This is my very first time writing a story for fan fiction. I love Disc world by Terry Prachett. All credit for the characters from the book goes to him except Catherine and some other characters i make up. took me two hours to write this chapter, and I got... no where. I'll be making updates when i have time which i find a lot of. :p hope you'll like this story. I don't know what flames are, but I'd prefer not to know. :s i wrote this because i fell in love with Disc world death. He's all cute and shy and innocent, yet he can really be scary at times if you tick him off enough. anyway, enjoy! and don't forget to comment so i know I'm not wasting my time here. hehehe enjoy!
XxX
No Longer Alone
Death sat in his office, his desk cluttered with various items such as toys, pens and paper work. He places a bony hand on his chin, admiring a picture on his wall drawn by his grand-daughter, Susan. Of course this was drawn years ago, and Susan was now grown up and living what she called a normal life. HMM. he turned his head, snapping out of a daze as a light knock came from his door.
ENTER. His faithful servant, Albert, enters the room holding a tarnished silver tray with a boiling cup of tea.
"Evening master. are you done for the day?" Albert picks up the untouched cup of tea on his desk that was left to cool and replaced it with the new one.
MY WORK IS NEVER DONE, ALBERT. I WILL BE OFF IN A MOMENT. MAKE SURE BINKY IS READY FOR ME.
Albert nodded "As you wish, master. will you be long?"
Death seemed to consider this for a moment. POSSIBLY. THERE ARE ONLY THREE THIS TIME, SO I SHOULD THINK NOT.
"very good, master. I'll go and get Binky ready for you, sir." Albert makes his way to the door, but before he could exit, death stops him.
...ALBERT, WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS ON HAVING MORE STAFF AROUND HERE.
Albert froze in his place, and turned to Death with a confused expression. Albert had worked for his master for thousands of years, and he had asked Death on many occastions to get someone to help him with his tasks, but Albert knows Death too well, and this sounded too good to be true. He didn't expect him to have another sevant around, not after what happened to Mort, and the topic has become very touchy ever since Ysabell ... Besides, who in there right mind whould work for Death? Albert was an acception for he was nearly out of time to live and struck a deal with death to be his servant, while in turn he countined to live in Deaths Timeless country where time stood still and has no effect on ones time and age.
...ALBERT?
Albert was deep in thought when Death's hollow voice broke through him, shattering his thoughts to pieces and leaving an unsettled expression. "Huh-? oh! terribly sorry master, I was thinking, and as much as I'd like to have another set of hands to help me around, I dont think it whould be in the best interests of the person to remain here for all eternity. I can endure this. I am a wizard after all, and have been for years, but I dont think a normal human whould ever want to spend eternity here. not to be rude or anything, but I highly doubt someone whould accept. but then again, I could be wrong."
Death took this into consideration. PERHAPS ITS TIME I GET SOME MORE COMPANY AT HOME. ALBERT, PREPARE BINKY. OH, AND DO NOT WAIT FOR ME. ALL OF A SUDDEN I HAVE A MURDERIOUS CRAVING FOR CURRY.
And with that, Death left a stunned Albert with his mouth partly open and a raised finger, as if he was to protest, but thought better and headed to the stables moments later after his master left for the hour glass room, keeping his thoughts to himself. If Albert ever learned anything while serving under Death, was when to tell something bad was going to happen when Death was out of character. Well, out of character then usual. He only hoped it didnt involve the fate of exsistance, and more preferibly, him having to resolve it. . . .
Somewhere in Ankh Morpork, a young woman sits apon a hill leading down to a field littered with wild flowers. to her left layed a basket of flowers she had picked during the day. She slips a blue flower between her fingers and raises it to her nose. A soft sweet scent greeted her as the petals tickled her nose. This was the only one she found of all the flowers the grew in the meadow. She was completly obliviant to the fact that it was nightshade, one of the most deadliest plants there is. She placed it in her light brown hair that was habhazardly done up with stray locks here and there just above shoulder length. She was pale and very thin with amber colored eyes that had a glint of gold. She was in some sense beautiful in her own way. Her lips where a light pink, and her body frame was considerably small, standing at 5 ft. 3". From first glance, the word that comes to mind when describing her whould be 'fragile', and fragile she was not. She no longer lived with her parents. Her father died since she was a baby, and her mother living in their family home with her own friends keeping her company while they gossiped about the latest news of the town and the amany afairs of Walter Witherspoon and his poor wife about to be pushed over the edge any time if she ever found out he still continued this activity behind her back. Catherine didn't care much for gossip. She tend to keep to herself and wasn't very social. That was one reason why she moved out of the city to a peaceful cottage near the out-skirts of town that overlaped the farming areas. She saved up enough money from working as a maid since the age of 15 to 19 and brought a small peice of land that inclued the flower field up to a small stream and the cottage that co-exsisted along with some stray pine trees since the woods where just a few miles across the stream. she had lived here since and now was 24 years old, mostly living off her land and sometimes going into town to work.
