Fear and Folly

by Maurits Zwankhuizen

  Of course the creepy fellow hadn’t actually grown in size. He was just clearer now. Or so I thought. Thing is, I went to the loo – these things can’t wait, y’ know, not after a cup of tea. I came back, hadn’t been gone two minutes, and there he was, even larger, even clearer. You see, like I said, he hadn’t grown one jot. What he’d done is moved closer, moved further down the hill in me direction. But I never saw him move, that was the peculiar part. Each time I looked he was standing completely still, like a guard at attention at Buckingham Palace, and yet he was moving nearer and nearer.

  Was I unnerved? Damn right I was! As far as I could tell, this black figure could’ve been anyone doing anything. He was giving me the creeps but there was nothing to prove that he was facing me for me, if I can put it that way. He might be one of those stalker chaps. For all I knew there was a lady in the unit below and it was her he was intent on. I was probably just a spectator to the whole episode.

  What is with these hoodies that the young ‘uns wear anyways? Hiding their faces. Y’know why? It’s ’cause they’re too bloody lazy to even wipe their own noses. So they just flop a hood over their heads and have done with it. Never need to bother wiping their noses then, do they, the snotty little twerps!?

  Well, I might be old, I might be curmudgeonly and cantankerous, and nosey to boot, but one thing I knew and one thing grew more certain as the morning wore on. This was no stalker and this was no young hoodie neither. This was something altogether different. Something downright weird.

  I could well have pulled a pew up to that window for all the good it would have done for me. It’s strange to say but that black figure moved without me seeing it move. I could stare and stare but the moment I blinked, just a millisecond blink, and then he’d be that bit closer. Pretty soon he was beside the road. Weird it was how he was stood there like that and some pedestrian would walk right past him and not give him a second glance. As if he wasn’t there. As if I was the only one in this great big mysterious world who could see him in all his devilish glory.

  By now I was mesmerised. He was a foot from the road. One step and he’d be in the path of traffic, what traffic there is around these parts of a morning. And then, within a few minutes, he was on the other side. Again, I never saw him move. He just sort of appeared on the other side and I could see the hood rise a little bit, just enough so that I’m sure that he was itching to gaze up at me as much as I was itching for him not to. I knew what I’d see, anyways. I’d realised who this creeper was. He was none other than the Grim Reaper come for me. The pale rider. Death hisself. Whatever you wish to call him, I knew that he was coming for me, God help me.

  You see, I’d always known that I had a special gift. Although I consider it more like a curse. Aye. Second sight, some call it, or clearvoyance. It’s struck me now and then over the years but, I tell ya, never quite like this. It’s never involved me directly afore. Never have I had a dark figure creeping up on me. That’s how I knew that this time I was seeing the approach of my own demise. I was done for, y’hear.

  What thoughts does a man have when he realises that Death is close at hand? Too many, is the answer, I’m afraid. I was twirling around and wondering what I still had to do, wondering how much unfinished business I had, mundane stuff like whether I needed to hang out the washing that was tumbling around the machine or whether I had to call me son and tell him … Tell him what? That there was a black figure come for me. He’d just call the police and what would they do. They couldn’t see him. Only I could. Better to call an ambulance, and even then what use. If he was here for me, then there was nothing to be done about it. I would have to meet him with dignity and with resignation. That’s what stopped all me whirling, twirling, swirling thoughts dead. The realisation that none of it mattered. If he kept getting nearer, then it wouldn’t be too long before he was there with me in me apartment, no matter what I did.

  So what did I do?

  I found an immense feeling of calm sweep over me. If this was to be the end, then let it be noble. Let me meet it with courage. And let me look dapper for those unfortunates who would stumble upon me lifeless body after he had been and gone again.

  Aye, I went to me wardrobe and I pulled out me best suit, the one for church, the one for me grandkids’ birthdays. The only one I had, mind you, so there wasn’t much choice in the matter. I put it on and found a nice tie to wear with it. Not black. No, I weren’t going to look sad and depressed and forlorn. I’d leave those emotions for those who came to send me off. I put on a nice sharp paisley tie. Old-fashioned perhaps but it had its day and, who knows, it may well again. Then I looked meself up and down in the mirror and I must say that I was shocked by the topmost part of me. Sure, me suit looked right grand and the tie set it off brilliantly but me head, me Godawful head; that needed a mountain of work. Especially the wretched old face on it. So there I was, brushing and combing, snipping and shaving, and I thought back and I remembered that this was exactly like when I first went on a date with the missus all those years ago. And it felt strange and at the same time it felt strangely right. Like I was doing meself up for our first date in the afterlife. I was going to meet her again and it wouldn’t do to be looking all manky and morose, like.

  So finally there I was in the mirror, spick and span, and looking much the better for a bit of extra work.

