Author's Beginning Notes

I'm back! This is the prequel (before story) of Danny's Brush With Death. I had been messaging back and forth with Turkeyhead987, and she has helped me decide on making the story of Reaper, and his story of becoming the Grim Reaper. To those of you who are just tuning in, and haven't read Danny's Brush With Death (DBWD), I humbly suggest you quickly go read it before continuing with this. My internet has been down for a LONG time, so I had plenty of time to consider how I was going to go about this, but it may take a little nudge to get my top form of quality to become evident. This is pretty much a test, so I might or might not finish it depending on the reviews. Enjoy.

4.3 Billion Years Ago, Ghost Zone; Clockwork's Lair

Many millenia before the arival of the early day, more primative human race set themselves as the dominate seniant species of the planet Earth, it's interdimentional, spectral mirror image known as the Ghost Zone, was at that point already populated by ancient and powerful spectors - the overlookers of balance in all existence. Situated in the ectoplasmic dimention were merely eight such entities, along with a dozen more lesser ghosts called the Observents, all with a specific duty to forfill while the planet Earth continued to thrive and evolve, as well as the Ghost Zone proceeded to expand to accomidate the escalating ghost population. At this point in time, spectors were more accurately dubbed as a similar in appearence, but an entirely different species culture, and biologically wise, and not as merely shadows, or ectoplasmic manifestations of post-human consciousness, as was wrongly stated many times in the present date. Like all races, they could reproduce, adapt, learn, feel emotions, and evolve over time. The first ghost to ever live was Clockwork, the Master of Time. His age is immeasurable, but his power and wisdom was vast and mysterious. He knew everything that was to come, and that had already past, as well as all that was currently happening around his lair. To him, time and spaces were irrelevant, considered as nothing more than ideas or beliefs, easily transferring between the two as he pleased. Clockwork existed in all time lines.

Next came the Aspect of Life, known only as Primrose. Her beauty was uncontested, only outshined by her immense tendancy to kindness, peace and harmony in all things of existence. Her love towards all living things was undeniable, swiftly cultivating vast oceans of lush green vegetation upon Earth, along with depositing the first primative organisms on the evolving world. The two ghosts met on several occasions, exchanging friendly dialog, a welcome bond forming between the lone spooks. Clockwork and Primrose quickly found themselves drawn to one another. From the two, a single child was spawned, but at the costly price of the female spook's life during childbirth. Clockwork mourned the Aspect's death, but readily rose to the challenge of raising his biological son, isolated from the rest of the spectral world in his tower, in the far corner of the Ghost Zone. The child was named Reaper, for Clockwork's considerable lack of creativity, sticking mostly to logic, facts, and foresight as he was proficiant in doing. Another reason being for the newly born babe's freak accident involving one of Clockwork's scythes, resulting in the timelord being bedridden for an extended period of time as he recovered from the ordeal. From that day on, Clockwork took extra precaution to keep his more potentally dangerous, or delicate intruments and technology out of Reaper's immediate reach.

Clockwork kept his son in the safety of his tower, enforcing the child to remain oblivious to the world outside. For 5 years, this was never a problem, but come Reaper's 6th year of age he became increasingly restless from being pent up in the stuffy old lair, and Clockwork's continuous streak of sudden absenses to leave for the Observent Council gatherings, and sooner or later, his curiousity would draw him to the outside world, unable to resist the temptation of youthful wanderlust...

Reaper floated irritatedly around the confined space of the dull tower, bored and lonely. In all his six years of life, he had never been so lacking in something to do. He had thusfar entertained himself with investegating his father's wide array of curious gadgets, and devices, but after several incidents and much mayhem caused, Clockwork had hid away his vast collection of artifacts, leaving the boy with little to do to occupy his time. His father never seemed to get bored of his longevity. He always wondered where exactly his father went when he disappeared some days. Clockwork never mentioned where he had gone, drawing Reaper into a state of curiousity. Did he, perhaps, go somewhere far beyond the tower? The world outside the tower was unknown to Reaper, and Clockwork only occasionally, mysteriously and vaguely referenced it when he spoke to him about the creation of all existence. The way his father spoke of it, he made it sound like a cruel, unforgiving place of sadness and misfortune. But Reaper felt in his core that his father was lying about that. It was called Ghostly Intuition; a spector's inner ability to sense when people close to them are weaving lies, or not speaking the whole truth. Reaper felt that the 'Ghost Zone' as his father referred to it as being called, was a place of wonder and discovery, a new world to be explored by brave and curious youths. Alas, though his father suffocated him with paternal kindness, he was, however, strict and rather scary when Reaper pleaded to go beyond the old, dusty lair he called home.

