A woman is sitting in her old, shuttered house

A woman is sitting in her old, shuttered house. She knows that she is alone in the whole world; every other thing is dead.

The doorbell rings.

Death glides through the door. The woman just stares coolly at him, rocking back and forth in her ancient rocking chair.

"Erm, hello," says Death. The old woman keeps him in her frosty regard.

"I didn't need to ring the doorbell, I just figured I'd give you a… uh… a warning…" His words trail off into an uncomfortable silence.

creak, creak, creak, creak

Death finally clears his throat. "So… how've you been? You… uh… keeping busy?"

As if answering his question, the old woman just keeps rocking. Death himself feels chilled by the coldness radiating from this frail figure sitting in front of him.

creak, creak, creak, creak

"Sorry I haven't stopped by," says Death uncomfortably, "but I've been very busy. You know how it is, collecting souls, riding through the night on a fiery, skeletal steed…"

Another uncomfortable silence ensues. Death shuffles around awkwardly and coughs.

"Well, I'll just be going then, shall I?" he says at last.

creak, creak, creak, creak

Death starts backing towards the door.

"So long, mother," he says and quickly glides back out through the door.

creak, creak, creak, creak