YES.
“And you don’t want to.”
No.
“Why not?”
He looked at her as if she was mad.
BECAUSE THEN THERE WILL BE NOTHING. BECAUSE I WON’T EXIST.
“Is that what happens for humans, too?”
I DON’T THINK SO. IT’S DIFFERENT FOR YOU. YOU HAVE IT ALL BETTER ORGANIZED.
They both sat watching the fading glow of the coals in the forge.
“So what were you working on the scythe blade for?” said Miss Flitworth.
I THOUGHT PERHAPS I COULD…FIGHT BACK…
“Has it ever worked? With you, I mean.”
NOT USUALLY. SOMETIMES PEOPLE CHALLENGE ME TO A GAME. FOR THEIR LIVES, YOU KNOW.
“Do they ever win?”
NO. LAST YEAR SOMEONE GOT THREE STREETS AND ALL THE UTILITIES.
“What? What sort of game is that?”
I DON’T RECALL. “EXCLUSION POSSESSION,” I THINK. I WAS THE BOOT.
“Just a moment,” said Miss Flitworth. “If you’re you, who will be coming for you?”
DEATH. LAST NIGHT THIS WAS PUSHED UNDER THE DOOR.
Death opened his hand to reveal a small grubby piece of paper, on which Miss Flitworth could read, with some difficulty, the word: OOoooEEEeeOOOoooEEeeeOOOoooEEeee.
I HAVE RECEIVED THE BADLY-WRITTEN NOTE OF THE BANSHEE.
Miss Flitworth looked at him with her head on one side.
“But…correct me if I’m wrong, but…”
THE NEW DEATH.
Bill Door picked up the blade.
HE WILL BE TERRIBLE.
The blade twisted in his hands. Blue light flickered along its edge.
I WILL BE THE FIRST.
Miss Flitworth stared at the light as if fascinated.
“Exactly how terrible?”