Pipe Down rested beneath silk sheets, his breathing shallow. A dense fog intruded from underneath the crack in the door. It settled into the form of a pale horse. He extended his hoof towards Pipe Down, and it split into a segmented claw, spewing out black smoke. He reached for Pipe Down's exposed neck.
"Stop that shit," Pipe Down ordered.
"I thought you were asleep," Death chuckled, and reformed his hoof.
"Yeah, laugh it up." Pipe Down slid out of bed, and took his pipe off the nightstand. "I've always gotten the better of you."
"Through trickery," Death accused, "Through lies of last requests."
"If you can't win one over this old bastard then you need to find a new game to play." Pipe Down picked up his tobacco tin.
"Can we take this outside? My wife would roll over in her grave if I ever smoked in the house."
"Is this another last request?" Death smiled with a mouth full of daggers. "How many of those have I fulfilled?"
"Enough that you should have been fired by now." Pipe Down led him outside, and sat in his rocking chair. "Is that why you
tried to get me in my sleep? Because I can best you in a fair fight any day?"
"I would hardly call what we have fair," Death snarled, "You should have died fifty years ago."
"Funny how things work out," Pipe Down packed his pipe. "You got a light?"
Death glared, and the air in front of Pipe Down twisted and tore. Pipe Down placed the bowl of his pipe just underneath the anomaly, and puffed.
"Thank you." Pipe Down blew a smoke ring in Death's face. "Now get the hell off my property."
"Don't you want to see your wife again?" Death asked.
"Y'see those tobacco fields?" Down gestured with the stem of his pipe. "While she was living, I worked those fields almost constantly. I loved her, but I didn't let it interfere with my fields. When y'see her next, you tell her that I'm still working the fields."
"Do you realize how much paperwork you're making for me?" Death pleaded.
"No, I don't," Pipe Down barked, "And I thought we already established that I don't give two shits about you."
"You've evaded me for fifty years Mr. Down," Death fumed, "I'm still processing the paperwork from the silver coin incident."
"And I haven't been let into that pub since," Pipe Down laughed.
"This is not funny!" Death screamed, "You're upsetting the natural order."
"I can't die yet," Pipe Down reasoned, "The harvest is coming up. Who would do the work if I was gone. Besides, we still have a deal."
"That deal is null and void," Death hissed.
"Then why haven't you taken me yet?" Pipe Down asked.
Death was silent.
"I like being this old," Pipe Down commented, "You should have seen my birthday cake this year. The thing was a fire hazard."
"It's time to go," Death insisted.
"Do I need to get our contract?" Pipe Down threatened, "It's still in that nice little box in my attic."
"I still have to take you." Death split his hoof into a claw. "I'm sorry."
"Stop that," Pipe Down demanded, "I have a last request."
"A real one this time?" Death's claw snapped back together to reform his hoof. "Name it."
"Y'see that apple tree?" Pipe Down gestured to it. "My wife planted that tree years ago, and it's finally bearing fruit. I want to
eat one before I go, but my back's not what it used to be."
"Go on, you have to say the right words," Death persuaded, "Our contract was very specific in the wording."
"Right, right," Pipe Down agreed, "My last request is for you to climb that apple tree, pick the best apple -the one I think is the
best apple, not the one you think is the best- off of it, and allow me sufficient time to eat it."
"Agreed." Death walked to the apple tree and climbed it, he picked a bright red one, and raised it up to the moonlight. "This
one?"
"Nope." Pipe Down flipped his tobacco tin over, and lifted the bottom off, revealing a hidden compartment.
"How about this?" Death raised a green apple up. "Wait? How do you even get two kinds of apples on one tree?"
"I don't know, but you just ask my wife next time you see her." Pipe down pulled out six silver emblems of the sun from the compartment. "Not that one either."
"Pipe Down, just pick one!" Death yelled, and raised another apple.
"No." Pipe Down walked to the base of the tree, emblems in hoof.
"What about this one?" Death raised up another apple.
"It's fine, I guess," Pipe Down thrust the emblems into the trunk. "Can you climb down?"
"Sure," Death tried to move his legs, but they just barely budged. He sighed, "Mr. Down, what did you do to me this time?"
"Holy symbols," Pipe Down roared with laughter.
"Do you know how much paperwork this is going to cause me?" Death asked.
"Do you know how much I don't care?" Pipe Down replied.
"I suppose you have a new contract prepared?" Death surmised.
"I do." Pipe Down tossed it up to him. "Do you need a pen?"
"When have I ever?" Death's hoof split into a claw again, and an ink covered tendril whipped out of it. "Can you let me down now?"
Pipe Down removed the emblems from the trunk. Death hopped down beside him.
"Want to shake on it?" He asked.
"I'm not falling for that one," Pipe Down chuckled, and turned back to the house. "I'm going to bed. I have fields to work in the morning."
Author's Note
Bonus enjoyment to those who love the story of Stingy Jack.