The Man with the Scythe

He came walking late an afternoon. A man dressed in nothing but a black hood. His feet could not be seen underneath the cloth. His face was dead pale. His hands equally so. One of his hands, the left one, held on tight to a scythe; long, sharp, deadly.

He raised his right hand towards her, and waved at her with his index-finger.
"Come with me", he said, "your time is up."
She sighed, not out of regret, rather in relief. Then she stood up, only to remembered that she was lame.
"Bbbut", she said, "I couldn't have done that."
"Just don't worry", he said in a comforting voice, "everything will be alright."

She trembled a little, but followed him through the door and stepped into the white limousine parked in the street outside her villa. Then suddenly a thought struck her.
"I forgot to turn off the gas! If we don't go back and do that, the house is going to burn down to the ground."

Silence followed. Finally, the man said with a calm voice.
"I know. That is why I came to collect you."