Death doesn’t drape himself in a great black cloak or bear in hand a scythe, but he does have kaleidoscope eyes. They watch me from the edge of the woods while I whip the donkeys down every row. I notice them there right away, but I tell myself that if I ignore them, maybe they’ll go away. I know this to be untrue, but it keeps me from sweating too much through the work. I’m set to die this day, that’s what these eyes mean. He’s just waiting for me to slip up, probably laughing to himself as the darkest of thoughts race through my mind.

          By lunch, nothing’s changed. I had hoped my death would come swift and unexpected, in the morning, so I could get it over with. Instead, I sip my rice pudding slowly, peering over my wife’s shoulders every minute or so to make sure the eyes are still watching. She hasn’t mentioned them yet, nor have the kids, but that’s because they’re meant for me, I assume.

          When the donkeys and I finish the final row, the sun is already beginning to set. The kaleidoscope eyes are still watching, and I take one last good look around the field for anything that could do me in. I should feel relieved that nothing’s gone awry just yet, but instead it strains my mind with anticipation as I make way inside for supper. My biggest fear now is that my heart will give out from all the tension, but something tells me it won’t come that easily.

          “Is something wrong?” My wife finally asks, when I haven’t yet begun on my lamb chops.

          Staring out the window at the kaleidoscope eyes, I don’t hear her question. It’s not until she kicks me under the table that I snap back and tell her that I’m fine. We put the kids to bed and I spend a little longer giving each one a firm kiss on the forehead. I have no success in trying to fall asleep, which has never been a problem for me. My wife has been out for nearly an hour, but with thoughts of those eyes getting the better of me, I get out from under the covers and make my way out of our bedroom.

          I stay quiet as I approach the fireplace, not wishing to wake the family as the clock approaches midnight. I start a fire, stoking it well so it will still burn hardy for them when they wake. If I am to die tonight, as the eyes have indicated to me, I’d at least like to leave them one last warm embrace for the morning. I then light my lantern and make my way out into the night. I march across the field with authority, straight towards the kaleidoscope eyes, which stare at me, unblinking, just as they have all day. When I get close enough to the treeline, I hold my lantern up to the abyss and narrow my eyes at Death.

          “Well?” I say. “Are you having fun?”

          I don’t find out what Death sounds like. He stays quiet as his eyes keep on flickering at me. Without any better ideas, I step into the woods and approach him. No matter how far I walk into the brush, the eyes don’t seem to get any closer. They recede further still into the dark of the wood, until after what feels like forever, I see them before me.

          I hold my lantern out now to be sure that what I’m seeing is true, and then I laugh to myself, harder than I can ever remember. I laugh until my belly aches and then I collect myself and look at it again. It is not eyes at all, but a double-ended girandole, fastened to the side of a grand old oak tree. A small candle is lit on either side, set down in two chalices with tinted glass and slits so the light can dance through. I wonder to myself who could be so waggish as to play a trick like this on me, then I step back and admire the candles again. Without my lamplight to reveal the trickery, they do look more than anything like a set of Death’s own eyes.

          Once I’m finished laughing over my day of consternation, I blow both the candles out and make the walk back towards my farm. Just like the way in, it takes a while for me to navigate back to my field, but within a minute I emerge into the open again. It’s just as I’m delighting myself in the thought of telling my wife this story tomorrow, that I see the horror I left behind.

          Our house is lit up in flames, strands of fire reaching high up into the night sky from out our windows and smoke billowing out through every crack in the roof. I know in an instant that it was my fire, the one I left behind, that set the place ablaze. I start to run towards my burning house, but I stop myself just before the front door. I’m too late to hear any of their screams, they’re already gone, I know. A great, unfathomable darkness rises up inside me, and when I turn back to the treeline, I see them again.

          The kaleidoscope eyes, the ones I blew out, stare back at me still, unblinking. I take a deep breath, knowing it must be nearing midnight, then I walk inside my burning house and let the flames take me.