's job at the Lincoln Gazette wasn't exactly high paying even if he was the editor of the small-town newspaper.  It wasn't his dream job, but for now it would do until something better came along.

He was making decent time when he looked at his watch and determined that he might still be able to make it to the interview at 9:00. To be safe, Brian would call Edward Steen's office and let them know that he was running a little late. Digging his cell phone out of his pocket, he started to dial the politician's office when he realized that he was entering the Moose River valley which was notorious for its poor cell reception. His phone would have no service for the next ten minutes. The call would have to wait.

As his Nissan Sentra rolled down through the river hills, Brian's mind wandered. He had planned some in depth questions for Edward Steen concerning controversial policies and his rumored affair with a woman half his age, but his publisher didn't want anything that might rock the boat.

Stick to the basics. Andrew Browning instructed Brian. Focus on health care and job creation issues. I don't want anything that might besmirch the integrity of this newspaper.

In other words, lots of fluff and stuff. Andrew Browning had a pompous air about him and considered himself an intellectual giant, but the Lincoln Gazette featured more advertising than hard, fact-finding stories. Not exactly what Brian had in mind when he started the job, but he attributed Andrew's attitude to the fact that newspapers everywhere were dying a slow death thanks to social media and the internet. The small-town newspaper was barely staying afloat and couldn't afford to lose any advertisers that might be upset by a critical interview with a popular politician.

It was easy to understand Andrew's thinking, but it made Brian's job as an investigative journalist very frustrating. He once had big dreams of covering cutting edge stories on a national level. Now, Brian was usually stuck covering the spelling bee at one of the local schools or sitting in on town council meetings where the business at hand was the discussion of installing another traffic light on Maple Street. There was once hope of translating his experience at the Gazette into something more lucrative, but it never happened. Six years had passed since Brian had started at the Lincoln Gazette and those dreams were now a distant memory.

There had also been visions of writing for a national newspaper, perhaps garnering a few awards along the way, maybe writing a couple of bestsellers on the side while living a lavish lifestyle with a luxurious house and a fancy car. Instead, Brian lived in a sketchy two-bedroom rental apartment that had hot water issues and he drove a rusted-out car that was quickly approaching 250,000 miles. He lived paycheck to paycheck and seldom dreamed of better things to come now. Nothing had ever come of the resumes that he had sent out in the past to the bigger papers and he had once attributed this to the economy and the state of newspapers in a world of rapidly growing social media platforms. Discouraged by his misfortune, Brian hadn't bothered to send out any more resumes in over two years and had resigned himself to the drudgery that the Gazette editor position had become.

As he was trying to think of appropriate questions that wouldn't upset the politician and Andrew, Brian's engine light came on followed by an annoying dinging. Steam started billowing out from the front of his Sentra, so Brian pulled over to the side of the road. Exiting the car, he popped the hood, sending a plume of steam skyward as antifreeze poured onto the ground from the radiator.

That's just fucking wonderful! Brian grumbled as he checked his watch. There was no way that he would make it to Stanton in time for the interview now. He would have to phone Edward Steen's office and try to reschedule which wasn't going to make Andrew happy as the interview was to go to press tomorrow. Brian took out his phone and checked for service even though he knew that there wouldn't be any. He was strategically placed right at the base of the river valley. It would probably be a five-mile walk uphill, something that Brian didn't like the thought of. There was no way around it, so he started walking back the way that he had just come. Stanton was a lost cause and now there was no possibility of doing the interview even later today. He might as well start heading home and call a tow truck when he had cell service again.

Brian locked up the Sentra and started his trek back to Lincoln. He had walked roughly a quarter of a mile when he heard a vehicle approaching from behind. Perhaps they would see the predicament that he was in and stop and offer him a ride. He turned to see a jacked-up Chevy half-ton come roaring up and blow by him without the slightest indication that it might stop.

Yeah, thanks for nothing.

A couple of minutes later a minivan came up behind Brian giving him new hope. He turned to face the van as it drew near and held his hand out with his thumb raised, not quite certain if people still did that anymore. The minivan drove by but did slow down for an instant as the driver glanced back at Brian before turning his attention to the highway ahead and gunning the engine. Brian cursed under his breath as it drove out of sight.

