"My name," the little man said, "is," he paused and smiled cryptically, "Demise." "Glad to know you," Reggie said. "My name is--" "I know your name," Mr. Demise said. "I know everything about you, Reginald Van Fiddler. I know things about you that you don't know yourself." "Do you now?" Reggie said, becoming interested in spite of himself. "For instance?" "I know that you are about to take a long trip," Mr. Demise said. "That's not news," Reggie said. "My draft board just classified me 1-A. I'll be taking a long trip very shortly." "That is not the trip I am referring to," Mr. Demise said. "You are going on a trip with me." Reggie blinked. He couldn't think of anyone with whom he would rather not take a trip than this dark, sinister little man who called himself Mr. Demise. What did Demise mean, anyway? "It's nice of you, and all that," he said, "but I don't think I'll be able to make it. My draft board might not like it." "They will understand," Mr. Demise said. "I don't know about that," Reggie said. He was beginning really to worry. There was something damnably inevitable about Mr. Demise's calm statements. "They're pretty ticklish about such things. I think we'd just better forget the whole idea." "That is impossible," Mr. Demise said. Reggie rubbed his moist palms on his trouser legs. "Who are you?" he asked hesitantly. "Have you been following me around all day just to sell me on the idea of a trip? Are you from Cook's tours?" Mr. Demise smiled and shook his head. "I am not interested in selling you the idea of a trip. I am simply telling you that you are going on a trip. I have already made all the arrangements. There is nothing that can possibly change them." "Where am I going?" Reggie asked. His voice was a whisper. "With me," Mr. Demise said. "That's no answer," Reggie said, clutching at straws. "Who are you? Where are you going?" Mr. Demise smiled again, very faintly. He walked slowly to the mantelpiece and plucked a rose from a vase. His hand closed gently over the flower as he turned to face Reggie. "Perhaps this will answer your questions," he said softly. He opened his hand and dropped the flower to the floor at Reggie's feet. Reggie's eyes widened in sheer amazement. [Illustration: Reggie looked at the seared rose, and then he knew...!] For the soft glowing beauty of the flower was faded forever. It lay on the floor, a blackened, dead reminder of its former glory. "It's dead," he said incredulously. "It withered at the touch of your hand." * * * * * Mr. Demise nodded slowly and there was a wistful sadness in his face. "All living things die at my touch," he said. "For I am Death!"