How we think it’d play out…
Neil Gaiman stood in front of a large stately home, hand resting on a large wooden door knocker. He brought it down three times, and waited.
After a few moments, the door creaked open, and a young girl in a white apron and cloth hat stood before him. “Mr. Gaiman?” she said, “Ms. Christie has been expecting you. Please come through into the drawing room.”
As Neil stepped through the door, he was greeted with a squeal of delight and two arms wrapped around his shoulders. As he pulled away, he saw who was hugging him; a pale young goth girl dressed all in black, with an ankh pendant swinging from her neck and a terminally cheerful smile across her face.
“Neil! Oh, I knew you’d be here soon. Isn’t it exciting? I simply had to come.”
“Death!” Neil couldn’t contain his surprise, “What are you doing here?”
“Well, isn’t it obvious? Somebody’s going to die. I fancied a front row seat. I haven’t decided who I’m rooting for though. I mean,” she patted Neil’s arm, “You created me and all, but Agatha, well, she keeps me in business! All the murders, all the books – and television series now, too! It keeps me in people’s minds, doesn’t it?”
Before Neil could respond, he heard a floorboard creak and looked up to see Agatha Christie standing at the top of the stairs. In a soft, calm voice, she welcomed him. “Thank you for coming to me, Mr. Gaiman. It will make things much easier for both of us.”
Neil took a step forward, and jumped back again as the hallway’s massive chandelier came crashing down in front of him. He stared for a moment, then looked down as his feet. A floorboard was loose.
“You’ve rigged the place!” he said to Agatha, who smiled in response. “That’s not fighting fair, Christie, come on!” He ducked again as, upon stepping backwards, a large stone bust tumbled from the shelf behind him and shattered into a thousand pieces. While he struggled to regain composure, he was dimly aware of Death laughing and applauding. Muttering under his breath, he took out his notebook and decided to summon somebody more helpful. “Destruction!” he shouted, flinging his notebook in front of him, “I need help!”
A burst of light shot forth, and a huge man with flame-red hair and a bushy beard materialised in front of him. Destruction, fourth-eldest of the Endless, took a look at the physical destruction around him, and looked back up at Gaiman. “Did you even read the books you wrote?” he asked. Picking his way over the rubble, he rested a giant hand on Neil’s shoulder. “Good luck,” he said, “But I cannot help you.” With that, he walked out the door. As it closed, the glass above it shattered.
Agatha cackled. “I didn’t even plan that one!” she hooted.
That was it. Neil snapped his head around to Death, and barked an order. “Death! I’ve had it. You belong to me. You are my creation. Take care of her, please. Take her out. Now.”
Death sighed, and rolled her eyes. She folded her arms, and at once there was an almighty scream. A flash of white. The sound of a body crumpling to the floor.
“Was that so hard?” Neil said, and then, “Oh…”
At his feet lay the body of a young girl. She wore a white apron and a cloth hat. He grit his teeth and raised his head toward Death, who stood wide-eyed with a nervous smile. “Whoops?” she said quietly.
As Neil cast his eyes back up the stairs, he saw Agatha descending towards him, a Tunisian dagger clutched in her hand.
PREDICTED WINNER: AGATHA CHRISTIE
Cast your vote below and tell us what you think in the comments
Don’t forget to vote in our other author face-offs