Chapter 1: Kidnapped by Maple Heights

For a hundred years, I was stuck in the Underworld’s back office—bored out of my mind. Picture a supernatural DMV, endless paperwork, and not a shred of excitement. So, to kill time, I started learning how humans date online. Honestly, it was mostly for laughs, but after a while, I got curious. On a whim, and maybe just a little desperate for a change, I decided to meet someone in real life. But I never found my date, and somehow, in a daze, I got picked up by a bunch of local thugs in a small American city called Maple Heights and couldn’t get away.

Honestly, if you’d told me that all those centuries wrangling lost souls would lead to me getting hustled by a bunch of small-town punks, I’d have called you crazy. Maple Heights: the kind of place with more potholes than people, and apparently, a thriving kidnapping scene. Who knew? Seriously, who expects to get snatched in a town like this?

While I was kneeling miserably, I begged, “Please, let me go, I’ll Venmo you money!” At the same time, I was desperately calling for backup in my head: “Cupid! Lady Luck! Archangel Michael! Somebody, I swear, please, blow up this dump in Maple Heights! How dare they scam me out of my money!” I mean, of all the places to get kidnapped, why here?

My knees ached on that gritty linoleum. My voice wobbled—half real, half performance. No way was I letting them see me sweat. But deep inside, my pride was boiling over. Venmo, of all things! I was ready to sell my soul for a cell signal.

Meanwhile, the gods upstairs were slacking off at their celestial day jobs. “Did you hear? That one from the Eighteenth Level hasn’t worked in ages.” Cupid, rolling his eyes. “Jealous, huh? So far from the Big Guy, slacking off—even the Heavenly CEO barely checks in…” Lady Luck, muttering under her breath. “Not really, there’s so much chaos down there. I heard her job is way too stressful. Young people—never seen a real storm, it’s normal to bail when it gets rough.” Michael, snorting. “So many of us want to come here, but once they arrive, half want to leave. Look at Cupid, business so bad he’s balding, says he wants to transfer to Finance…” “So, the little Grim Reaper actually wants to run away?”

The breakroom in heaven sounded like a water cooler on a Friday afternoon—gossip bouncing around like ping pong balls. I could picture Lady Luck rolling her eyes while Cupid checked his receding hairline in the reflection of a golden trophy. The whole place reeked of burnt coffee and divine indifference. Figures.

Gossip in heaven was spreading like wildfire, while I, the rookie Reaper, was stuck in a human-world holding pen—a little city called Maple Heights, otherwise known as the place even Houdini couldn’t escape. I was prying doors and climbing walls, trying to break out—locked up and losing my mind.

You ever see a supernatural being try to jimmy a cheap deadbolt with a bobby pin? Yeah, that was me. Not my proudest moment. But desperate times call for desperate measures, right? If Houdini had been stuck here, even he would’ve thrown in the towel.

I’d been detained for half a month before my phone finally showed a single bar of signal. Damn this dead zone—even the gods’ Wi-Fi doesn’t reach! Guess I was stuck with good old human cell service.

My phone screen flickered to life like a beacon from heaven. No joke, I almost cried. I’d forgotten what hope felt like until I saw that single, precious bar.

Once I got connected, I frantically called for backup: “Cupid! Lady Luck! Archangel Michael!” The signal was terrible, the voices on the other end choppy: “Zzz… scam call?” “Zzzzz.” Spam call? Click. Then the call just died.

I stared at my phone, mouth open. As if maybe if I screamed loud enough, the gods would hear me anyway. The only thing more unreliable than divine intervention? Verizon in Maple Heights.

I was dumbfounded. Did Maple Heights curse my number with a local area code or something? Like, suddenly I was just another local nobody. The gang realized I tried to run and chased after me. There were wires all over the wall, so I didn’t dare climb. Man, the local gods here are even nastier than the ones upstairs.

Honestly, I’d take a vengeful poltergeist over these guys any day. Seriously, give me a ghost with a grudge instead of these lowlifes. I ducked behind a stack of old tires, heart pounding, cursing the day I ever thought online dating was a good idea.

I screamed inside as they dragged me away, crying: “I’m sorry, I just wanted to see the pretty city lights! I’m sorry, I was wrong! Please, don’t make me kneel and beg you!” And yeah, inside I was thinking, go ahead, try me. Not a chance I’m giving you the satisfaction.

