It was almost comical finding a monster in your house during a 1 AM thunderstorm.
The key word being almost. The situation bordered on cliche. The creature looked at her with a lipless smile when it noticed her… The girl wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or scream.
Not that mattered, since the only thing she could manage was a strained groan.
The creature brought a finger to its mouth and made the shushing gesture.
The girl nodded, tongue dry and heavy, as she backed up against the kitchen island.
She felt around the cold counter for a knife, a cleaver, something that could be used as a weapon. Thunder clapped and lightning flashed; she grasped at the handle of a frying pan, still dirty from dinner, and swung it.
The pan sailed through the creature's head like it wasn't even there. It then grabbed the pan and examined it - twirling it in its hand for what seemed like forever. The girl's breath caught up in her chest.
If it wanted her dead, why didn't it just do it already?
Curiosity satisfied, the creature put the pan down and extended its hand. She could only stare.
"This is how most humans introduce themselves, ain't it?"
"Uh-huh," she said, unable to take her eyes off the bony claws of the creature's right hand.
The girl couldn't bring herself to touch it. Not without knowing if she would be agreeing to something. She had to know what it wanted first.
It's not as though she was superstitious. She didn't believe in that kind of stuff. Not really. But anyone with an ounce of common sense wouldn't shake hands with a thing that just mysteriously appeared in their kitchen.
Right?
The creature wore a white feathered headdress and a matching loincloth that didn't appear to actually cover anything important. Instead of a left hand, it had a metal hook attached to its elbow - something that just seemed out of place with the rest of its appearance.
The girl wanted to scream. To run. To do something besides stand there like an idiot. But her body refused to move. So the creature inched closer.
It felt as though it was staring right through her.
She had nowhere to go, even though she wanted to. The counter was behind her. The stove was to her left and the fridge was to the right and the thing in front of her was blocking the doorway.
The suspense was the worst - why didn't it just get this whole thing over with?
It kept coming closer and close and closer. Until its face was just inches away from hers.
"BOO!"
Finally, she screamed. It was more of a yelp than a scream. Almost immediately, she covered her mouth and waited to hear her dad's footsteps. But they didn't come. He'd always been a deep sleeper - but she was still disappointed that her yell hadn't been loud enough.
Then the creature began to laugh. A dry, throaty, crackling sort of laugh. "You humans are so easy to scare… I guess I can't blame you. Probably aren't used to seeing shinigami, 'specially in these parts."
"Shinigami?"
"A god of death. Name's Zellogi." The creature, the god, bowed in an almost mocking sort of way. "It's nice to meet you, Esther."
How Zellogi knew her name was concerning…but not half as concerning as the fact that it?...he? That he was there in the first place. A god of death standing there, in her kitchen.
"A-a-am I gonna die?"
"Eventually," Zellogi paused for a moment looking at her expression amused, "I mean all humans die at some point. But it ain't your time, yet - and even if it were that's not why I'm here."
Esther let out a breath, relieved. Her body was shaking - but at least she wasn't going to die.
Possibilities swirled in her mind, none of which particularly appealed to her. She wasn't really the type who longed for a vampire, werewolf, or some other kind of supernatural being to whisk her away…Even if she was…she'd prefer a creature with a little more... flesh.
Not the paper-thin, leathery, mummy-like skin that Zellogi had.
She hoped that wasn't the reason he was there. That would be hard to explain to her rabbi.
"Y-y-you're gonna have to tell me what that reason is…"
Zellogi seemed surprised, stepping back. Then he nodded as though he understood something she did not.
"Ah. You haven't used the notebook yet."
Esther furrowed her brow for a second trying to think of what he could possibly mean. "You mean that notebook I found outside of synagogue last week? Black with weird little white scribbles on the front?"
Zellogi nodded, leaving Esther frankly, more confused than before.
"You have no idea what it does, do ya?"
She shook her head.
Zellogi began speaking to himself, under his breath. "How did that human learn so quickly… Ryuk must have written down the dir-"
"Do you want a cup of tea?" Esther regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. She didn't even know why she said it. Did a god of death even need to eat or drink? Could they even eat? But it was too late to take the words back because, as usual, her mouth worked faster than her brain.
But even then, offering the creature in your house something seemed like a better idea than not offering anything.
"Tea?" He cocked his head to the side.
"Yeah - that's why I came down. I couldn't sleep…so I was gonna make myself some tea," she said, "I was gonna have chamomile but I have others….we have English Breakfast, Earl Gray, green tea, Oolong," she said counting off the types on her fingers then suddenly snapped back into reality
.
Zellogi cackles amused, "Sure. Make me a cup. If I had known humans were this hospitable, I would have visited a lot sooner!"
She gave an awkward giggle. The same unnatural kind she gave to Justin V.'s creepy grandfather whenever he tried to talk to her on her way to the bathroom after services. But Zellogi probably wouldn't be as easy to get rid of.
Esther went about preparing everything for the tea - trying not to let her still shaking hands show her fear. Hopefully, she would wake up soon. That was the only way any of this could be happening.
It had to be, she thought. But her curiosity was piqued. Why would a shinigami be after a notebook? What was so important about it?
Esther poured the boiling water into mismatched mugs.
She pushed the latter to Zellogi who stared at it with some curiosity. After he had a sip, she stared at him, eyes resolute.
"So…the notebook. What's so special about it?"
"You've heard of Kira, right?"
For the briefest moment, Esther had hoped Zellogi was talking about Kira Stein, her classmate, or that singer Kira Kingston. But of course, that's not what he meant. She knew that,
He meant Kira. That single one-name entity who some believed was a god who was killing off criminals by some mystical means. Esther hadn't been convinced. If G-d had any sense of justice, He wouldn't be killing off petty thieves alongside rapists and murderers.
