'Ow,' he said, 'that hur—'
But it didn't.
Edward d'Eath was looking down at him with a horrified expression.
'Oh . . . I didn't mean to hit you that hard! I only wanted you out of the way!'
'Why'd you have to hit me at all?'
And then the feeling stole over Beano that Edward wasn't exactly looking at him, and certainly wasn't talking to him.
He glanced at the ground, and experienced that peculiar sensation known only to the recently dead -horror at what you see lying in front of you, followed by the nagging question: so who's doing the looking?
KNOCK KNOCK.
He looked up. 'Who's there?'
DEATH.
'Death who?'
There was a chill in the air. Beano waited. Edward was frantically patting his face . . . well, what until recently had been his face.
I WONDER . . . CAN WE START AGAIN? I DON'T SEEM TO HAVE THE HANG OF THIS.
'Sorry?' said Beano.
'I'm s-orry!' moaned Edward, 'I meant it for the best!'
Beano watched his murderer drag his . . . the . . . body away.
'Nothing personal, he says,' he said. 'I'm glad it wasn't anything personal. I should hate to think I've just been killed because it was personal.'
IT'S JUST THAT IT HAS BEEN SUGGESTED THAT I SHOULD BE MORE OF A PEOPLE PERSON.
'I mean, why ? I thought we were getting on really well.
It's very hard to make friends in my job. In your job too, I suppose.'
BREAK IT TO THEM GENTLY, AS IT WERE.
'One minute walking along, the next minute dead. Why?'
THINK OF IT MORE AS BEING . . . DIMENSIONALLY DIS-ADVANTAGED.
The shade of Beano the clown turned to Death.
'What are you talking about?'
YOU'RE DEAD.
'Yes. I know.' Beano relaxed, and stopped wondering too much about events in an increasingly irrelevant world. Death found that people often did, after the initial confusion. After all, the worst had already happened. At least . . . with any luck.
IF YOU WOULD CARE TO FOLLOW ME . . .
'Will there be custard pies? Red noses? Juggling? Are there likely to be baggy trousers?'
NO.