Danny     Danny Barstow liked things. Not all things, but some things. He liked pastries filled with cream, especially that final bite where only the cream is left. He liked animals with long hair, and he liked when it got tangled so he could brush the knots out. He liked traveling, and he liked pork products. But what Danny liked best was his evening ritual of reading in bed before going to sleep.     Since the episode of 'Friends' on this particular night was a rerun, and his least favorite one at that, Danny got into bed extra early. He was on his third book of a stack of seven from the library. It was Barbara Stadler's latest page-turner, a mystery called 'Cleanup In Aisle Murder.' He was halfway through, and with this unexpected boon of extra time he could now easily finish it.     He slid into bed, his terry-cloth robe making a soft sssshhhpppp sound against the comforter. He liked the sound, so he did it again. He slid on his belly back and forth a few times, enjoying each sshhppp less than the one previous. Finally the enjoyment level bottomed out. He stopped and crawled under the sheets.     Of course, every ritual has its problems. Nothing's perfect, as Danny had learned long ago. But the problems involved with reading in bed are relatively minor, most just dealing with comfort. Danny would start by sitting up straight with the book in his lap. But soon he'd start slouching forward, which would remind him of his bad posture. This guilt would drive him to lean up against the headboard. This would work well enough, until his back started to stiffen up. Then he'd slide forward until he was lying flat, with the book propped on his chest. This would seem like the ideal position, he couldn't be more comfortable, until his neck would get sore from looking down at the book. So he would migrate to his side, first the right, then the left, his arm propping his head up, the book flat on the sheets. He'd stay this way the longest, alternating sides as his arm got tired, until it became unbearable and he'd be forced to start the whole vicious cycle over again.     Still, despite this hardship, he endured, and even managed to enjoy the experience. Hell, he didn't just enjoy it; he liked it more than that creamy last bite of a flaky pastry puff.     He had just started on his second cycle when he heard the noise. It was fast and sudden, sounding like a handful of marbles falling through a corrugated vacuum tube. Danny jumped out of his slouch. His eyes darted around the room. Was it the heater? The pipes? Maybe the house was still settling. He lingered, frozen in a pose of anticipation. But nothing showed itself, and he heard nothing more. So, with tentative unease, he went back to his book. So far it was looking like the butcher was the prime suspect, but it was obvious that's what you were supposed to think. Personally, Danny was putting his money on the bagboy. So far he had been keeping to the background, and the grocery bag suffocation would be just ironic enough for him to do it.     He got through a few more pages before the sound came back. It was the marbles again, but this time it sounded like they were being spun in a centrifuge. The centrifuge spun faster and faster, the marbles fusing into a single ball of white hot glass. Finally, the whole contraption exploded in a terrible grind of gears and rust.     Then, silence. Danny was terrified. Maybe it was the garbage truck. He crept to the window and peeked out, but nothing. He searched the house, even the basement with the cold cement floor, but he couldn't find anything. He got into bed with well-deserved apprehension.     He only read four words before he heard it again. (These words, coincidentally, were "said loudly. 'But he-")     This time he heard a crowned horseman rising from the fused ashes of the glass ball. The horse roared, and an army of winged demons shrieked out of its mouth. They clawed at the earth, ripping it open, making it bleed. As the planet tore in half and life was extinguished, six billion screams ripped through the atmosphere, ground down to nothing in the cold vacuum of space.     Danny put down his book, carefully dog-earring his page. Maybe he should call someone. Maybe the police. Disturbing the peace is illegal, right? Maybe it was the neighbor's kids having a party or something. He figured he'd call his mother first, to calm his nerves. Talking to his mom always calmed him down. He stumbled out of bed, forgetting his slippers.     But his mom never got the call that night, and Danny never did figure out what the sound was.     You see, the thing about the sound of death is that you only hear it once, and it's usually too late to tell someone. But even if you could, it's really hard to do a good impression of it. But maybe that's for the best. The End Back