Last night.... I danced with Death

I was sitting in my den around 10:30 last night. I sat in my chair in front of a crackling fire and was immersed in an article about stool softeners in Consumers Digest. Chongo, my pet spider monkey, was perched on the back of the chair and my Irish Setter, Ralph, lay contentedly at my feet. The article was quite fascinating. It spoke of the difference between the expensive, brand-name stool softeners found in the States and the less expensive, but equally as effective generic brands found in Canada.

I have often toyed with the idea of journeying to Canada to purchase some generic stool softener. Not that I'm cheap, mind you. I can certainly afford the American version, but I haven't had a vacation for awhile and I figured the money I would save by purchasing the Canadian stool softener could be applied toward the cost of the trip.

As I wet my finger to turn the magazine to the next page, something rather startling happened. Chongo let out a scream, and flew off the back of the chair, across the top of the curtain rod, and dove out the open window, racing across the open field out back with a speed that would rival a gazelle. He never looked back. Just kept running his little monkey ass off.

"What the-?" I muttered. Just then the dog started to growl and the room turned as cold as ice. The flames in the fireplace stood still, no longer generating heat. A dark shadow filled the doorway and it was like all of a sudden the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

I was shaking by now, and not from the sudden drop in temperature. No. I shook from fear. For standing in my doorway was the Grim Reaper.

He looked just like the way they draw him in the magazine. A tall, hulking shape buried in an ink-black robe. I couldn't see his face, only a pair of eyes that burned like coal.

And then he spoke. "It is time, Gustav. Let us go."

The voice startled me. I had expected a voice like Jame Earl Jones to bellow forth from that hideous creature, but instead the voice sounded remarkably like that of Marge Simpson. I stifled a laugh, not wanting to anger Death. Then my heart started pounding and, in a moment of clarity, I realized what was happening. I was having a heart attack.

"So this is how it happens", I thought. "Seconds before you die, the Grim Reaper makes his entrance, to claim your soul."

I was thinking now; I knew I only had a few seconds to live. Trying to remain calm and fighting off the seizures now gripping my heart, I looked the Reaper square in the eyes and said in a quizzical tone, "Gustav? Oh, I'm sorry, but you have the wrong house. Gustav lives in that farmhouse over there." I pointed across the swamp toward the house on the hill. The house of my cousin, Joe Birdidnick.

The Grim Reaper let out a shrill Marge Simpson roar, "Impossible! I never make mistakes."

He pulled a little notebook from beneath his robe and quickly scanned the pages. "Aha", he said, "Right here, Ratzenhofer -- 5689 Padlock Road."

"Oh. I can explain that." I said quickly. "My address is 5686 Padlock Road. The nail in the last six came loose and it spun around."

The Grim Reaper screamed that horrifying Marge Simpson scream and suddenly he was gone. I could see the dark shadow racing across the field and over the swamp. Toward Joe Birdidnick's house.

This morning I walked down to the mailbox to grab my newspaper. The headline screamed at me:

Joe Birdidnick ripped to shreds by pack of wild dogs.

The story went on in great detail. The sheriff was puzzled by the inexplicable appearance of a pack of wild dogs. And why did they choose Joe's house?

I'm feeling a little guilty right now. I guess you could say I killed my cousin.

Has anyone here, at A2K, ever cheated death? Has anyone ever killed their cousin, just so you may live? Help me out here folks. I'm suffering a tremendous amount of guilt.

And the damn flames are still frozen in my fireplace.