Only 8 people have ever possessed it, all of them for a duration no longer than 10 weeks. What became of the previous owners? The best guess of many was that the artifact not only lays a curse upon the victims but also the owner. Bad luck-or perhaps it should be labeled as karma, for that is what it is-is sure to lead these unfortunate souls to their untimely end. That is, until the final owner the human race knows of came to possess it. She was the eighth person to own the artifact, which was shaped like a serpent's head with piercing ruby eyes and a violent expression, tongue out and fangs on display as if to threaten any passersby with the promise of a swift-acting, venomous bite resulting in their death. The artifact was no bigger than the size of one's fingertip, small enough to wear as a necklace.

She was no more than 15 years of age, pale, with long, brown, wavy hair that fell to the waist. She was rather short and always walked around with a tired expression, yet her eyes were very much alive and eager. She approached the artifact, having just witnessed the older businessman get shot in the head whilst on his usual morning stroll. Right in front of her lay that man, who still, even in death, had a greedy look on his face. "He's surely going to Hell," the girl muttered aloud. But the man wasn't where her interests lied. It was in the small pendent around his neck that she drew her curiosity. Without much thought, she tore the pendant from his neck, snapping the chain. She then ran off, leaving the suited man to begin his decomposition, there on that hot summer's pavement.

After a good while sprinting throughout the city, she found herself by the deserted bay, looking out on the harbor to see the giant copper lady, holding her torch up high as the sun began to descend beneath the horizon. She unclenched her fist to reveal the artifact whose eyes were now the brightest thing for miles. Of course, the girl knew of this artifact. She'd heard rumors of the previous owners, who had been so power hungry that they'd tormented the countless people they managed to hypnotize with it. These people were poor, unsuspecting victims who allowed themselves to be convinced by the artifact to serve its owner to the bitter end. And they all met very bitter ends.

Finding a seat on one of the many benches lining the pier, the girl began to whisper. It isn't clear if she understood what she was saying, or if she had planned to say anything at all. But the words found her somehow. "I will be your vessel," she breathed, excitement brewing in her eyes, even brightening her usually deadpan facial expression that had always seemed to avoid her eyes. They ruby glow of the serpent's eyes had even begun to reflect in her own eyes as she muttered the next words. "But first, please grant me the gift of a proper home."

Did she expect to return to the rundown orphanages she had learned to call home later that night to find the previous head of the house lying in a pool of his own blood? Certainly not. She had simply entered the front door to find a crowd of other orphans standing around the man they had all thought was generously granting them a stable home. He had coincidentally been found with a bullet wound to the head, the same way that businessman had been earlier. There was something odd about his body, however. A faint red mark on his neck, that the girl only noticed upon crouching down next to him. She placed her hand on his chest, meaning to say goodbye. There was no mistaking it. The imprints that only a thin chain would leave. The individual chain-link marks were just barely visible to her yet she knew that things were about to change for the better. She was pleased to see the officers barge into the house, followed by two men with sympathetic expressions, who she knew to be the social workers who had played such a prominent role in bringing all of those orphans to the orphanage. "We can assure you," one man said to the officers. "We will place these children in proper homes in the wake of this tragedy."

The only question that had plagued her mind the following day was how and why the head of the house managed to return to the orphanage that day.

That's a very interesting take! Coming up with that state of limbo between life and death was very clever. I like that change.

Thank you!

This is very clever. I really like how it seems the text is able to recognize thoughts rather than actual speech. That's something I had never thought of.

I also imagined this person retaining their physical body in this place, but I think their consciousness existing here instead is a very cool idea!

Purchase a subscription? What is this nonsense? How great can the afterlife be that I have to pay for it? Moreover, what is the price?

All these questions and more flooded my head as I stared perplexed at the white text floated dauntingly above my head. I figured I would give this afterlife a try, and finally asked one of those questions out loud after a long while just staring.

"But.. what do I have to pay?"

As if to answer my question, the text began to glitch, forming static boxes, letters being momentarily cut in half before being replaced by new ones.

"A monthly subscription is required. You will have the means to pay when you accept the purchase," I read aloud. That was too much gray area involved in this deal, but what else could I have done? Stand in the abyss for all eternity? Below the text was a lightbulb, turned off, a string dangling below it. Though the void was black, it wasn't necessarily dark.

I slowly approached the bulb and pulled the string towards me. In an instant, the bulb lit up much brighter than I had expected. It was blinding and I felt the aching behind my eyes as I attempted to shield them with my arms.

I stood there a few minutes, pinching my eyes shut before I realized the light had ceased. I opened my eyes to find myself standing before my own grave. How long had it been? I could've sworn I was just in my hospital bed taking my final breath, and when I opened my eyes, I was already buried.

Confused, I stood standing in front of my grave for another several minutes. It was surreal, knowing my now lifeless body was buried six feet beneath where I stood.

A mist had slowly started to fill the graveyard. The graveyard was built on a short hill next to a pond. From where I stood, when the fog got thick, I could no longer see the pier, which wasn't too far from my grave. In fact, the only thing I could see was my grave and the tall cloaked figure standing on top of my headstone.

I tilted my head, confused. "Who are you?" I would be lying if I said there wasn't a faint hint of attitude or sass in my tone. The figure lowered its hood to reveal a face, much like mine in my youth. I stared back at those brown eyes and short, unruly waves sculpted in my hair. The face was quite handsome, reminding me of a time when I was much more desirable and depended less upon my younger family members.

The figure sat down on my headstone shaped like a crucifix, crossing his legs and smirking. "What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Naming your price," he said simply. Before I could ask him what the price was, he handed me a sword. "This is your scythe. You will travel to the afterlife with me, assuming my form as you see me now and proceed to live your life among the dead as you would if you were still alive."

I nodded, eager to retain a younger appearance again. Yet I was still bursting with questions. "Will I age anymore?" The figure simply shook his head.

"What does the afterlife look like?"

"It's a nearly perfect replica of the living world," he replied. "With one small catch." He proceeded to smirk at me before continuing. "Time works differently. We have no time. The world darkens at what you'd call 'night' and the sun rises during the 'day,' but time is irrelevant to us. It's a concept that we don't pay any attention to. It's simply the motion of the world that we follow."

"Isn't that what we consider time in the living world? The progression of night and day?"

"Truly," he said. "Time is much more complicated. At any point in time, different people are experiencing different events, recognizing different indications of 'time'."

"I see," I replied, looking down at the sword in my hand. The blade was thin and long, with a black handle I could grip at the end. "What do I do with this?"

"I'm sure you're wondering what the price is," he said, his smile widening. "Using this scythe, you will collect human souls. Each month you have a check-in during which you submit your harvested souls to the higher-ups. If you meet your goal, your subscription is fulfilled and you may continue to live among the dead."

I just stared at him, again, perplexed. "So, you want me to harvest the souls of dying humans?"

"They don't have to be dying," the figure said ominously. "Any other questions?"

"Just one," I began, nervously. "What happens if I don't fulfill my subscription?"

The answer was something I was dreading, though he never gave me a straight answer. All he did was laugh and say "you don't want to know what happened to the last guy who didn't meet his requirements..."