But Kiku Kumagai's cousin had been murdered after she stole baby formula and diapers from a Tokyo supermarket. Where was the justice in that?
Meanwhile, a group of men had broken into the synagogue the next town over and destroyed hundreds of prayer books, and even ripped up a couple of the Torahs in the ark, including one that came over to America in the '40s hadn't had so much as a sniffle as far as she was aware.
God of justice my ass, she thought.
"Yeah. I've heard of them."
The shinigami smiled, "You don't seem very fond of him…" A cackle of laughter. "You think you can do better?"
"Better? In what way…" The gears in Esther's head began turning. "Are you saying that the notebook I found is Kira's?"
The shinigami shook its head, "I was hoping to get a smart human…No, no. That notebook doesn't belong to Kira. You found it, so it belongs to you. But it is the same kind of notebook Kira has and it's what he uses to kill people."
Ignoring the sting of the insult, Esther furrowed her brow and thought for a moment.
"Explain to me how it works."
….
It made too much sense to be a dream.
A name. A face. That's all you needed for the Death Note to work.
It sounded too easy.
Zellogi sat on a small pile of pillows and blankets in the corner of her bedroom, stretched out like he was sunning himself on the beach. The shinigami was staring at her intently as she sat on her bed, staring at the blank, yellowed pages of the Death Note.
What name should she write?
Esther rejected all the ones that came immediately to her mind: Justin's grandfather, the school bullies, the teacher everyone said was having an affair with a senior, the Jehovah's Witnesses who often proselytized outside the town's only kosher grocery store…Sure they were bad. Some of them were disgusting and morally reprehensible, but she couldn't bring herself to kill them. She wasn't sure if she had the capability of killing anyone. Even if it was as simple as writing down a name.
Killing somebody shouldn't be this simple.
It would have to be somebody that wouldn't be missed. Somebody who deserved to - Did anybody deserve to die?
Was this how Kira started?
Esther shook the thought out of her head, dark brown curls tangling as she did.
"It ain't that hard. Just pick somebody already."
How was she supposed to do that?
"How?"
The shinigami shrugged. "Shinigami just pick somebody with a long lifespan - but that doesn't affect humans… If you don't want it, you can give it back. I'll erase your memories and it'll be like you never had it."
"NO!" she said, almost too suddenly.
The response surprised her.
She couldn't give the notebook back - then it may land in the hands of somebody who would use it. But - she couldn't just leave it be. Zellogi had already made it clear, that he expected her to use the Death Note or he'd kill her himself.
What would Rabbi Weiss have to say about the situation?
On one hand: killing was obviously wrong. On the other hand, allowing somebody else to kill people would be worse. Especially since she didn't know the kind of person who would pick up the Death Note next.
So - if she had to keep it, to keep the power of killing out of the wrong hands then she had to find people she could live with murdering.
Did Kira face this same issue? Did he just want to make the world a better place? Esther shook the idea out of her head. She wasn't Kira and she wouldn't fall into the same trap. She wouldn't kill petty criminals.
No. There was no reason.
Up until that point - Esther had never really considered herself, an observant Jew. Her dad and mom used to bring her to synagogue every Saturday morning when she was young, Esther had never thought of herself as a religious person. Sure, she had her Bat Mitzvah three years ago as an awkward twelve-year-old and she and her dad lit a yahrzeit candle every year on the anniversary of Mom's death…But it wasn't until she was staring at this damned notebook that something stopped her.
Something other than her own moral compass.
Killing people was wrong - but now forced with having to kill or be killed, everything seemed different. Especially because dying wouldn't stop the murders. She had to kill somebody. Not just for her sake - but for the sake of all the other innocents…
Esther closed her eyes tightly, took a deep breath and thought about the people she knew. None of them would ever kill…Suddenly her great-grandmother came to mind. Esther had never met her - she died shortly before she was born.
And so Esther got her name.
Great-grandma Esther had seen a lot. And done a lot. But from stories told by her relatives, she never regretted what she had to do to survive the Shoah.
Nazis didn't really count as humans anyway.
That was self-defense. A public service. A mitzvah even. She'd be carrying on her legacy if she did this.
And if the so-called Kira, god of a new world, the bringer of justice wasn't going to kill them then she may as well do it.
If she just killed Nazis - nobody would really care. Nobody would miss a 90-something-year-old former SS officer living on some Argentinian pig farm. Sure, their crimes happened long ago - but where was the justice in letting them live out peaceful lives after committing genocide?
Esther took a deep breath, opened her laptop, and typed her parameters into Google.
Too bad there wasn't a prayer for killing Nazis.
The closest thing that popped into her head was what people said on television whenever they went to Confession at a church. And that wouldn't work.
She wasn't really looking for forgiveness as much as she was looking for courage. Or perhaps permission…She went to her bookshelf and pulled out the siddur she had been given in by her synagogue in elementary school and flipped through it until she found a blessing that felt at least a little right.
"Baruch atah Adonai Elohenu, melekh ha'olam, shehecheyanu vekiymanu vehigi'anu lazman hazeh," she said under her breath, barely more audible than a whisper, the words feeling a bit unfamiliar on her tongue. "Blessed are You, Lord, our God, King of the Universe, who has granted us life, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this occasion."
It still didn't seem like the right thing to say. But it felt better than nothing.
She closed the book, kissed it gently, and set it on her nightstand before looking back at the beckoning glow of her laptop screen next to the opened Death Note.
It was now or never.