"Once upon a time, in a very faraway land, there lived three little pigs..." Michael stopped. His friend Adrian was staring at him so still and so serious that he seemed to be carved out of stone. Then he broke the silence.
"Do three little pigs sound to you as a scary story? More like a fairy tale." Adrian was angry at his friend. Michael would tell fantastic stories; if he ever knew any. Now, instead of scary stories, his mind seemed to be on childish fairy tales. Not for Adrian. He wanted to be scared.
The night was dark, clouds covering any signs of stars or moonlight like a black veil. Mist hung over the forest floor like a thick layer of icing on a cake. The cold autumn wind pierced them like millions of icy daggers. Trees loomed over them, casting their shadows like dark spirits of the night. The only light came from a nearby fireplace that the boys had made. Other than that, there was no light at all. The leaves rustled, making the kids look around them with every single sound. It was a terrifying night, and yet, Adrian wanted to be scared. More than he already was.
"All right," said Michael "have I ever told you the legend of "Bloody Arnold an the Chainsaw?"
Silence, then: "Probably more than a million times"
"Okay." Michael sighed heavily. That was one of his favorites. "So, shall I tell you a new one?"
"'Long as it's not 'The Three Little Pigs' I'm fine with that."
"No. You haven't heard this one yet. There are many variants to this one, but this one is the most likely to have happened, in my opinion anyway." Then, starting the story,he changed his tone to a hissing, rasping voice, "There was once a young man; his name was William. Later, even now, he is known by different names: Death, Lucifer, Satan, the Devil, and many others. Anyway, William was once a young boy like anyone else. On the surface he looked completely normal. But he had an evil mind, and an evil heart. He liked stealing objects from people, but one day, he stole from the wrong man.
It was a dark night, and William had made his mind about another thievery. It was an old man's house, and he knew that this time would be easier than any other. Every night, right before dawn, the old man would go to the porch and sit in his rocking chair, and just let his life slip by. At least that's how William saw it. The old man had been blinded to attacks or robberies by the nice society where he lived in. William, who was a stranger in those lands, was about to make the first robbery in the village where no one would expect it to be. Not that they expected any robbery at all.
He had planned it well. That night, as all others, the man went to his rocking chair outside. He had left the back door unblocked and out of his sight. So William crept inside through there. He knew where the old man's room was. He crawled in and took a handful of precious objects and amulets. Those would bring him lots of gold. He crept back outside again, and a floorboard creaked loudly. He cursed under his breath for not knowing about that floorboard. He couldn't have known in any case. So he hurried outside and ran.
The old man, having woken up with the noisy creak, rushed to the back door. Unfortunately, all he could now see was a little man's silhouette getting smaller by the second. God, he thought, that kid's fast. Then, even though inaudible to the thief's ears, the old man muttered a curse.
What William didn't know was that the old man had come from a long line of mages, and was a wizard himself. Neither did he know about the curse that the old man had mumbled. Not until he died anyway. Actually, he didn't die. In fact, that was the whole point of the curse. He was to live forever, and keep people's souls when their time came, but sometimes, William had found out, even a while before their times came. This curse changed William entirely. After he died, or should have, he became Death.
Then, many years later, when the old wizard's grandson had gotten a very dangerous, almost incurable illness, Death decided it was time for revenge. And so, when the clock struck twelve, Death paid a little visit to the mage's house. While the boy was asleep, he didn't notice anything. He didn't notice the tall man approaching him. The tall man with the black cloak. The tall man, dead and rotten hands holding a scythe. A scythe ready to rip souls. A scythe, ready to swing."
Michael finished saying the last word very loud, trying to scare his friend. But Adrian was dead serious. He wasn't scared. He was bored.
"Your stories suck," he said "I'm going to sleep."
And so, pulling their sleeping bags over their heads, they went to sleep. And while they did, they didn't notice anything. They didn't notice the tall man approaching him. The tall man with the black cloak. The tall man, dead and rotten hands holding a scythe. A scythe ready to rip souls. A scythe, ready to swing.
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