Ten minutes passed before any more vehicles appeared and as luck would have it there was traffic coming from both directions this time. A semi-truck was heading in the direction of Stanton while another minivan followed by a one-ton truck approached from behind. The three vehicles passed by to the left of him and Brian had to take a few evasive steps as the one-ton passed by much too close for his liking. None of the three vehicles even bothered to slow down and Brian was forced to shield his eyes and face from the turbulence generated.

That's okay! I don't need any assistance here!

He cursed his luck again as he admitted that he probably wouldn't stop either. Too many horror movies had left an indelible impression on Brian's mind. You never pick up a hitchhiker on a quiet country road. With a patchy, untrimmed beard and hair that hadn't been brushed since yesterday, Brian doubted that he would have picked himself up either if he had been driving by.  This did nothing to ease his foul mood.

Brian walked on, checking his phone periodically to see if there was any chance of a signal.  Nothing. His legs began to ache and his feet felt like they were starting to blister. His choice of footwear wasn't conducive for walking too far in a comfortable manner. Brian glanced back to see how far he had come and his Sentra was just a speck in the distance. Maybe a mile, but it felt farther.

Another vehicle was coming up from behind him, but Brian wasn't holding out any hope it would stop. The river valley was otherwise deserted and he concentrated on conquering the hill on foot. A few minutes passed by and he wondered why the vehicle hadn't caught up to him yet. Brian turned to see that it was still approaching, but it wasn't breaking any speed records doing so. It was another full minute before it passed him and Brian had plenty of time to check it out.

It was an older model Ford Taurus, gold in color. The car had seen better days, but it was still in decent shape. The only occupant was the little old lady driving. She stared straight ahead and never took her eyes off the road. Brian watched the Taurus creep by and thought that he could probably run faster if his feet weren't hurting him so badly. The car lurched forward about a hundred feet and pulled over to the side of the road.

For real? Brian said to himself and approached the idling car. He proceeded slowly and cautiously, not wanting to startle the old woman. Brian walked up to the passenger door and tapped on the window, opening the door just enough to poke his head in. He didn't want the old woman to think that he was an escaped convict and scare her off.

Do you need a ride? The old woman smiled.

Sure, if you don't mind.

I'm going as far as Lincoln for a doctor's appointment.

I'm going to Lincoln, too!

Then this is your lucky day, young man. Hop in!

Thank you! My name is Brian McCann. I work for the Lincoln Gazette. That was my car back there broken down on the side of the road.

I thought that must have been yours. I'm Gladys. Gladys Johnson.

She shifted the car into drive and pulled back onto the highway without signaling or checking for traffic and Brian cringed. Gladys looked to be in her 80's and kind of reminded him of Aunt Bethany from the Christmas Vacation movie. Too much rouge and lipstick and a strange smile. She peered through the steering wheel with her hands positioned at 11:00 and 1:00 o'clock.  Brian tried to remain calm, but he was silently questioning if it would have been safer to keep walking. Gladys slowly accelerated until she reached fifty miles per hour.

'At least at this speed there's less chance of her doing any serious damage if she runs into something.' Brian thought. He checked his cell phone again, but there was still no signal. Even if Gladys could take him to the top of the river hills, he might be able to get some cell service and call for help.

I'm surprised that you stopped to pick me up, Brian said, trying to take his mind off of the old woman's sketchy driving, I could have been a psychopath for all you knew.

Gladys looked at Brian and gave him a funny look. Reaching over, she patted the back of his hand. Oh Brian, what are the chances of two psychopaths riding in the same vehicle together?

The old woman turned her attention back to the road leaving Brian to question whether he had heard her correctly or not. She seemed oblivious to the real world and Brian wondered if she was playing with a full deck. He wanted to ask her to clarify what she had just said but thought better of it. He didn't want to distract her from her driving.

It's unfortunate that you'll miss your interview, Brian.

He turned towards Gladys and nodded even though he didn't recall saying anything about the interview. She just stared ahead with a silly grin on her face as her head swayed side to side to some song only she could hear.