  Do your worst, Grim Reaper, I thought to meself, and I walked back out to the kitchen. The sun was at its peak. There was not a shadow anywhere, not even below the window. Not a one. And there was no black figure peering up at me. Ah, but it was not a sign for hope. No, I had been busy some time spiffing meself up so that old gruesome demon had moved closer, so close that he must at that moment have been approaching me front door. I was guessing he would use the front door. He didn’t seem like the kind of fellow to sneak in via the balcony or through the attic and down the trapdoor in the ceiling. No, you see, people can’t see him so there’s no need for him to sneak around. He just strides right up, taps us on the shoulder and swings his great singing wotsit. But, aye, he probably didn’t know about me and me gift. Me curse of a gift.

  You might think, well, you can see him and he didn’t seem to be moving too fast across that hill, why not outrun him? All well and dandy, for sure, but look at me. I’m old. I could outrun him for a minute before I’d collapse. If anything, it would merely hasten me demise. Me heart would give out and I’d be his and not looking the best for it neither.

  No, I had to face him at me best. So I marched over to me favourite armchair, where me tea and book still sat, and no doubt would sit till me body was found. I left those earthly things untouched. I had no need of them no more. Instead I straightened me tie, brushed some hairs off the old suit, and I waited.

  The armchair faced the front door so that’s where I looked. Waited and looked. And I didn’t have to wait long. Me hair sprang up and me skin ran cold and I knew that he was come. And I fancy I even heard a soft tread beyond the door and saw a vague veil of mist creep its icy fingers between threshold and door.

  This was it. He was here and I was his for the taking.

  I took me a huge deep breath.

  “Come in,” I said, surprised at the strength in me voice when everything else in me felt as weak as water. “The door is open.”

  For all me preparation, I still sprang an inch off me chair when the door actually did open and revealed that same black figure in its long hooded robe and with its face still hidden within.

  I sprang again when the figure spoke in a dark and booming voice.

  “You can see me?” it asked.

  “Yes. I’ve been watching you since you first appeared on yon hill. I know what’s to come and I’m ready. I’m yours.”

  At these words, Death ceased his motion into the room. He was silent for a minute, a very uncomfortable minute.

  Couldn’t he be quick about it? Didn’t he have thousands more souls to reap that day?

  It’s fair to say that I’ve never been a patien
t man and not even Death hisself was going to keep me waiting.

  “Right then,” I said. “Are we off then? Do I get up and follow you or …?”

  I noticed with surprise that he wasn’t carrying his wotsit. It was a relief but also a shade confusing.

  “Where’s your wotsit?” I asked. “Your scythe?”

  “I don’t need my scythe for this,” he boomed, following my glance. “My work here is done.”

  Well, to say that that was a shock for me was an understatement. I didn’t feel any different. I could still feel the arms of the chair and smell me tea and see the light of the world all about me.

  “What d’ya mean by done?” I asked in a voice coloured with anger. “I didn’t put all this effort into me wardrobe just to be jilted by the likes of you. Like I said, I have the gift. I saw you approach. You can’t just skulk away like this never happened.”

  “Yes, you saw me,” he said, “but you did not read my mind. Why did you think that I was coming for you?”

  “Well, I guess I assumed…”

  “You did rather, didn’t you?”

  “So you won’t be taking me with you?”

  “No,” said Death in a voice tinged with regret. “You still have some years in you. More time with your grandkids. More cups of tea. Look, I would love to help you out but I don’t call the shots. I’m just the messenger.”

  “Indeed…”

  I didn’t want this to end but he had already half-turned back towards the door.

  “Well, let’s not be making this awkward then,” he said, making it oh so bloomin’ awkward.

  A grey skeletal hand emerged from its black sleeve and slowly closed the door as he glided out of the room.

  I sat there for, oh, who knows how long. Hours passed, I guess. I pretty much grew a beard as I sat there. Naturally the damned tea got cold. Smug bastard. Why did he come to me if it wasn’t me time yet? Did he get the wrong address? I didn’t think so. Death seemed like an infallible sort of fellow and he had said that his work here was done. What work? Scaring me half to death rather than all the way? Or had he come with a message from the missus? Damn, I hadn’t asked. I hadn’t thought but then he hadn’t said. He’d just stood there, the great big galoot, not even having the common courtesy to remove his hood indoors. The nerve of the man!

  Well, that was Death’s visit and I’m still here to tell the tale. It was a peculiar moment in me otherwise uneventful life, and bloody mysterious I do say. Well, it was a mystery for some time but I managed to sort it all out in the end.

  Like I said, I sat there afterwards, mulling it over for hours and hours, trying to work out what the purpose of his visit had been, getting nowhere, getting more and more confused. It wasn’t till I got up to reboil the kettle that I noticed it.

  Harry.

  Me goldfish.

  He was floating upside-down in his bowl, giving me a cold dead stare.