After centuries of silence, someone or something was lying outside on the stone step . . . “Are you deaf?” Death asked arriving abruptly with screams and cries and a fetid smell of rotting matter filling the room.“Why are you here?” the Old Crone asked, knowing the answer before she asked the question. “Go away.”“When someone knocks you’re supposed to open the door!” Death said, coughing as though she had swallowed a lot of water.“What are you doing here?” the Old Crone asked again “and why are you amorphous? Show yourself! I don’t like it when you look like nothing at all.”“Open the door!” Death rasped, appearing as a drowned cat coughing up minnows and river detritus. “Our future depends upon it!
Denny Taylor, Split Second Solution
foretelling-the-future, urban-fantasy