When I read this story, it was written to be told to one or two people. I would like to adapt the ending so that it can be told to a group, but I'm not sure how to do it. I'm looking for suggestions on how I could end it and ensure a strong reaction from the audience.
Here's the basic run of the story:
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Just outside a small village lived an old woman who reads the tarot. For a fee, she'd read tarot for anyone (as well as prepare potions, salves, and other crafty items). Althought the villagers are publicly wary of her and her ways, each of them secretly visited her to get their tarot readings.
One day, she was reading the cards for herself with the Death card turned up. She immediately threw the Death card off the table where it was caught by the cat and hidden behind the stove. Just then, Death himself turned up at the door, knocked, and walked in.
"I hear you called me," he rasped, reaching for the old woman.
"I did not such thing!" cried the woman, repulsed. "I'm not ready to go with you just yet, so get on your way."
Death shook his head. "No matter how old they are, no matter how much they've seen or done, they are never ready to go when it's their time," Death sighed. "Very well... I will be back next year to get you."
For the rest of that year, no one in the village died, including the old woman.
One year to the day, the old woman was reading her tarot cards when the cat fished the Death card from behind the stove and dropped it into her reading. Horrified, the old woman snatched up the Death card and slipped it into her apron.
Just then, Death knocked at her door and walked in. "You called for me?" he rasped.
"Not at all!" the old woman cried, reaching for her broom. "You are not welcome here, so back on the road with you!"
Death searched high and low throughout the cottage, but he could not find the Death card. "Very well! One more year do you get, but the next time I arrive, you will be coming with me!"
Again, for the rest of the year, no one in the village died, including the old woman. But after Death had left, the old woman swore off reading the tarot cards. She took her cards, wrapped them in silk, locked them in a box, and stored them high on a shelf. No matter how the villagers begged and pleaded, she would no longer read the cards for anyone, even herself.
A year to the day passed and the old woman was tending to the fire in the hearth when she heard a sharp tapping at her window. When she opened the window, a crow flew in, made straight for the box of Tarot cards sitting on the shelf, and began pecking at it. The old woman grabbed her broom and tried to shoo the crow away when there was a knock at the door.
"I believe you called for me," rasped Death, leaning on his scythe. "It's your time, it's your time."
"I don't even read the cards any longer, so how could I have called for you, you old ghoul! Get out!" she cried, swinging her broom.
Just then, the crow had pecked so hard at the box that it broke open and fell from the shelf, spilling it's contents all over the hardwood floor. Every card was turned face up, every card was the Death card.
"It's your time, it's your time," repeated Death, reaching a bony hand towards the old woman.
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At this point, according to the book I read, the storyteller would pull out a chicken foot from her pocket and scratch her listener's hand (which was her daughter). She would then proceed to peel her daughter from the ceiling.
The thing is that I want to tell this story to a group of people, but I can't think of a good way to end it. You're all creative people out there, right? I await your suggestions!
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