Anne opened the door to put the bins out and was met by a tall shadowy hooded figure with bad breath.

Startled, she stepped back to look up at this spectacle.

‘Who on earth are you?’ 

‘Madam, please consider the black robe, scythe and mystical appearance. I am Death!’

‘I can see that, but what I can’t see is why you’re stood on my freshly cleaned doorstep at this hour. You could give someone a heart attack sneaking around like that!’

‘I’m afraid you’re about to have one!’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m in perfect health. I was at silver yoga this morning and it’s nearly Christmas. Besides, I haven’t got time for heart attacks. Countdown starts in fifteen minutes and I’ve got a pie in the oven. Why don’t you come in, put down that heavy scythe and have a cuppa? The pot’s warm and there’s enough for two. 

‘Well that’s very kind of you, but I have another appointment on the hour.’ 

‘Well I’m sure they could hang on while you have a brew. I tell you what, let’s watch Countdown with a cuppa and if I get the conundrum, you give me a miss.’

‘That’s very controversial, but I am a bit exhausted to be honest.’

‘Well that settles it, you come in, get comfy and I’ll bring the tea.’

Death sat heavily on the periwinkle-patterned sofa, his dark frame blocking the floral anaglypta. 

Wall paper, lit up in the twinkle of the Christmas lights. The tea came in a pot with a hand-knitted cosy, a China plate of perfectly arranged mince pies and a smile. Death checked his sand timer and shrugged. 

The game was on. It turned out Death was quite competitive. Poised pen, they waited for the letters.

The clock started. They both stared intently at the screen, Anne’s tongue sticking out in concentration.

‘NOONEFART’

A brief pause and then … ‘Afternoon,’ she squealed with delight and triumph. Death’s shoulders dropped.

‘Same time next week?’ 

Craig Binch