Reaper looked out the only window situated at the upper-most section of the lair, laying on his belly upon the round stone sill, propping up his elbows to rest his chin in the palms of his hands. He glanced longingly out at the endlessly wide expances of swirling green energy, and hovering islands of barren, or lushly vegetated rock and dirt. He yearned to escape the tower, and lose himself exploring the depths of the strange, foreign world. But such was impossible. Reaper's father forbayed it rather firmly, insisting that he remain in the 'safety' of the timelord's lair. Reaper sighed in exasperation, ghost tail wisping to and fro. He hoped that someday Clockwork would realize he needed to halt his continuous pestering, worrying needlessly for his safety before Reaper went stir-crazy.

Reaper flipped onto his back, his black robes wrapping around him like a soft, velvity blanket of shadows, ocean blue eyes boring holes into the pristine stone tiles above him. He lounged on the window sill many times before during the days where he was more bored than usual. This was one of those insufferablely dull days. He could do nothing to distract himself but think, and even then there wasn't much to think about. Even in his six years of life, there was nothing note-worthy to continuously consider for hours on end. Reaper attempted to let his mind wander through his past memories, but no matter how much he tried to ignore it, his wanderlust-suffering consciousness was drawn back to the prospect of exploring the world outside the tower, this Ghost Zone of which Clockwork spoke. The young spook just couldn't seem to banish the images of the strange world from his mind. It drew him in like a fly to tantalizing fresh honey, almost equally diffcult to resist the temptaitions.

No, his rational side insisted, There has to be a reason behind why father refuses to allow me out there. It could be dangerous.

He just doesn't want you to see what's out there, spoke his curious side, Don't you want to find out what's out there?

Yes, but I'll get in trouble! the first voice whined, Father will get really mad if he finds out!

That's IF he finds out, the second voice said smoothly, Just one minute outside won't hurt anyone. He'll never know.

The internal bickering between his two sides waged for several minutes, before they came at a comprimise. 60 seconds outside, then straight back home, and no if, ands, or buts about it. No sidetracks, or distractions. Reaper sprung from his window perch, doing swift loops in the air, then bolting directly towards the from entrance of the tower, cloak billowing behind him. What happened next seemed to go by so immencely fast, it was as if an hour's happenings were condensed into a single moment. Creaking, the large, masterly crafted solid wood door inwardly swung open, a hooded figure taking up the majority of the space of the clear doorway. Seeing the child rocketing towards him, the spook's face twisted into a smile of shock, crimson eyes widening with surprise. Reaper couldn't halt his momentum, and, flailing commedically in midair, slammed into the center of the figure's chest, sending the two sprawling onto the floor, a cloud of dust stirring with the movement, envelouping the spooks.

Reaper coughed the dirt from his lungs, blinking his watering eyes, studying the figure whom he crushed. Reaper stiffled a sheepish chuckle upon realizing who it was. The figure wore purple robes, adorned with multiple wrist and pocket watches all along his person, a glass case containing a pendulum clock imbented in his chest. His skin was a calming sky blue, eyes pure red with a warm kindness in their crimson depths. On the ground several feet away, a fair sized staff rested in the dust, a large clock mounted at it's top. Clockwork wiped the grime off his face, eyes landing on the young boy resting on his chest. A slight smile wormed it's way onto his usually stoic stone-like face. The timelord lifted the smaller spook off his chest and into the air as he floated upright, before he place the youth back onto the ground, brushing the dirt from his cloak.

"That was certainly not the kind of greeting I was expecting." Clockwork mused, gazing down at Reaper as a slight blush flickered across the youth's face.

"Sorry, father." Reaper said with a childishly innocent grin spreading across his lips, "I'm just glad to see you home. It's so lonely here when you're gone." A half-lie, but it possessed some very really truth. He was truely delighted to see Clockwork was back from...where-ever it was that he went as of late. Things never got dull when his father was around, despite Reaper's yearning to explore the outside world. Clockwork would tell grand tales of what he had foreseen, or encountered during his own youth. Considering the timelord saw extravagent things from all timelines and spans, the stories were always exciting and fresh, never growing old or dull to the young spook. He told tales of the race called 'humans', that would play a key role in the coming future of the Ghost world, of brave knights astride noble steeds embarking on adventurous quests, slaying dragons and rescuing fair maidens from danger, of interesting and advanced technologies, space travel, and the history of all things. Due to these stories, and Clockwork's teachings, Reaper swiftly expanded his vocabulary to extraordinary levels considering his young age, his intellect surpassing that of a person who lived twenty knowledgeable years. However, because of his youth, his intellect was often left unused, sticking to childish tendacies and behaviors unless conflicted with a particularlly challenging problem, which he would readily solve exceedingly quickly.

