"Dada, why ad leaves falling oudside?"
Striker pondered on it for a moment. "Because winter is comin', and the grass needs blankets to keep warm under the snow," he said, smiling as he picked Jake up from the floor. "Now it's time for you to crawl under yer own blankets and go to sleep too, my boy."
"I don't wanna sleep yet, dada!"
"Don't worry, kiddo. Daddy scared the monster under the bed away." Striker walked upstairs and towards Jake's room. The cradle, mobile, and all the baby stuff had long been replaced by a small bed, a toilet training potty and other things meant for a toddler.
"Not tided, dada!" Jake kept protesting as he was tucked into bed. A yawn following soon after said otherwise, though.
"Well, that's too bad. I was goin' to tell you a story, but if you're not tired..." he trailed off, waiting for the expected reaction. Jake's eyes instantly lit up.
"Bedtime story!" he said happily.
Striker ruffled Jake's hair and went to fetch Hellish Stories to Tell in the Dark, his favorite storybook. He sat on the edge of the bed while Jake shifted to get comfortable, holding his stuffed horse close.
"Once upon a time, there was a poor man with twelve children who had to work day and night to feed them. Then a thirteenth child arrived and he looked for someone to be his godfather."
"Whats a godfathed, dada?" Jake inquired.
"It's something like a secondary father. If someone's daddy can't be there, the godfather acts as a sort of substitute and guides them." Striker explained before resuming the story. "God offered to be his godfather, but the man refused because he only gives to the rich while the poor starve. Then Lord Lucifer offered to be the child's godfather, but the man once again refused because he deceives humans."
"Ludifed from Dudu wod?"
"The one and only, my boy. Finally, the man decided to make Death the child's godfather, as Death makes no distinction between rich and poor. Once the boy came of age, Death took him to the woods and showed him a herb and told him: 'I will turn you into a famous doctor. Whenever you are called to a sick person I will appear to you. If I stand at the sick person's head, you may say with confidence that you can make him well again; then give him some of this herb, and he will recover. But if I stand at the sick person's feet, he is mine, and you must say that he is beyond help and that no doctor in the world could save him.'" Striker playfully narrowed his eyes and spoke in a raspy voice. "But beware of using this herb against my will, or something very bad will happen to you.
"Soon, the young man was a world-famous doctor. People said that he only needed to look at the sick to know who would recover and who would die. In time, he became a very wealthy man. One day, he was called to the king's chamber and asked if he'd recover. But as he approached the bed, he found Death at the man's feet. This meant that the king had to die. The young man, however, laid the old man the other way around so that Death was now standin' at his head. Then he could give the herb to the king and heal 'im."
"Naturally, Death was not happy about the trick his godson pulled on him. With an angry face, he warned: 'You have betrayed me. I will overlook it this time because you are my godson, but if you dare to do it again, it will cost you your neck, for I will take you yourself away with me."
"Deth sounds nasty!" Striker chuckled.
"Perhaps, but he's just doin' his job. Ya can't really blame 'im for that. Soon after, the king's only daughter grew seriously ill to the point he promised her hand in marriage and the crown to whoever could heal her. Once again, the doctor found Death at the girl's feet, which meant that she was going to die."
"Did she die?"
"She would have if the doctor had heeded Death's warning, but he was so enthralled by her beauty and the idea of being king that he pulled the same trick to save her life. Death had enough. He took the doctor to a vast cavern filled with endless rows of candles that represented people's lifespan. When the doctor asked to see his life-light, Death pointed to a candle that looked like it would go out at any moment now. The doctor pleaded Death to light him a new candle so that he could marry the princess and become king. Death said he could not light a new candle until the old one has gone out."
"Did he?" Jake asked innocently. Striker shook his head.
"Nah. Death was still sore over havin' been denied his prey twice. He pretended that he would fulfill the doctor's wish only to purposely make a mistake when relightin' the candle. The little piece went out as soon as it touched the ground. As the doctor's life faded away, Death whispered: death shall come to you, like it comes for all. But when it does, no one shall be waitin' for you. From that day forward, the doctor's soul was trapped in-between life and death, doomed to wander through limbo without any hope for eternal rest. The end."
"Deth id a dick!"
"Watch yer language, kiddo." Striker chided gently, ruffling his son's hair as Jake let out a yawn. "Alright, it's time for good little implings to go to sleep."
"Dada?"
"What is it?"
"I wuv you."
Striker smiled and kissed his son's forehead. "I love ya too, my boy. Sweet dreams." He briefly stopped at the doorway and glanced back at Jake as he drifted into sleep. The cowboy stared at the peaceful scene for a few more minutes before silently closing the door.