The older we got the less likely it seemed to us that Death had killed the Ape, let alone all those people in Japan. Mr. and Mrs. Death hadn't turned up on the TV since the time we'd yelled at them, and we got nothing in the way of payment from them. I figured they'd moved out. Maybe we'd broken the spell by going into their room. Or perhaps they had heard us yelling at them after all, and had decided they didn't want to stay in a hotel run by lunatics.
So it took us by surprise when they showed up again.
Me and Fred were outside when it happened. It was the first warm day of Spring. The sun was shining, the sky was clear, and the grass was glistening with dew. On days like that you feel like you're waking up from a long sleep. We were getting ready to put some new seeds in his garden. After the success with the vegetables I thought Fred would want to plant more, but no, he wanted to put flowers in again. I'd picked up some flower seeds at the nursery. I bought all the weirdest and most exotic ones I could find. Fred had dug the channels for the seeds and had just started sowing the seeds when I heard Sophie call out from upstairs.
"Hang on Freddie," I said.
Fred was busily swishing the seeds around inside the packets. "Okay," he said, but he didn't get up. He kept right on sowing.
When I got upstairs Sophie was sitting on the sofa. She just pointed at the TV. And there they were: Mr. and Mrs. Death.
They were eating breakfast, just like they had been the first time we saw them. Three years had gone by since we'd seen them last. I don't know if time was the same on the TV – maybe it was only a year later, or five years. Mrs. Death looked the same at least. It was Mr. Death who had changed.
"We might have to go down the Peninsula again this year, after all," he said. His voice quavered.
"Were they booked out?" Mrs. Death said.
"No. It's gone."
"Sold?"
"No."
"Demolished?"
Mr. Death gave her a strange, almost frightened look. "I couldn't find it." He looked back down at his bacon and eggs. He was pushing the bacon and eggs around his plate with his fork, but he wasn't eating anything.
Mrs. Death reached across the table and took hold of his free hand. "Peter, did you have the right address?"
"I was in the right place," he said. "But it was gone. Not just the hotel – the whole street."
"It's an easy mistake to -"
"I'm NOT mistaken," he snarled, and pulled his hand free of his wife's like a child would. Then he put his face in his hands. "What's happening to me?" he said into his hands.
"You're just getting old, Peter. We both are."
"I'm starting to forget my students' names. They think it's funny. They switch names when I do the roll call."
"Teenagers can be cruel."
"I can't do it anymore. Once you become a laughingstock that's it, you've lost them forever."
"You're a good teacher."
"I was."
"You just need a holiday. We won't take the van this year. We'll book a cabin. It will be nicer than staying in a hotel anyway. Get out of the city."
Death had put his fork down. He started rubbing his chest. His breath was coming in short gusts.
"Peter?"
"It's nothing. I shouldn't have... ow." He pushed his chair back and stood up, putting both hands on the table and leaning over it.
"Peter!" Mrs. Death rushed around the table.
"Arrrrr-haaa," Death said, and lurched forward, sweeping his plate and a mug of coffee off the table. They flew away and smashed somewhere out of sight.
"PETER!"
But Death was gone. He was on the floor out of sight. Mrs. Death crouched down. Now all I could see was her back as she crouched over him and cried his name.
Death made no sound.
Suddenly she got up and lurched across the kitchen to the phone on the wall and dialled.
That was when I heard the cry. It took me a moment to realise that it hadn't come from the TV. That it had come from outside.
All the colour had drained from Sophie's face.
We ran downstairs.