Shoot. Where did I put my scythe? I could have sworn… Ah! I left it Mrs Walker’s apartment. It may take a few minutes of gliding through plumbing to get there, but I can’t do my job without it.

I used to use the subway to get around, until I was reported for frightening children and banned.

The pipes are narrow and grimy, but I don’t have much of a choice. Occasionally I’m flushed the opposite direction, and sent in flurry of germs and liquid back where I started.

I immerge from her sink after careful travelling, and crawl out, smacking my bare bone head against the tiled bathroom floor in the process. Still dripping, I float around looking for my scythe, leaving puddles in my wake.

Mrs Walker’s still in the same position I left her, arm dangling from her sofa, head slouched between her shoulders. Wisps of her grey hair have come undone from a severe bun, but apart from that nothing as changed.

Yes! There it is – next to her immobile body.

Out of respect, I lift my pitch black hood before leaving.