Under Carl Reed's terrified gaze, the old Grim Reaper easily crossed the salt circle and placed a hand on his head. His eyes rolled back as his body convulsed, but for some unknown reason, the Grim Reaper let go and left again.
Just as the man was overflowing with gratitude and asked Sam to see his good deed through by giving him the last twenty dollars in his pocket as well, he suddenly saw the gray old corpse again.
"Damn it, it's back! Save me! Salt is useless! I'm going to die!" The man hurriedly grabbed Sam and hid behind him.
But Sam couldn't see anything.
Sam tightly gripped Carl Reed's arm and forced him into the center of the salt circle. "Don't move. Trust me—if you leave this place, you're dead!"
He practically roared it, veins bulging at his temples.
He picked up the iron bar in his hand and kept swinging it in the direction Carl was looking. Evil spirits feared cold iron; this was all he could do.
Carl Reed had been struggling and cursing, but when he felt the icy aura of death in the air nearly solidify around him, he froze in terror.
It was a trembling that surpassed physical pain, rising from the depths of his soul.
His clouded eyes widened to their limit, reflecting the old corpse that had returned—its skin like old ashes, its eyes hollow. With an expressionless face, it extended its skeletal claw once more and pressed it against his forehead.
"No—! Save—" Carl's final wail was cut short halfway, like a chicken with its neck wrung.
This time, no miracle happened. The old Grim Reaper did not stop midway.
Sam watched helplessly as Carl Reed's body rapidly lost all signs of life in his grasp, as though suffering a