As Catherine got to her feet and made her way back home, a dark figure seemed to strayly follow her at a safe distance. As she reached her home, the figure closed in on her so that it was only 15-20 feet away. It crept around to the back of the cottage as Catherine entered her home, closing the door behind her. The figure peered through a window, watching her as she set the basket down on a small table and entered a different room which was her bed room. After some time had passed, the lights went out and what was assumed, Catherine going to bed. The figure waited a good full hour and made sure she was asleep, peeping through her bedroom window.
It then made its way to the front door and picked the lock open, careful not to make a sound as he entered the home. He unshethed a dagger from his waist band and crepted into the bedroom where Catherine slepted, un-aware of the intruder. The figure, now silloetted from the scarce light that illuminated through the window proved it was a man. He made his way to the side of the bed, opposite to the window. The man was about to postion the dagger, his hand ready to clamp around her mouth when he stepped on a loose board making a sharp creeking sound that startled him, causing him to back away and knocked a flower vase that Catherine used to hold the Nightshade she picked off the night stand with a loud crash. Catherine jerked out of bed, looking around the darkness with wide eyes.
She gathered enough courage to say something. "..Who- Whose there?" The man didn;t answer, and stood there eyeing where Catherine was, then he moved towards her, raising the dagger in level with his head. Cathrine gasped as she saw a glint from the dagger, and tried to move out of the way.
The man grabbed for her, but caught nothing but air. Cathrine stumbled off the bed and was on the other side. She let out a small yelp as she struggled to to get to her feet. She made a mad dash around the man and managed to get out of her room into the sitting room and rushed for the door, but then a hand clamped around her neck, jerking her back hard and caused her to gag. She landed on her side, coughing as the man started to make his move.
He grabbed her hair roughly and held the dagger up to her neck, his head just inches from her ear. "Tell me where you keep you money and valubles or die." Catherine cringed from the jolt of pain from having her hair yanked. She spoke in a shaky tone, stuttering in fear. "I-I keep the m-m-money in my matress. A-and Ionly have a s-silver b-bracelet." The man pulled her up to her feet and dragged her into the bedroom, throwing her roughly on the ground next to the bed.
He spoke in a toneless voice. "Get the money and put it in the bag along with the bracelet." As he was speaking, he retrived a potatoe sack from somewhere on his body, holding it in front of him, open and expectant. Catherine trembled horribly as she slid the matress part way, taking out a small pouch of gold from within the second matress undernethe, and drops it into the sack. She gingerly takes off the bracelet and places it in the sack as well.
She backs away getting as much distance between the man and her as she could until her back hit the side board of the bed. The man looked through her room, pulling out drawers and cuboards, savanging for anymore valubles she hadn't mentioned. He then finished ransacking her home, finding nothing, but took a few food items and went back into the bedroom where Catherine resided, and took out his dagger once more.
"thanks for the stuff, but I'm afraid I cant let you live." Said the intruder in a mocking tone. He made his way to her, dagger at hand, closing up the space between them. Catherine squirmed, trying to get away. She hudded at the corner end of the bed awaiting her fate by the end of that dagger, then she heard the sound of hoves and a horse naying. She thought maybe it was a lost traveler, and a flicker of hope helped her to gather some courage and she rushed pasted the man while he was stunned by the sudden noise from outside.
Catherine shouted as she ran for the door. "Help! Someone! Anyone please!" This time, Catherine succeeded on reaching the door, but upon opening it, she stopped dead, not daring to breathe as a tall 6 foot skeleton towered over her with a perminant grin on his face, and two blue lights that looked like stars seemed to loom in the sockets of his eyes. Catherine stared at him with shock and horror plastered on her frail expression. Then, she heard a sound that seemed to mimic a voice that sounded like crypt doors slamming shut. It was utterly aweful. It sounded like it was in her head, and not from outside her mind.
GOOD EVENING, MISS CATHERINE DAILGATE. It spoke.
I AM LOOKING FOR WILLIAM NACKER. I HAVE REASON TO BELEIVE HE IS WITHIN YOUR COMPANY.