"There's one more terrifying fact about old people: I'm going to be one soon" ~ P.J. O'Rourke

She stood outside for ages, grinning in at me through the glass window, I suddenly had the oddest sensation of being on display at a zoo, and by some weird reversal of fortune it was one of the grizzled chimpanzees who were outside, gazing in at me in wonder.

So I was pretty freaked out even before she came through the door.

I'd started off well, giving my brightest, warmest most inviting smile but after a couple of minutes when it was still wholly unclear as to whether she actually intended to come in or was just going to stand there beaming at me, my smile started to freeze into an uncomfortable grimace, a rigor mortis smile that was starting to make my face ache.

I had ample opportunity to observe her. She was ... interesting. She looked to be in her late 60's, early 70's, with a dark tan which gave her the appearance of having been steeped in old tea bags for at least a couple of centuries and accentuated her dazzlingly white dentures and the deep, trench-like wrinkles that lined her face. She was wearing khaki camouflage combat trousers, bright pink Crocs with baby blue socks and a little yellow crop top which exposed more tanned, wrinkled, flabby flesh than anybody would care to see without being heavily armed. She had one of those bellies that has expanded and then succumbed to gravity, sagging grotesquely to create the illusion of having a pair of buttocks on her midriff.

Right then and there I vowed to get back into my sadly neglected exercise regime and stick to it ... until I die.

The guy I work with happened to come through to the front office at that point and stopped dead in his tracks, "Who's that?" he asked curiously.

"I dunno" I said, "but she's kinda creeping me out".

He walked to the door and pulled it open, "Did you need some help?" he asked with a friendly smile, she smiled back at him but didn't speak and didn't move. Thinking there was a good chance she was deaf he asked again, only louder, she finally moved, squeezing past him in the doorway into the shop, "No need to shout" she said, still smiling vacantly, "I'm not deaf". My colleague glanced at me, cleared his throat and said to the woman, "so how can we help you?"

"I'd like my hearing tested" she said, her voice was soft, as though she were speaking from a distance, "I thought you said you're not deaf?" pointed out my colleague, "Well I don't know" she replied, "that's why I'd like my hearing tested".

"Are you experiencing any difficulty hearing?"

"Well I'm not sure ... how much do you charge?"

"Oh, don't worry about that, all our hearing tests are free"

"Three?"

"Free"

"Three what?"

"No, FREE. We don't charge for them"

"I'm Brazilian"

There followed a very long pause, my colleague turned and gave me a quick, pain-filled glance, then turning back to the lady he asked, "Well would you like to book a hearing test, free of charge, just to make sure?"

"Can you go deaf from having your head beaten against a door?"

The stunned, uncomfortable silence that followed seemed to last an eternity.

"Er ... it could cause some damage, certainly ... has somebody ... ?"

"My ex husband used to beat me"

Again he cast an uncomfortable look at me, "Well I'm glad to hear he's an ex husband then!" he said, clearly trying to lighten the conversation,

"Oh yes, he's dead now. I put the finger of death on him and killed him"

I can't even begin to describe that moment, but our faces must have been an absolute picture, my colleague standing there with his jaw brushing the carpet, me sat at my desk with my mug of tea, frozen midway to my mouth. I don't know what I was thinking, but suddenly I heard someone faintly ask "Finger of death?" and was shocked to realise it was me.

She turned to look at me and gave one short nod, still smiling serenely.

"You killed your ex husband with the finger of death?"

My inner voice was screaming at me "What are you doing??? Why are you still talking??? Shut up! SHUT UP!" and by the horrified look on my colleague's face he was wondering the same thing.

She walked over to my desk, leaning against it, her hands calmly resting on the surface and I found myself staring at her fingers, heavily adorned with numerous grubby, gold rings and wondering which one was the deadly "finger of death". Still wearing her unnerving smile she nodded again, "He was no good, I had enough so I killed him".

Now you know I have a thing for all things macabre, and whilst I was more than a little unsettled I was also seriously fascinated, which is why I couldn't help but ask "Er ... how exactly does ...?" only to be rapidly cut off by my colleague practically shouting "NO!" whilst desperately shaking his head and making a slashing gesture across his neck, I scowled at him "What? I'm curious is all!" I said hissed defensively. The lady smiled serenely, "It's ok" she assured him, "I can't tell you exactly how it's done, it's just something you are born with, but if you think very carefully, if you really want the person dead and know where to place your finger ... you can kill them dead". I was on the verge of declaring this kinda cool, but seeing the aghast look of incredulity on my colleagues face I thought better of it, instead I just commented that however it was done it certainly seemed to have been effective. "Oh yes, it works every time" she said calmly. I thought the eyes were literally going to pop out of my colleague's head, trying not to giggle I raised my eyebrows politely and asked, "Every time?". Again she gave that short, sharp nod, and held up three fingers.

"Three times?" exploded my colleague, clearly in spite of his better reasoning, he looked as though he'd rather have bitten his own tongue off than ask this question, but the lady just chuckled, "yes, three times, if I really don't like someone I give them the finger of death. But I like most people"

"Thank God" I heard him mutter, which made her glance at him sharply and suddenly the smile seemed especially sinister. Quickly jumping in to spare him from the digit of doom I asked whether she wanted to book an appointment to have her hearing tested, I could see my colleague mentally praying furiously to any God that might hear him to save him from this ghastly fate and apparently somebody was listening because after a few moments hesitation she shook her head and said she would have to check her schedule and come back to us. Plus she was still concerned about the charge, which instead of reassuring her I noticed my colleague actually agreed and advised her against making a hasty decision and to think about the matter extremely carefully before she came back.

She thanked us for our time and turned to leave but then stood motionless by the door, "Everything ok?" asked my colleague, "It says 'Pull'" she replied, nodding at the door. And indeed it did, on the other side. "Yes, that's for the benefit of people coming in" my colleague said politely but clearly eager to get shot of her as soon as possible. She turned her head, gazing at him still with the unnerving grin, "but it say's 'Pull'". My colleague's answer to this was to stride forward and push open the door, ushering her out with more scared desperation than chivalry. She wandered out, still muttering about the fact it said "Pull". Normally my colleague is a complete schmoozer, he could charm the knickers off a nun and is very tactile, always shaking hands with people as they leave, but this time I noticed he took good care to not make physical contact in any way. The finger of death had him scared. He wasn't taking any chances.

She stood outside for a couple of minutes, gazing in again, grinning, "Why doesn't she just bugger off?" he hissed nervously under his breath as he kept his mouth firmly fixed in a false smile, "she's freaking me out!"

"Just keep smiling" I hissed back, "and stop making eye contact! She's going to come back in!"

"I can't!" came the frightened whimper "she's probably put some kind of Brazilian voodoo curse on me! God! And she's totally ruined the meaning of 'a Brazilian' for me forever" he moped.

I tutted, and muttered "Perv" under my breath.

She finally wandered off and we both breathed big sighs of relief, although we later agreed that the encounter had stayed with us and played on our minds somewhat.

Something else stayed with us, the oddest thing ... a scent that she seemed to have brought with her and then left behind, it was sickly sweet, cloying and definitely unpleasant. I'm not sure, but I think it might have been the scent of death.