Do you think that you'll get another opportunity to sit down with Fast Eddie again soon?

Fast Eddie was the nickname that the public had given Edward Steen early in his political career and Brian definitely hadn't mentioned his name to Gladys. This was becoming more than a little creepy.

How do you know about my interview? Brian asked and then wondered if Andrew was playing some kind of prank on him.

Oh, I know all about you, Brian. Gladys answered with a sly grin.

'Definitely Andrew.' Brian thought. 'He's probably still pissed at me for wrapping everything in his office with newspaper on April Fool's Day, but how did he know that my car would break down?'

Really? Brian replied with a chuckle. Tell me what you know, Gladys.

The old woman turned her attention from the road and stared at her passenger. Brian Edward McCann. 27 years old. Born September 16th in North Hampton to Walter and Judy McCann. Youngest of three siblings. Your brother, Spencer, is older than you by four years, your sister, Patricia, two years. Both are married with one child each, both girls.

Gladys paused and turned her focus back to the highway. Brian was caught off guard but deduced that Andrew must have contacted Spencer for some family information. The two must be in cahoots together and hired a local theatre actress to play Gladys. He would go along with this for a while longer. It would pass the time and take his mind off of Gladys' erratic driving.

So far, so good. Brian said. What else can you tell me?

Your hobbies as a child included playing video games and being active in many sporting events, but you enjoyed baseball and basketball the most.

Gladys' eyes never left the road as her forehead almost touched the top of the steering wheel.

In school you hated math and science but took an interest in writing and reading which is what led you on the path that you are on now.

True. Brian replied, less than impressed. 'You're not really rocking my world though, Gladys.'

He didn't have to say anything out loud as the old woman picked up on his disappointment and looked over at him.

Let's cut to the chase then, she said, her eyes turning cold, your father passed away seven years ago, in palliative care at the St. Thomas Hospital in North Hampton after a short battle with cancer. It took him quickly and unexpectedly. You, your mother and your siblings were with him when he passed.

Brian nodded, but again there was nothing in what she said that his brother couldn't have told her.

Do you remember what you said to your father that afternoon, Brian?

Uhh, goodbye? Brian sighed as the vehicle finally started to pull out of the river valley. He should be able to get cell service now to call a tow truck and to have someone come and pick him up.

When you were alone with your father. Everyone else was in the next room talking to the doctor, but you sat by his bedside by yourself. What did you say to him, Brian?

His body stiffened as he recalled a moment that he wasn't too proud of.

I... don't remember. It was-

Who's the disappointment now, old man? Who's letting everyone down now? I thought that you were better than this?

The old woman's words struck triphammer hard and Brian suddenly found it difficult to breathe. He stared at Gladys with his mouth hanging open, speechless. With the old woman's eyes boring into his soul, Brian hadn't noticed that it had been over two minutes since Gladys last looked at the road.

His mind racing, Brian wondered how Spencer could have known what he had said to their dying father. There was no way that his brother could have heard him. He was in the other room and Brian remembered that he had kept his voice low so he wouldn't be heard. The words were his regrettably, but how had Spencer overheard him and why was he having Gladys bring this up now?

How could you possibly know that? Spencer couldn't have heard me...he wasn't there.

No, he wasn't there, but I was. All traces of the ditzy old woman's mannerisms were gone.

Brian turned from Gladys' cold stare and looked at the crops passing by his passenger window.

There was no one else in the room. I'm sure of it. So how-

Use those investigative writing skills, Brian. You're disappointing me now.

He turned back towards Gladys and wondered if she was somehow reading his mind. Her pale blue eyes unnerved him and Brian turned away again.

You weren't there. he said, but the uncertainty made his voice quiver.

But I was, Brian. Just like I was present when your Uncle Phil passed away. The same goes for your cousin, Nathan. And Chris Phillips from your little league baseball team.

Brian bristled at the mention of these three names. Uncle Phil on his mom's side had a heart attack and died instantly years ago. Cousin Nathan drowned during a boating accident and Chris Phillips was run over by a drunk driver as he was riding his bike from ball practice. He was