"Ma'am," a short man says as he cautiously walks into my office. 

"Yes?" I reply.

"There's been a body found in a house on Berlesly Street," he reports, "how do you want us to proceed?"

I sigh, so much for the two-year-long no-death streak, "Alright, I need a detective on the scene, five officers to keep the public away, and get the medical examiner on the phone. I'll go to the scene myself." 

"Yes ma'am," the man answers and runs out of my office. I get up from my seat and make my way outside and into my car. 

We were so close to two years with no homicides, suicides, and accidental deaths. I pull up onto the scene, luckily there were officers there closing off the scene and keeping the public out. 

"Chief," a tall man in a long trench coat greets as I pass under the police tape. 

"Detective John," I greet back, "Do you have anything yet?"

"Not yet," he replies, "We've collected DNA evidence and gathered everything we could. All I know is that this was a homicide."

"Great," I sarcastically say. Inside the dark short house, there was little to no furniture. Just a lawn chair next to a pile of books in the living room and a table in front of it. 

"Odd," I say.

"I know right!?" John exclaims, "we looked everywhere in the house and that is the only furniture here."

I turn to John, "well have you at least looked through what he does have?" 

"No, we're still trying to figure out what happened." 

"Is the medical examiner here?"

"Yes."

"Then leave that to her, we need to investigate the victim's life to see if there are any connections."

"Already checked," John interjects, "no relatives and no friends."

"Even odder," I mutter. I peer down at the pile of books and on the top is a dictionary. And underneath, another one in a different language. I look down the spines of all the books.

"Only dictionaries," I say. John pulls out a notepad and jots down on it, "All different languages."

I look across the room and there is another book, it looks like it was thrown across the room. 

"Did you know about this?" I ask John.

"No," he says, "that's actually new."

"I thought you said you searched the place?" 

"I did."

I get a closer look at the book and it is torn apart. Pages are missing and it is blood-stained on the edges of each page that is left. The front has three large slashes gouged into the surface. I open the book and look at one of the left-over pages. 

"Noah's ark," I mutter, "this is a bible."

"Why is the bible in such a state?" John asks. I ignore him and go back to the pile of books and try to pick up all of them. But the books wouldn't move. I push away the top ones and see the books underneath were fake. There was a handle on the surface of one. 

"I didn't know about that," John says.

"Obviously." 

I grab the handle and pull. The floor had a secret door to a hidden basement. We walk down there and on the floor was a pentagram painted in blood. 

"This isn't good."

"Calm down," I say, "this isn't my first rodeo." I walk up to the pentagram and on the floor was a book dedicated to evil practices. 

"Don't touch anything," John said, "I've watched enough horror movies to know that this isn't a good sign."

I pick up the book anyways and see that there was a bookmarked page. I open up to the bookmark and the title was, How to Trap Death. 

That's when I realized something. No murders, suicides, or any other deaths have happened for almost two years now. A scream pierced the silence upstairs. Someone had just angered Death. And there are souls to reap.