"It's alright," Clockwork smiled, ruffling the child's soft black hair, "No lasting damage done." The timelord picked up his staff, using his purple robes to clear the dust from it's shaft, and mounted clock.

"Can you tell me a story?" Reaper pleaded, innocent blue eyes filled with hope.

Clockwork paused, readjusting the dial on the clock-staff. But his hesitation immediantly crumbled when he met the young boy's gaze. His soft smile widened on his pale blue lips.

"You have your mother's eyes," he whispered almost absentmindedly, making a hand gesture, conjuring two wooden chairs in the center of the room, in a slight clearing from the multitude of gears that littered the ground. The two spooks sat in the chairs, Clockwork leaning his staff against the wall. His form shifted into that of an elder, a ridiculously long white beard trailing from his chin, across his lap, and onto the floor, deep wrinkles forming along his face giving him a wisened, scholarly appearence. Reaper fiddled in his seat, ghost tail wagging with curiousity, eargerly awaiting one of his father's fantasic tales of the many fasinating wonders he had beheld.

"How about I tell you...about your mother, Primrose?" Clockwork asked, observing his son for his reaction.

Clockwork almost never spoke of Reaper's mother, so painful were the memories of her unfortunate death during childbirth and the lonesome years afterwards. He had only recently laid his depression, and grief to rest, taking to caring for his biological son like Primrose would've wanted him to. Reaper was oblivious to the reason why he had never seen his birth-mother, he had yet to give it much thought or careful consideration. Clockwork had made sure he remained innocent for as long as he could, setting aside the grim tale for the day when Reaper was old enough to understand the concept of death, and was capable to handle the bitter truth. He was only a child, afterall. Needless to say, a surprised expression exploded onto his pale, greenish gray face. The boy nodded slowly, curiousity causing him to lean forward, as if it would allow him to hear better.

"Primrose and I were the first ghosts to come into existence, and as such we were very much alone in the vast world." Clockwork began, reframing from using words from his advanced vocabulary, and otherwise confuse the boy. But it was rather difficult to resist. "The two of us rarely met, and only briefly, while going about our usual tasks cultivating life upon our world's mirror interdimentional image, called Earth. Primrose was the most beautiful being I had ever laid eyes on, and still have yet to find a rival to her immeasurable amount kindness to this day. She was immencely friendly, and as such we did exchange the occasional conversation. Primrose quickly took a liking to me, and I her.

"We spent more time together, talked more frequently, saw eachother more often. We loved eachother very much." Clockwork's eyes grew sad, but masked it well from the youth. Reaper silently urged him to continue, and he did. "And before we knew it, a child was on the way. We were both happy, enthusiastic that we were to be parents." Clockwork hesitated to continue the tale.

Reaper took advantage of Clockwork's pause to ask the question that had been nagging at his conscious for quite some time. "Why haven't I seen mother before?"

Clockwork did well to hide his surprise of his son's blunt question. He quickly mustered up the will to answer in a half-truth.

"After you were born, Reaper..." Clockwork replied carefully, "...Your mother had to...leave for a time."

Reaper's face creased in innocent confusion. "Why did she leave? Did she not love you, or me?"

"No, no, it wasn't because of that, Reaper." Clockwork assured, lifting the youth from his chair, placing the boy onto his lap. The young spook was surprised, but didn't complain about the movement. "Your mother loved you and I very much, more than anything. She left because she had little choice, but she still cares for us immencely. She is in a better place right now, but someday you shall see her again, I promise."

"Is mother happy there?" Reaper whispered quietly, unable to see his father's face from the angle in which he had been seated. He felt his father's body tense, but he relaxed a moment later.

"Yes," he answered wistfully, "I'm sure she is happy where-ever she is right now, knowing that her little boy is growing up to be everything she had stood for."

Reaper didn't understand the hidden meaning in his father's words, the truth skimming right over his head. Clockwork was gradually easing Reaper into the true fate of his mother, starting out slow with a easy to believe half-truth for a young child. There was no gental way to tell a child that his mother was dead. He would save the grim tale for when the boy was older.

"Now that, that is done," Clockwork said suddenly, "What else do you want to hear about?"