My voice cracked for effect, but inside, I was plotting. The only lights I wanted to see now were police cruisers. Or maybe a meteor. Anything but this dump.

Don’t be fooled by my pitiful look; inside, my thoughts were: [Screw you, if you kidnap me, your whole family’s cursed!] [Damn your dad! You hear me, damn your dad! Still not untying me, you jerks!] [And those lazy gods in heaven, you eat too much and do nothing! I’ve been kidnapped! They’re gonna steal my kidneys!] [You slackers in the Eighteenth Level, still not coming to rescue your boss! A bunch of idiots! I’ve been gone so long and you don’t even report it, just waiting for me to die so you can relax!] Ha! If only they could hear me now.

I had a running list in my head of everyone who was going to get a piece of my mind if I ever made it out. If curses were currency, I’d be a billionaire.

Another half month passed before the zombies working in the Eighteenth Level realized something was wrong. The Black and White Escorts reported the disappearance of the Reaper to the Big Boss. Meanwhile, Cupid and Lady Luck also sensed something was off. This rookie Reaper, only in the job for a hundred years, always liked to complain—no matter how busy, she’d never be silent for this long. That was their first clue.

If you ever want to know what it takes for the afterlife to notice you’re missing, the answer is: two weeks of total radio silence. Apparently, my absence was the only thing that could unite those slackers into action. About time, honestly.

Coincidentally, the Black and White Escorts came to heaven to report. Cupid and Lady Luck exchanged glances, both thinking of that scam call half a month ago: “Wait, you don’t think she actually got trafficked to Maple Heights, do you?”

The realization hit them like a ton of bricks. Even gods can get scammed by a bad connection and a worse idea.

After a month, I, in the man-eating, god-eating Maple Heights, saw my friends from home. For a moment, I thought I was hallucinating. Cupid, Lady Luck, Archangel Michael, and even Professor Whitaker were all escorted in. Was I dreaming? Or had I finally lost it?

The sight of them—rumpled, confused, and slightly pissed off—was the most beautiful thing I’d seen since my last paycheck. I blinked, not sure if the exhaustion was making me see things. God, I needed a nap.

In just a month, I’d struggled and tried to escape, then gave up, and managed to weasel my way into the mid-upper ranks of their pyramid scheme. Seeing this bunch of brats, I almost couldn’t keep a straight face. Oh, the irony.

You know you’ve hit rock bottom when you’re halfway up a criminal organization just to survive. I was practically running a scam myself. What a joke. And these guys were my only hope out.

Monday, at the regular meeting, I was a low-level leader, sitting in the farthest corner. When the boss assigned the new arrivals, I gritted my teeth and stood up. Bowing low, with a face full of flattery like some old sycophant: “Boss, please let me do it! I really want to help, please give me this chance, I’ll definitely promote our mission! Let everyone in the world know you!” I rubbed my hands together like a fly; cowardice was just my camouflage. Let everyone in the world know you! (Yeah, right.)

Inside, I kept cursing. Idiot, one day I’ll expose your dirty operation and make you pay! Just wait. My time will come.

I kept my head low, but my mind was racing. If brown-nosing could buy freedom, I’d be home by now. But for now, it was all about survival. Gotta play the long game.

The boss handed me the job. The people beside me were indignant and sneering, but what could they do? They couldn’t compete with my shameless bootlicking. They couldn’t bring themselves to do it, but whatever, I could go all out. Let them judge—I was here to win.

They couldn’t compete with my shameless bootlicking. I could out-suck-up anyone in this place. If there were an Olympic event for flattery, I’d medal. Honestly, I’d take gold every time.

After the meeting, the boss talked to me: He said I was promoted so fast, he was optimistic about me: “Young people should learn to tough it out!” I was tearfully grateful: “Yes, please let me suffer more! I love hardship!” Yeah, let me suffer, sure.

I plastered on my best fake smile. The things I’d do for a way out. If suffering were an art form, I’d be Picasso. Gritting my teeth behind that smile.

Boss: “Learning more is never bad. Even if you didn’t ask, I was planning to give you this growth opportunity.” I bowed and scraped: “Thank you, boss, thank you so much, without you I wouldn’t be where I am today!” Learn, learn, learn! No wonder you’re a greasy, bald, middle-aged man! (Honestly, I could write a book about fake gratitude.)

I nodded, all humility and gratitude on the outside. Inside, I was making a voodoo doll of him out of paperclips and chewing gum. Anything to survive.