Reaper Man

out and took his arm.
    “Besides, it looks sharp enough to—” she began, and paused. Her fingers moved on the bone of his arm. They pulled away for a moment, and then closed again.
    Bill Door shivered.
    Miss Flitworth didn’t hesitate for long. In seventy-five years she had dealt with wars, famine, innumerable sick animals, a couple of epidemics and thousands of tiny, everyday tragedies. A depressed skeleton wasn’t even in the top ten Worst Things she had seen.
    “So it is you,” she said.
    M ISS F LITWORTH , I—
    “I always knew you would come one day.”
    I THINK PERHAPS THAT —
    “You know, I spent most of my life waiting for a knight on a white charger.” Miss Flitworth grinned. “The joke’s on me, eh?”
    Bill Door sat down on the anvil.
    “The apothecary came,” she said. “He said he couldn’t do anything. He said she was fine. We just couldn’t wake her up. And, you know, it took us ages to get her hand open. She had it closed so tightly.”
    I SAID NOTHING WAS TO BE TAKEN !
    “It’s all right. It’s all right. We left her holding it.”
    G OOD .
    “What was it?”
    M Y TIME .
    “Sorry?”
    M Y TIME . T HE TIME OF MY LIFE .
    “It looks like an eggtimer for very expensive eggs.”
    Bill Door looked surprised. Y ES . I N A WAY . I HAVE GIVEN HER SOME OF MY TIME . “How come you need time?”
    E VERY LIVING THING NEEDS TIME . A ND WHEN IT RUNS OUT , THEY DIE . WHEN IT RUNS OUT , SHE WILL DIE . A ND I WILL DIE , TOO . I N A FEW HOURS .
    “But you can’t—”
    I CAN . I T’S HARD TO EXPLAIN .
    “Move up.”
    W HAT ?
    “I said move up. I want to sit down.”
    Bill Door made space on the anvil. Miss Flitworth sat down.
    “So you’re going to die,” she said.
    Y ES .
    “And you don’t want to.”
    No.
    “Why not?”
    He looked at her as if she was mad.
    B ECAUSE THEN THERE WILL BE NOTHING . BECAUSE I WON’T EXIST .
    “Is that what happens for humans, too?”
    I DON’T THINK SO . I T’S DIFFERENT FOR YOU . Y OU 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.”
    N OT USUALLY . S OMETIMES PEOPLE CHALLENGE ME TO A GAME . F OR THEIR LIVES , YOU KNOW .
    “Do they ever win?”
    N O . L AST YEAR SOMEONE GOT THREE STREETS AND ALL THE UTILITIES .
    “What? What sort of game is that?”
    I DON’T RECALL . “E XCLUSION P OSSESSION ,” I THINK . I WAS THE BOOT .
    “Just a moment,” said Miss Flitworth. “If you’re you, who will be coming for you?”
    D EATH . L AST 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 B ANSHEE .
    Miss Flitworth looked at him with her head on one side.
    “But…correct me if I’m wrong, but…”
    T HE NEW DEATH .
    Bill Door picked up the blade.
    H E 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?”
    H OW TERRIBLE CAN YOU IMAGINE ?
    “Oh.”
    E XACTLY AS TERRIBLE AS THAT .
    The blade tilted this way and that.
    “And for the child, too,” said Miss Flitworth.
    Y ES .
    “I don’t reckon I owe you any favors, Mr. Door. I don’t reckon anyone in the whole world owes you any favors.”
    Y OU MAY BE RIGHT .
    “Mind you, life’s got one or two things to answer for too. Fair’s fair.”
    I CANNOT SAY .
    Miss Flitworth gave him another long, appraising look.
    “There’s a pretty good grindstone in the corner,” she said.
    I’ VE USED IT .
    “And there’s an oilstone in the cupboard.”
    I’ VE USED THAT , TOO .
    She thought she could hear a sound as the blade moved. A sort of faint whine of tensed air.
    “And it’s still not sharp enough?”
    Bill Door sighed. I T MAY NEVER BE SHARP ENOUGH .
    “Come on, man. No sense in giving in,” said Miss Flitworth. “Where there’s life, eh?”
    W HERE THERE’S LIFE EH WHAT ?
    “There’s hope?”
    I S THERE ?
    “Right enough.”
    Bill Door ran a bony finger along the edge.
    H OPE ?
    “Got anything else left to try?”
    Bill shook his head. He’d tried a number of emotions, but this was a new one.
    C OULD YOU FETCH ME A STEEL ?

    It was