‘‘Twas the night before death day and all through the house not a soul was stirring not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the mantlepiece with care in hope that the grim reaper would leave presents there.

Four people to collect on that frost bitten night, to rap around his fingers and steel with a fright. Four people to take to the land of the dead, grab them by the neck and strip them from their bed.

The children were lay all snug in their rooms, unaware of the unfortunate lingering doom. And Mama in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap, had settled down for our last death day nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a shatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash.

And there beneath the breast of the moon lay a terrifying, frost bitten, flesh gnawed croon. A creature of simply blood and bone, no flesh or breath, a corpse with a yellowed skin tone.

I knew in a moment it must be him, the grim reaper had come to give his powers a spin. More terrifying than eagles his dry voice came, and he whistled, and shouted, and call'd us by name:

“You filthy humans your time is up, you must say goodbye to the world you now know and love. If you come with me faithfully and don’t put up a fight I promise I’ll reward you with some fresh dead lice”

I shook my head and rattled my fist like a lock, there was no way I’d give up my family to this reaping death jock. But I for one should know that death is inevitable so I raised my hands and invited the creature in to put on the kettle.

But little did he know I had a plan because just like death I am an inevitable man. As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

down the chimney the grim reaper came without a sound.

He was dress'd in a dark cloak from his head to his foot, and his clothes were all tarnish'd with blood and soot. He look'd like a corpse fresh from the grave:

His eyes - how they hung like a noose on a tree, his body hadn’t been washed for days a structure of loose bone, his cheeks were shallow holes, his nose like a headstone.

And so I put my plan into action, waiting until the reaper had drank some of his kettled tea, only a fraction. I took the matches from under my desk, knowing that heat repelled any signs of death.

The flame was suddenly strong and I knew I just couldn’t go wrong, I held it confident, waiting for the reaper to fall but nothing happened he didn’t even stumble from his silent, uninterrupted stall.

It was in that moment I knew what I had done, it was my last chance to truly see the sun. The reaper took us four by the wrists and dragged us down, down through a pit.

We were given scratchy clothes and rags to wear, assigned cold hollow quarters and told to live their.

In the night of the blood moon we dine on dead fish, forcing down every last bite until we’ve finished the dish. There’s no going back they don’t take no for an answer, we don’t breath instead we drown, mumbling and tumbling through this inevitable death town.

There is no night, and of course no day just this strange in-between that makes us pay. It’s not that bad you might even say we’re happy, we wait amongst the reapers still as a stone, waiting for the time when we shall be alone.

Once we’ve been there long enough we will be clothed and stripped of flesh an odd sort of fancy grim reaper dress. And then we take up the job of wondering the earth alone, taking people gently from their homes, leading them down, down, where we’ve once been before, to the door of death.