Grim Reaper's Pie

It was night time.

Not just any kind of night, but one where you couldn’t even see your fingers if you hold them up in front of you. It was a night where you felt that you have been robbed of vision. It was a night, where not a single wisp of moonlight bounces off the surface of the earth. It was pitch-black, as if god has spilled ink all over earth.

In his apartment, a ninety-year-old retired medic Thurston Thames was soundly asleep in his cozy bed. Thurston’s snowy hair fell lightly onto his pillow, as if a dove resting in its nest. He snored very slightly, until he heard loud banging sounds resonating from his front door.

“Thurston” a deep, tranquil, crystal-clear voice reverberated around Thurston’s house. But no answer came.

“Thurston Thames” and he called out again, but clearer, louder and seemingly with a pinch of irate. Thurston was now wide awake. His eyes were opened to the size of saucers, with cold sweat trickling down his finely chiseled skull. It was that kind of voice where you could break out in cold sweat even in the scorching heat of the Sahara desert. The medic felt his teeth chattering involuntarily and he pulled up his warm blanket as he lay on his soft, warm kip.

“Thames Thurston!” and he bellowed, sonorous, crystal-clear and brimming with wrath. Thurston felt his heart skip a beat. Feeling sick in his stomach, Thurston swallowed hard, clutched at his stomach and reached for his rosewood walking cane. He then stretched his legs, pushing hard on his cane, and stood up. He reached for his handkerchief on the side of the table, next to his bed; gently dapping the perspiration that was quickly forming on his forehead with trembling hands. Then, he reached out for his elk hide blazer and draped it over his shoulders, only to feel that his pajamas were drenched in cold sweat. Then, he slipped on idem sandals, walked, with trembling feet to the door. Gingerly, Thurston twisted the ice-cold, metallic knob clockwise. The door opened with a creek, like a moaning animal.

“I have called your name thrice. What took you so long to open the door?” The voice asked. Thurston, staring at this creepy silhouette in the middle of a pitch-dark night, was overwhelmed by fear. As he opened his mouth to speak, he only managed a croak. Just then, the neighbor’s light came on. And that was when Thurston wanted desperately to get out of the scene. There was a menacing glisten on the right shoulder of this person. It was sickle shaped, ice-cold, and lifeless. It was unmistakably an enormous reaper. What’s more, the silhouette came with a black hooded robe, concealing his face. Thurston’s legs immediately went jelly. The silhouette slammed open the door, pushed Thurston into his home. But Thurston straightened up.

“What do you want?” He swallowed a lump that was fast rising in his throat. He plucked up his courage, walked a few steps into the front, standing in a bull-dog stance. Even with his strong front, Thurston’s legs were quivering, and locking up. There were even beads of sweat forming on his upper lip. His heart was racing like a F1 car during the last lap. The silhouette inched nearer to Thurston. The old medic limped backward, his legs totally paralyzed by immense fear. He rummaged about his surroundings for just about anything to grab on lest he passes out, or lest he gets pulled out of his house by the grim reaper. But the grim reaper was so near, he was only an arm’s length away. His unmistakable reaper shimmered under the bright yellow light from the neighbor’s window. He closed his eyes, and braced himself for his own death. Just then, a cold, lifeless hand was placed on Thurston’s neck, which sent instant chills down the old medic’s spine. Thurston could feel his whole body quivering, shivering, like as if he was left unclothed in the Arctic, even though he was dressed in his thickest elk hide blazer. That hand exerted a force so strong, it sent Thurston plunging and sinking straight into his soft, satin, Elizabethan arm chair. As he got nearer, the odor of death and decay filled Thurston’s nostrils. Thurston sunk back into his chair, ice cold sweat trickling down his sharp chin, as the hand got moved up his nape and he came eyeball to eyeball with the grim reaper, as he await for his imminent doom…

“Click!”  Thurston’s bed-side lamp was flicked on.

“Thurston!” The grim reaper lifted up his hoodie. Thurston opened one eye to see who it was.

Why it was the childhood playmate that accompanied Thurston throughout much of his life—Elliot. Being his classmate ever since they were in kindergarten until their senior year in university, he has undoubtedly become the closest person to Thurston’s heart and the one friend that Thurston treasures. Elliot brought along their high school art project—the reaper’s umbrella, with a sickle shaped metallic handle and wore their graduation robe, along with a black hooded jacket. Elliot fished out a white, oblong box that reeked of garlic, leek and dead fish, while Thurston, previously tensed up in his arm chair, and heaved a sigh of relief. Elliot flashed him his signature winsome grin, only now, it was toothless. Both men’s wrinkles eased out as they burst out in laughter.

“Old buddy, how do you like that?” Elliot slapped the old medic’s back, delivering the same amount of force as he used to when they were teenagers. Decades on, Elliot who turns ninety just in two days, could still deliver the same amount of force and joy in every friendly slap of the back.

“Here, try my latest invention—pickled anchovies pie.” Elliot opened the white box. His smile had a golden lining about it as it was hued by the warm glow of Thurston’s lamp.  It was a heart shaped pie, unlike any other pie that Thurston has seen his whole life. There were little cream stars that decorated every corner of the pie that seemed to glow under the light of the lamp. Thurston felt his stomach rumble instantly.

“Can I have a bite?” Thurston pointed to the pie.

“Sure thing mate, it is specially prepared for you!” Elliot smiled. He took out the Swiss-army knife that Thurston remembers from their sophomore year of college and gently cut out a lion’s share of his pie for Thurston. He hands it over to the old medic, and smiled as Thurston took his first bite.

Just like its shape, the taste was nothing like what Thurston had had in the ninety years of his life. The pie crust was soft, yet crispy. There was meaty, soft, juicy anchovy flesh and a crunchy chunk of pickles. His tongue was coated with the most gentle saltiness and sweetness, like the sea licking your feet as you take a walk in the waves. Though it did not smell as good, but this was The Pie in Thurston’s life. It was so delectable, so savory, it was hard not to ask for a second serving. Once he was done, Thurston smacked his lips, and went the classic “Mmmm” for relishing a delicious dish.

“Come Thurston,” Elliot pulled his chair closer to Thurston and took his hand. “Today’s my test for general nutritionist in the hospital.” He said. “So tell me, how did you like my pie?”