The moon was hanging over two men's heads as they sat on a roof. This roof belonged to a one-story home with white paint and green shutters. A simple home for a simple town. One of the men was wearing a black cloak with a hood. The cloak covered most of his skin besides his hands which were nothing but bone.

The other man lit up a cigarette. "Pretty night," he said.

The Grimm Reaper sighed. "Well this is rather disappointing," he said, then pointed at John. "And you think so, too. Don't think that I don't know when you're complaining, John."

John inhaled his cigarette for a moment, then smiled. "We've been reduced to simpletons' work, Grimm."

"You sound very carefree about it."

John inhaled the rest of his cigarette and ground it into the roof tile. "Doesn't matter to me. Killing is killing. Even if the target is a high class prick or a small town douche bag."

He got up and picked up a scythe that was laying beside him. The scythe had a razor sharp blade of about a foot and a half. The blade was attached to a staff of about five feet and three inches long. John walked over to the edge of the roof and got on his stomach. He silently slid the screen and the glass plane up over his head.

Older houses were often built where you could move both the screen and the plane. Most people now-a-days just nail the screen to the frame but some don't. Which is what our poor victim should have done.

John climbed into the house, quiet and ninja-like. The only thing that illuminated the room was the moon. Though the silvery light, John could just make out a desk, dresser, and bed. A snort came from the bed. John smiled an evil smile. His target was asleep. John stepped forward and the floor let out a very loud creak. The target jolted out of a deep sleep. He was big and burly. He looked like a football player.

"Shit," John muttered.

"Who the hell are you?" the victim asked.

"I would tell you," said John, "but life is just a bit short for you."

He took the scythe and raised it above his head. The victim stared at it, wide-eyed. John swung the scythe down, but the victim was up in a flash, causing the scythe to get stuck in the bed. He and John stared at each other across from it.

He was struggling to remove the scythe when the victim tackled him to the ground. They began to roll around the floor, wrestling. John scrambled to keep himself from being pinned.

'Damn,' thought John. 'When did this bastard became bodybuilders?'

Something cut his cheek and blood dripped from it. John saw a swiss army knife in the vicitm's hand. Anger flared up in him. John threw the victim against the wall with a thump and he crumpled to the floor.

With rage still flowing through him, John grabbed the victim by his collar and the waistband of his pants. Then John proceeded to toss him out of the window and climb out after him.

John threw the victim over his shoulder and carried him to the back edge of the property. Grimm was waiting.

"How did it go?" asked Grimm. John dropped the victim to the ground and pointed to his cut cheek.

"Oh." Grimm bent over the victim. "Looks like someone is going to have a painful death," he said teasingly.

"Is the coffin ready?" John asked. Grimm pointed to a poorly made wooden coffin beside a pile of dirt and a hole. "Rope?"

Grimm tossed John two pieces of rope. John began tying the vicitm's hands together. Consciousness returned to the vicitm while John was tying him. He began to struggle.

Grimm pushed the vicitm's face into the ground with his foot. "Ah, ah, ah," Grimm said mockingly. John finished tying the vicitm up. He then began to struggle against the bonds, flopping around like a fish out of water. He started making threats.

"When I get my hands on you guys, I'll..."

John and Grimm ignored the useless threats. They just stared at the victim grunting against the rope. A cool wind brushed by the three of them.

"John," Grimm said. He didn't answer and instead just stared at the victim. "John." Grimm shook John's shoulder. John looked at him, his eyes seemimg soft and calm compared to the usual fire burning in them. As though he had forgotten the deed that needed to be done.

"What are we going to do with him?" Grimm asked, pointing to the flopping victim. John went back to staring then he touched his cut cheek. His eyes went from tranquil to ablaze.

"This," John answered and grabbed the victim by his roped hands and feet and dragged him to the wooden coffin. John threw the player into the coffin with a loud thud.

Grimm walked over to John. "All this for a cut?"

John looked at Grimm with a serious face. "Yeah."

Grimm laughed. "I love the way you work."

The victim just seemed to noticed Grimm for the first time.

"Holy shit," the victim choked out, staring straight into the shadow of the hood, where his face lied.

"Yeah, it's not a good idea to look straight at his face," John let out an evil, maniacal laugh. John stood over the player.

"You have two choices," he said. "You can shut the hell up and drag out your air supply or you can scream like a little girl and die quickly. The choice is yours but either way you're going to die." John closed the lid on the wide-eyed victim. Muffled screams started coming from the coffin.

"Sleep tight," John whispered.

John and Grimm pushed the coffin into the hole and started shoveling dirt back into it. After filling the hole halfway, they threw their shovels into it and finishing filling the hole with their hands. Then, with dirty finger nails, John climbed back into the room to retrieve the scythe.

He and Grimm started walking down the gravel driveway, leading out of the property and away from an unmarked grave filled with fresh dirt and muffled screams. There was silence for sometime. John lit up a cigarette and looked up into the clear, cool night sky.

"Pretty night," he said.

Grimm also looked up. "Yeah," Grimm said. "It is."