Dedication: I'd like to dedicate this chapter to the memory of the late Ian Richardson, actor & thespian, who passed away on 09th February 2007. He was the quintessential Sherlock Holmes to me, and it seems fitting if somewhat ironic that one of his last great performances should have been as the Death of the Discworld. Eternal rest be granted unto his soul.

In this week's episode, there's a spot prize for guessing the obscure poem reference. Entries can be dropped off at the click of the little purple button at the bottom of the page.

Disclaimer: I donot own the rights to Terry Pratchett's Discworld or his characters. Merely their representations. And the punes or play on words.

Bears wandered through the park chasing the children…Darkness and lightning flashes…thin, metal pokers slicing the air and hitting flesh…a carriage riding at breakneck speed with an inevitable outcome…the pattern of snow mixed with blood from an animal's bleeding body…the wheel of fire spinning faster and faster until it engulfed the line of sight …trees, trees everywhere and not a branch is real… A woman opening her mouth to release a silent scream... it was her!

The lack of noise woke Susan up.

This was an unusual occurrence in itself, because like the average citizen of Ankh Morpork, Susan had learnt over time to tune out the variety of noises that made up this great city's night life. Cats yowled as gargoyles mistook them for pigeons and golems swept through streets picking up scraps for Piss Harry's treasure troves. And there was always a Watchman loudly informing the world that All was Well, over the sounds of dubious activities occurring on the other side of the street. Besides, Susan had found a temporary solution to her insomnia troubles. The wormwood and brandy concoction left tiny glistening droplets at the base of an empty glass by her bedside table. Now if only those damn dreams would stop…..

She stirred, causing the bed linen to make soft crackly sounds that to her sleep addled mind rang like steel sheets across the room. She winced slightly. Then she looked up.

Someone was in her room, writing in a book with a suspiciously golden gilt-edged design on the cover. The faux shine caught the moonlight peeking timidly through the un-drawn curtains outside the window. But there was nothing angelic about the figure's appearance.

"Granddad?"

The figure raised its head. OH HELLO SUSAN.

Struggling to clear her head of its semi-drugged haze, Susan sat up in bed and squinted at her nearest relation in this world and the next. Exceeding curiosity had made her bold.

"Why are you here?" and because tradition beckoned, she added, "And what writest- What are you writing?"

Death sighed.

I SUPPOSE YOU MIGHT AS WELL KNOW.

He told her. She stared in disbelief.

"You've got to be joking! That…that's not even in your job profile."

I SELDOM JOKE, SUSAN. ALTHOUGH THE CIRCUMSTANCES MAY CALL FOR IT ON THIS OCCASION.

Death was not capable of any facial expressions, but Susan could sense the underlying growl in that last sentence.

"But writing down the names of people who believe in Gods/Deities/Ideals is completely absurd, " cried Susan. "Who the hell do they think they are? I mean, I know who they think they are, but there's no call to make it actually official."

I BELIEVE BLIND IO WAS VERY INSISTANT ON THE CERTIFIED PAPERWORK

"Coming from a God who can't keep track of his own eyes, that's a laugh." Susan sniffed. "And why did they pick you? I thought all these Gods had avatars or winged messengers or something."

APPARENTLY THE GODS WANTED AN ANTHROPOMORPHIC ENTITY RECOGNISABLE TO ALL LIVING CREATURES. A FAMILIAR FIGURE YOU MIGHT SAY.

"But not necessarily a welcome one."

YES

"Then why do it?"

