The Signature

"Sign here Sir"

"What for?"

"Just sign here Sir"

"First of all tell me what for!"

"Sir, please just sign!

"No!"

The man and the woman dressed entirely in red walked off and disappeared down the street.

The supposed signee was baffled as to what had just happened. What on earth did they want him to sign.

The next day after his pickled cabbage and dumplings a knock at the door brought him in front of two women in black garb.

"Sign this will you please, sir"

"What is it?"

"Sign here for us"

"But what am I supposed to be signing?"

"Here's the pen sir. Sign"

"No!"

Who the hell are these people and what could they possibly want him to sign? Damn nuisance, that's what they are.

The following afternoon the man was napping, when a rap on the door woke him.

Two more strangers. Dressed in white.

"If you would sign here we'll be on our way sir"

"Yes, but what is it for?"

"Sign on the dotted line, just here"

"I can see the dotted line but what is my signature for?"

"Will you sign?"

"No!"

The next evening the chap was sitting down to sausage, bread and gherkins, when someone tapped on the window.

"For god's sake, not again!"

"What?"

"We just need you to sign the form sir"

"And for the umpteenth time what is it?"

"If you sign we'll explain everything"

"No, explain it first"

"Are you prepared to sign?"

"No!"

The next night, with the wind howling and a flurry of snow swirling round the streetlight, the man had fallen asleep in front of the TV. In his dream he thought he sensed a tapping on the screen and heard himself saying go away and leave me alone.

He was jolted from his slumber by a bang on the back door.

A young teenager implored him to sign a petition to save the whale. 

"Have you seen the time! No, go away!"

The following morning around 7am a small girl presented herself at the front window staring in.

"I'm collecting names Mister for a sponsored silence. I've got to be quiet for a day. Will you stick your name down here?"

"No, it's nothing personal, I never sponsor anything"

The girl stared at him. If looks could kill.

It was Saturday lunchtime. The kitchen air was filled with frying sausages and eggs and hot coffee was already steaming on the table. The old chap always enjoyed his cooked breakfasts on the weekend. Set you up for the week and with the morning paper it was bliss. He'd lived to be nearly a hundred years old and planned on living a lot more.

But where was the paper? It's late.

He heard a gentle rattle on the door knocker. it was raining.

"Here's your paper, Mister!" said a really small boy perched on a pushbike, a massive bag of newspapers round his shoulder.

"Thanks"

"Your subs are due"

"Oh?"

"Yeah, the newsagents have a list. You're on it Mister"

"Right"

"Do you want to carry on getting the papers?"

"Yep. I do"

"OK, just shove your signature on here"

The old man took the pen and scribbled his autograph on the list.

As soon as he had he felt peculiar and knew he'd been duped. 

His hands began to sweat and his mouth felt bone dry. He started to shiver uncontrollably and fell to the ground.

The young boy was laughing. He was changing too. No longer small, he was growing taller, as tall as a man and his skin was turning bright red. 

The old chap, clutching his chest, stared up at the man-boy on his bike, steam rising off his body.

"I always get you in the end you know. It may take a while. You old sinners are an awkward lot. But patience is a virtue, even for a hot head like me!"

"All I need is a signature,

... then you get a prod with my fork,

... and then, I get your useless soul,

... Boom!

Easy as pie and the inks not even dry!"

The devil chuckled and the old man moaned and closed his eyes, his signature slowly dissolving into a pool of rain.