Childish innocents caused Reaper to immediantly disguard his confusion in favor of thinking about what he wanted to know. The choice was obvious.

"Can you tell me about the outside world?" Reaper asked, and before his father could object he added, "And not that it's a cruel place of horror and danger. I know you were lying last time. Tell me the truth. Please, father?"

Clockwork sighed in exasperation, finding it impossible to deny the boy anything at that moment, adjusting his posture to be more comfortable. He stroked his beard thoughtfully, thinking of ways to explain the vast reaches of swirling ectoplasmic green energy, and drifting islands of either lush jungles or barren rocks. Reaper fidgeted eagerly in his father's lap.

"The world outside had been termed the Ghost Zone, and is the homeland of all ghosts." Clockwork started hesitantly, rubbing the back of his neck with a black gloved hand, "It is expancive and mysterious, seeming to expand gradually to accomidate the growing spector population. There are interdimentional portals scattered throughout it's regions, taking the forms of floating doors, or a random tear in the environment. Some of these lead to either a ghost's lair, or the Ghost Zone's mirror image, the planet called Earth, while others travel through time and space. The two worlds are linked by these gateways, and tie their fates together. If the Earth were to be destroyed, the Ghost Zone would suffer the same fate, and vise versa. Not even I understand this phenomenon to a respectable degree, despite my infiniate knowledge.

"However, the Ghost Zone is riddled with danger regardless of what you may assume. Not all ghosts are friendly towards eachother, and would take much delight in slaying young children who are too curious for their own good. Then there is the factor of the dimention portals that you seem to be interested in. If you fall into one, who knows where it might lead? You could end up in the middle of space with no way to get back, or be accidently teleported forward in time to be hunted down by trigger-happy human Ghost hunters like a helpless frightened animal."

Reaper gulped nervously. Neither possibilites sounded pleasent to him.

"But enough of such talk." Clockwork stated, lifting Reaper up from his lap, placing him onto the ground as the timelord stood from his seat. The wooden chairs disappeared in a puff of blue smoke after a wave of Clockwork's hand. "It is late. You should go to sleep now." Reaper attempted to argue that he wasn't tired, but it was difficult when his eye-lids were closing, his pointed ears drooping, and how he continuously yawned whenever he opened his mouth to protest. Clockwork chuckled to himself, observing the small boy as he gave up trying to talk, instead flying lazily to his perch upon the windowsill. Once there, the young spook curled up like a cat, laying on his belly, arms supporting his lulling head, ghost tail wrapping around him, black robes acting as a velvity blanket. Almost instantly, Reaper was fast asleep, dreams haunted by ghostly visions of the outside world beyond the tower walls, body occasionally jerking spasmotically before going limp in contentfull rest.

Clockwork smiled, but his eyes were sad. The boy wanted to explore outside, that much was plainfully obvious to even the most clueless of people. It was somewhat understandable. For six years the boy had been couped up in the confined space of the tower, restricted from going beyond it's walls to explore the vast foreign world he knew so little about. It was only natural for him to become stir-crazy. But Clockwork didn't want to risk losing him to the multitude of dangers that stalked the Ghost Zone. The timelord didn't want him to suffer the same fate as Primrose. But he had to wonder; Would she have wanted it this way? Would she have desired to see her flesh and ectoplasm pent up in a dusty old tower, with vivide dreams of venturing through the Ghost Zone that Clockwork so strictly denied? Probably not. Maybe this was simply a phase that the boy was going through, and would soon come to his senses, and see the rational part of Clockwork's arguement.

He could only hope so.

Authors Notes

First installment of the Grim Reaper's past, done. As you can see, I put Clockwork together with the Aspect of Life, which my sister helped me name Primrose (Pronounced; Purr-rim-rose). Together they had Reaper, but not before Primrose died in childbirth. Yes, I made it so that ghosts can die. They're just a smidge harder to kill than humans, especially the first ancient ghosts to come into existence. There are 8 ancient ghosts, which will be probably be introduced in the second or third chapter. In order of power-level, they are Clockwork (duh), Reaper (also duh), Pariah Dark, Pandora, Undergrowth, Nocturn, Vortex, and Frostbite. Then there are the Observents who popped up around the same time as Clockwork, but are so ridiculously weak that they hardly qualifiy to count amoung the 'the eldest and most powerful ghosts of all time.' They usually get someone else to do their dirty work, lazy son-of-a-guns. So anyway, hoped you enjoyed. Reaper will be causing some mischief next chapter, so prepare for mayhem!