Chase Conrad Davidson is just an average teenager. He has the recklessness, sarcasm, and energy of one, as well as the driving skills--explaining why he managed to accidentally hit the Grim Reaper with his family van...
You've probably heard of me before. I'm the lurking shadow in the corner, the hand that sends icy chills down your spine, and the designer of your nightmares. I'm also the thing you're neighbor's kid dressed up as last Halloween.
Yeah, I've got a lot of fans.
Need a visual? Alright, does a big, hairy-scary scythe ring any bells? How about an oversized, black robe with a ridiculously deep hood. (You wouldn't believe how easily it is to trip on that confounded fright of fashion.)
I go by many names. Acquaintances call me Death and those who aren't as fortunate call me non-existent. Close friends, on the other hand, prefer to go with Grim.
I'm a social worker, of sorts, kindly escorting souls from their mortal existence into their place in the afterlife--at least, that's what I'm supposed to do--and dwell in places deeper and darker than under your bed or even in your closet.
Funny thing is, my real name is Chase and, between you and me, I don't even have a driver's license yet.