Clancy, The Grim Reaper

Wendy and Katya decided to take their lunch break outside. Though spring seemed decades away, the sun was shining and the girls decided nonetheless to brave the elements, perhaps hoping to coax a little warmth from the sky a bit early. As they walked across the barren garden toward the parking lot, Wendy saw someone disappear behind the evergreen bushes and around the corner of the building.
She raised a curious eyebrow toward the surreptitious movement, 'Did you see that?'

Katya, who was already fantasizing about her tempeh chili encased in the small Tupperware container under her arm, looked up, “What?”

“I just saw a guy go around the corner.”

“Probably just Felix,” Katya said, meaning the part-time handyman.

“No. He was wearing a hood.”

“I dunno.”

The girls set it aside and continued on to the parking lot. The picnic table on the north side of the building was wet with melting, dirty snow, but the stubborn girls sat down anyway, though carefully.

“Did you see the look on--?”

“What?” Katya asked again.

Wendy nodded toward the parking lot, “There he is again!”

Katya took a bite of her chili and looked over her shoulder, chewing, “Where?”

“Right there,” Wendy pointed, “he’s coming right for us!”

It was not a guy that Wendy saw, but rather the Grim Reaper, the Harvester of Souls. He glided across the pavement toward the table where the girls sat and extended his long, knotty scythe at Wendy. He spoke, and his voice was a leathery whisper that did not come from a larynx, but slipped through a keyhole in Grandma’s attic door, “You.”

Wendy touched her chest, “Me?”

Death spoke again, his words twisting in the frigid air like brittle kindling, “YOUR TIME HAS COME!”

“Okay.”