I DIDN'T HAVE A CHOICE IN THE MATTER. IT IS TO BE THE FIRST STEP IN A 'REVIVAL' I BELIEVE THEY CALLED IT. OPENING AVENUES OF BELIEF FOR POTENTIAL CANDIDATES BASED ON THE PRINCIPLE THAT EVEN AN ATHEIST BELIEVES IN MY PURPOSE - BEING THE CESSATION OF ALL LIVING THINGS. THE GODS ARE HOPING THAT THESE INSPECTION VISITS WILL MAKE THE AVERAGE LIVING CREATURE PONDER UPON THEIR FRAIL MORTALITY AT WHICH POINT THEY WILL MOVE IN WITH THE PITCH SALES TALK. AND THEY NEEDED SOMEONE WHO WAS AVAILABLE AT ALL TIMES OF THE YEAR. He added sourly.

"Can you charge them for overtime?" asked Susan, feeling a little light-headed. She stifled a yawn.

Death's gaze flickered to the glass on the table. NO.

There was a pause.

"So – am I in there?" she asked a little too nonchalantly.

NO

She sagged with relief.

NO GRAND-DAUGHTER OF MINE IS GETTING VISITS FROM FORCES OF THE OCCULT PERSUATION. EXCEPT FROM ME OF COURSE.

"Ha Ha Granddad."

INDEED.

Death seemed to hesitate. ER..AND HOW HAVE YOU BEEN FARING?

Any traces of their previously shared camaraderie evaporated like the morning mist.

"Fine," she said briskly, fingering the sheets of her bedspread. "Thank you for asking."

If Susan had looked up, she would have seen a brief flash of electric blue flare in those deep eye sockets. The moment passed, and Death suddenly seemed very interested in the illustrated patterns on the cover of his gaudy book.

AH.YOU'RE WELCOME. AND NOW I MUST GO.

Something nagged at the edge of her mind, and it caught up with her now.

"Granddad?"

YES? He replied a little too eagerly.

"All – this…doesn't have anything to do with what happened on Hogswatch night. Does it?"

Death appeared to thinking about something or at least very interested in the corner of her bedroom door.

THERE HAS BEEN A HEIGHTENED AWARENESS OF THE LIMITATIONS

SURROUNDING THE CONCEPT OF BELIEF. WHICH MAY BE INDIRECTLY LINKED TO CERTAIN EVENTS THAT OCCURRED ON THE NIGHT IN QUESTION, he said carefully.

"Why are you-"

I DIDN'T WANT TO WORRY YOU

Susan felt an uncomfortable erratic thump in her throat, which annoyed her to no end.

"What happened?" she said, a little more harshly than she meant.

IT WAS A BUSY WEEK. THERE WERE MONSOONS ON THE COUNTERWEIGHT CONTINENT AND AN EPIDEMIC SPREAD ACROSS DISTANT KLATCH. ALBERT HAD TO COVER ME FOR THREE NIGHTS-

"What happ-" Susan paused. "Albert? How can he cover for Death?"

HE REVIEWED THE KLATCHIAN VICTIMS. HE JUST STOOD THERE SHOUTING, AND I QUOTE ALRIG' YOU LOT! WHO'S DEAD THEN ? COME OUT AND BE COUNTED AND STOP PLAYING SILLY BUGGERS. WE ALL KNOWS YOURE DEAD, LIVING PEOPLE DON'T HAVE THE BLOODY LANDSCAPE SHOWING WHERE THEIR STOMACHS USE TO BE. UNQUOTE.

It was a lot of information to digest, notwithstanding the fact that her grandfather had just used quotation signs to punctuate his narrative. Susan almost forgot to be angry, which was a more familiar, comfortable emotion to deal with at the moment.

"I mean – What were you not going to tell me?" she ground out.

Death made a vaguely conciliatory action with the book clutched between his bony fingers. I HAD A – PREMONITION.

"What?"

OR WHAT YOU WOULD CALL A HUNCH. I WENT TO CHECK TONIGHT AND IT WASN'T THERE.

"What wasn't there?"

I HAD JUST PUT IT DOWN FOR A MINUTE AND THEN THE SUMMONS CAME AND I WAS BUSY– Death sighed. HE'S GONE.

"Who?"

MR TEH-AH-TIM-EH'S BODY.