At World’s End, a mysterious rider dismounted his horse. He approached me slowly, the blade of his scythe blocking more of the moon the closer he came. He stopped four feet in front of me. He raised his bony finger and pointed at the space between my eyes. I clenched them shut. “This is it,” I thought. Moments later, the hacking and slashing began. I screamed and threw open my eyes, only to find the figure had moved past me, and was mowing my lawn.