Don’t Fear the Reaper

The Valentine’s Day party at Paradise Hills Retirement Village was finally winding down. Lauren, the activities director, was exasperated. Some of the residents were treating it like a clearance meat market and everyone was complaining about the food selection. To top it off, they kept using the wrong door. Every time it opened, the “Happy Valentine’s Day” banner fell. Every time it fell, Lauren swore softly, reattached it, then shouted that no one was to use that door.

Toward the end of the night, when she saw Ronald Rinkin approaching her for the third time, Lauren stepped out to grab a broom and avoid his propositions. While she was out, the forbidden door blew open. There, to everyone’s surprise, stood the Grim Reaper. A chill wind tore through the room. Plates flew from the tables, balloons careened wildly on their tethers, and the banner fell once again from the doorway. The Reaper stepped into the room, back-lit by the winter moon, with a bony finger outstretched.

“I’m looking for someone,” he rasped as he swung his finger from person to person. “Is it YOU? Or YOU? Or maybe YOU in the back?”

Lauren returned with the broom and cursed when she saw the fallen banner.

“Could everyone please stop using that door?” she yelled as she marched to retrieve the banner. The dark figure let out a wheezing, high-pitched chuckle that stopped her in her tracks. He took a step forward, then two steps backward, suddenly looking unstable. With a final “Is it YOU?” he pitched forward and landed face down. His sickle clattered across the tile floor and slid to a stop at Lauren’s feet.

The dark robes fell flat, aside from a lump where the shoulders should have been. Ronald, distracted from his Lotharian endeavors, shuffled over and began to poke at the mass of cloth with his cane.

“You there,” he said, “who are you? What do you want?”

“What do you think he wants, Ronald?” asked Sandy Bloomen. “He’s the Grim Reaper, and he’s here for one of us. Quit poking him.”

At that moment, the lump in the robes wiggled and began to shuffle toward the hood. A chubby pink arm, like a child’s, emerged from the black cloth. No one spoke. No one moved. The plump hand struggled for a moment then threw back the hood, revealing a small cherub.

“Tada,” shouted the tiny being, throwing his arms in the air. He was all flushed and pink, especially his face. Blood-shot eyes hovered over what could charitably be described as a five o’clock shadow. His loincloth, barely decent at the best of times, hung precariously from one hip as the little angel set his arms akimbo.

“Hey people,” he slurred, “it’s me, Cupid.”

“Are you drunk?” asked Ronald.

“No,” said Cupid, struggling to focus on him, “I’m fun. You should have seen your faces. You thought I was death.” He broke into another high-pitched giggle.

“Who invited you?” shouted an old woman from the back of the room.

“It’s a Valentine’s Day party. I don’t need to be invited.” Cupid shouted back.

No one knew what to do. They looked to Lauren who held the broom with one hand and covered her mouth with the other.

“Come on,” shouted Cupid, as he staggered around the room, “who wants to fall in love?”

He strutted past Lauren and tried to slap her butt, but with his lilting walk and short stature, he only managed to catch her mid-thigh.

“Get away from me, you little pervert,” she growled, pushing at him with her broom.

“I like a saucy broad,” he muttered.

He walked over to Edna Ranger, who sat alone at a table in the corner.

“How is it that a fine lady like yourself is sitting alone on the most romantic night of the year?” he asked, taking her by the hand and kissing each knuckle. “I figured there’d be a line of guys beating down the door to dance with you.”

Edna blushed and mumbled that she “has never,” and that she “couldn’t possibly.” Both statements were true, so Cupid made his way around the room. His slurred flattery was met with a mix of admiration and disgust.

“You know what’s wrong with this place?” he asked. “Everybody wants to have a Valentine’s Day party but nobody wants to fall in love.” He nocked an arrow and drew his bow.

“Who’s ready for love?” he yelled as he swung the bow around wildly. People screamed and tried to take cover behind their tables. He attempted to take flight, but slipped and released the arrow, which sailed across the room and stuck into the wall just above Edna’s head. She gasped then winked at the drunken little man.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” said Lauren, snapping to action.

“Why don’t you fly away on that broom of yours,” grunted Cupid.

“I’m calling security,” she said, picking up the phone from its cradle on the wall. Cupid flew across the room. With alarming speed, he drew a dagger from a sheath on his ankle and sliced the phone cord.

“This is for the ones who need a little extra convincing,” he said with a wink, waving the dagger toward Lauren.

“You’re disgusting,” she said as she threw down the broom. “Get out!”

She took him by the arm and dragged him toward the door. He shook free from her grip but exited anyway. He grumbled the whole way out the door about how she couldn’t take a joke, that he was just doing his job, and that sort of thing.

Lauren turned to the party.

“How about some bingo?” she said. Just like that, the matter was settled and all but out of mind, aside from the robes and sickle that had been shuffled to the corner of the room, but not disposed of.