Ever since I could walk I have worked in this small town tavern. I was sent here to work to repay my father’s dicing debts. Day in and day out all I do is wait on drunks and clean up after rioters. Youngsters come in full of ribaldry and blasphemy; they drink and drink as they mock me and all others in the tavern. They would come in just as the radiant yellow sun would rise, and stay till they were out of money. These men were evil fellows. Around town they were known as mischievous thieves; they would steal from the poorest of the poor just to pay for their booze. The trio of men were despised more than the plague itself. The whole town of Flanders cursed these sinful men.

One recent Sunday morning, it was darker than most, an old man appeared in the doorway of the tavern before the sun came up. A cold wind filled the bar; I shivered then continue cleaning. As I swept the floor clean I stated, “Is it not a little early to begin drinking? To each his own, what would you like, good sir?” There was no response, so I looked up to make sure the man was still there. The sickly looking man crept his frail body of skin and bones in ever so slowly without saying a word. He removed his black hat from his balding head. His skin was wrinkled and covered in dark blotches. His eyes were like a black hole, dark and intriguing. Once they sucked you in you were dead. It was impossible to tell where his nose ended and the large boil on his cheek began. The man next handed me a slip of paper which had been folded 3 times. His hat promptly went back on his head and he turned to the door and began to make his exit. I unfolded the paper and was surprised to find only a name, Joshua Perks. Confused, I questioned, “Who are you? What is this? What shall I do with this mans name?”

The man then disappeared out the door. Faintly I head, “You need not know who I am, for if you hear my name you will wish you hadn’t. You know what to do with this name.” The brisk wind then slammed the door shut, so I kept on sweeping.

Just like a clock ticks with every second, the three rowdy youngsters arrived as always with the virgin sun rising. The three looked as rough as always. The stench their bodies gave off was worse than that of a dead skunk. It was obvious they had not showered in weeks and they knew not of a razor. Their scruffy beards told the tales of their adventures. But their adventures were not worth speaking of, all they consisted of was drinking, dancing, cursing, and gambling all day every day. And today was no different than the rest, they drank and danced and cursed and gambled.

The men were having a great time until CLINK. CLINK. The hand bell of the cemetery could be heard from the tavern. The sound no one wishes to hear, it means its over. Someone’s life is done. A coffin is being laid in the ground. The men briefly gave each other a somber look, then the oldest stared at me and stated, “Go see who that is. Oh God please let it not be our friend. Heaven knows we have not seen him lately. I’m sure he is well, but who has passed?”

As I stepped into the doorway I felt a chilly wind and without hesitation and turned and said, “I need not go check, I know who has passed. For just this morning I was told the news, the one in the coffin is Joshua Perks.”

The drunks could not believe their ears. Perks was their friend, a good guy all round. The middle aged man looked at me with questioning eyes that were beginning to turn red and said, “How can this be? What happened to…”

But before he could finish I had already jumped in, telling this extravagant story of the death of his friend. I told of how he was drunk and Death brutally took him. I explained, “Perks had done nothing wrong at all, he was minding his own business when Death came calling. He was simply taking a nap when Death stole his life.”

The men became enraged at Death, cursed him, yelled, and vowed to kill Death. One looked at the other and said, “Tonight, we must kill Death.” The three agreed the deed was to be done.

My boss, the publican, tried to talk some sense into them. They seemed to not know of how evil Death could really be. He told the three of the man, woman, serf, page, and children all killed by Death less than a mile away. “Over the last year,” he said, “Death has killed enough to populate a large village! You must be very careful, Death has never lost. For he is more dangerous than the plague and as witty as a cat.” But the men were headstrong and there was no turning back. The plan had been made and once they ate they ran out searching for Death.

The day was uneventful for the next few hours. I managed to sneak away from the Tavern. I attended the end of the coffin burial. Beth Oakley was laid to rest that morning. From her eulogy I learned she was a widow leaving behind four sons and two daughters. Few were there to pay their respects, but I did notice the sickly old man standing alone. He stood there motionless with an evil grin until the coffin was covered with earth. He then turned and disappeared into the forest.

Before night arrived a notice a slow moving old man outside the tavern. Although he seemed to be a vendor, I had never seen this man before. He had no hair on his head, but his scalp was shining bald, and he wore the blackest silk cloak in all of Flanders. His card was old and worn, made of maple I believe. The wood it was made of had many noticeable knots and large dark stains. The stains were in weird shaped pools that were dark burgundy and appeared to have come from blood.

I looked carefully at the dilapidated cart trying to find out what he was selling and found the words, “APOTHECARY”. While looking at the letters another thing caught my eye, on the side of the card there was a wooden scythe. As I stared at the scythe with a puzzled expression, the youngest of the three youngsters approached the Apothecary in the street.

The two briefly spoke, about business I assume, then the man reached out his hand to receive money from the youngster. The apothecary reached deep into his cart and pulled out a box which he handed to the rioter. As the rioter smiled gratefully and darted off in the other direction, the Apothecary began to push his cart away. Strange, I thought, that a vendor would come to the street, make one sale, then leave. As he pushed his decrepit cart away the Apothecary noticed my stare, but was not angry. The man simply smiled and gave a head nod and he vanished into the dense gray fog that the sun was leaving behind as it set.

Moments later the youngster appeared in the tavern with three bottles. Two of the bottles had a mixture in the bottom. He asked for wine in all three bottles. I promptly obeyed, filling them to the top, while he sat and talked to himself. I could faintly make out what words he was saying, something about his future. It seemed he was talking about traveling and riches, great food and beautiful women. But this cannot be right. There is no way he could get this, he is just a drunk. I chuckled to myself as I shot down his dreams in my head. I then handed him his bottles of wine with a great smile on my face. The youngster promptly ran off in the direction he had originally came from.

The next morning the three rioters didn’t appear at their normal time. That afternoon, however, there was a new traveler in town. The slick young man entered the tavern and I realized I had never met him, yet his dark eyes seemed so familiar. He sat where the three would normally be and told amazing stories of places he had been and great people he had met. The man had met people from all walks of life, the wealthy to the poor, English to Spanish. As he began to tell the tale of how he ended up at this town a crowd of drunks began to gather around.

“Just last night,” the man claimed, “I witnessed two men jump and stab a man. The two then picked up three bottles of wine and drank it all down. As I approached them to ask why they did that, they collapsed to the ground. Dead! So I stood there a while surveying the scene, then came here to this town to sell of what I had seen. But now I must go, I have places to go and people to see. Thank you for the booze.”

As the stranger got up to go, he looked to me and said, “Be careful, Death is always closer than one thinks.” He placed an old money sack that was full of gold on the table and slowly disappeared into the city.