Hogfather by Terry Pratchett

complicated landing, you found yourself walking up by stepping down the underside of a stair and the distant floor now hung overhead like a ceiling. He’d noticed that even the other men shut their eyes when that happened. Teatime, though, took those stairs three at a time, laughing like a kid with a new toy.
    They reached an upper landing and followed a corridor. The others were gathered by a closed door.
    “He’s barricaded himself in,” said Chickenwire.
    Teatime tapped on it. “You in there,” he said. “Come on out. You have my word you won’t be harmed.”
    “No!”
    Teatime stood back. “Banjo, knock it down,” he said.
    Banjo lumbered forward. The door withstood a couple of massive kicks and then burst open.
    The guard was cowering behind an overturned cabinet. He cringed back as Teatime stepped over it. “What’re you doing here?” he shouted. “Who are you?”
    “Ah, I’m glad you asked. I’m your worst nightmare!” said Teatime cheerfully.
    The man shuddered.
    “You mean…the one with the giant cabbage and the sort of whirring knife thing?”
    “Sorry?” Teatime looked momentarily nonplussed.
    “Then you’re the one about where I’m falling, only instead of ground underneath it’s all—”
    “No, in fact I’m—”
    The guard sagged. “Awww, not the one where there’s all this kind of, you know, mud and then everything goes blue—”
    “No, I’m—”
    “Oh, shit, then you’re the one where there’s this door only there’s no floor beyond it and then there’s these claws—”
    “No,” said Teatime. “Not that one.” He withdrew a dagger from his sleeve. “I’m the one where this man comes out of nowhere and kills you stone dead.”
    The guard grinned with relief. “Oh, that one,” he said. “But that one’s not very—”
    He crumpled around Teatime’s suddenly out-thrust fist. And then, just like the others had done, he faded.
    “Rather a charitable act there, I feel,” Teatime said as the man vanished. “But it is nearly Hogswatch, after all.”

    Death, pillow slipping gently under his red robe, stood in the middle of the nursery carpet…
    It was an old one. Things ended up in the nursery when they had seen a complete tour of duty in the rest of the house. Long ago, someone had made it by carefully knotting long bits of brightly colored rag into a sacking base, giving it the look of a deflated Rastafarian hedgehog. Things lived among the rags. There were old rusks, bits of toy, buckets of dust. It had seen life. It may even have evolved some.
    Now the occasional lump of grubby melting snow dropped onto it.
    Susan was crimson with anger.
    “I mean, why?” she demanded, walking around the figure. “This is Hogswatch! It’s supposed to be jolly, with mistletoe and holly, and—and other things ending in olly! It’s a time when people want to feel good about things and eat until they explode! It’s a time when they want to see all their relatives—”
    She stopped that sentence.
    “I mean it’s a time when humans are really human,” she said. “And they don’t want a…a skeleton at the feast! Especially one, I might add, who’s wearing a false beard and has got a damn cushion shoved up his robe! I mean, why?”
    Death looked nervous.
    ALBERT SAID IT WOULD HELP ME GET INTO THE SPIRIT OF THE THING. ER…IT’S GOOD TO SEE YOU AGAIN—
    There was a small squelchy noise.
    Susan spun around, grateful right now for any distraction.
    “Don’t think I can’t hear you! They’re grapes, understand? And the other things are satsumas! Get out of the fruit bowl!”
    “Can’t blame a bird for trying,” said the raven sulkily, from the table.
    “And you, you leave those nuts alone! They’re for tomorrow!”
    SKQUEAF, said the Death of Rats, swallowing hurriedly.
    Susan turned back to Death. The Hogfather’s artificial stomach was now at groin level.
    “This is a nice house,” she said. “And this is a good job. And it’s real, with normal people.