I know he’s coming for me. It’s been too long. First I lost count of the days, then the months, then the years, and finally the centuries. I don’t know how much more I can take. He’s coming for me, and there will be no way to escape the moment when he finally catches up.

I have taken every precaution. The salt blocks to replace the bricks, the remote location, even the mice and squirrels I keep as pets. Yet, still, the fear persists.

Am I right to be afraid? Or should I be welcoming my inevitable end? I do not know.

The doorbell rings and I shoot out of my seat, grabbing the glass Tupperware that I always keep beside me, something to buy me a few minutes should my adversary appear. I slowly approach the salt door, peering hesitantly through the peephole. It is the delivery man, wearing his usual confused look. I never bothered to explain my situation anymore – I’ve escaped far too many insane asylums because of it.

I unlock the door as quickly as I can, but the 17th lock catches and I spend a few minutes trying to unstick it.

I can almost see the delivery man roll his eyes. After the last lock clicks back I peer around the door. “Delivery for Smith,” he says. I give a furtive nod, snatching the clipboard and scribbling my signature as fast as I can. Every moment exposed is a moment my death could finally catch up to me.

I waste no time snatching the package and slamming the door behind me. Sighing in relief, I set the package down on the table and watch through the peephole to make sure the delivery man leaves. As soon as his truck is out of sight, I turn back to the table. Safe again. But that’s when I notice the rip in the side, a rip that wasn’t there a few moments ago.

My hand clutches the bottle of repellent that never leaves my pocket. He’s here.

My eyes drift slowly over the living room, looking for anything out of place. Where could he be hiding?

After I clear the living room, I search the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom. Nothing.

Reluctantly, I descend to the basement, pushing open the door. It squeals on rusted hinges, swinging open to reveal a dark room of cobwebs. I flip the light switch and there he is, staring at me from the middle of the room. He makes no move to approach me, and so I let my eyes rove over the walls around him. Covering every inch of them are photos of the ones I’ve lost, precious memories spanning millennia. By the time I turn my gaze back to him, a single tear has slipped down my cheek.

Suddenly, miraculously, he speaks. “Are you ready to meet your end, human?”

I stare at the snail in awe. He sounds exactly like Morgan Freeman. “Are you … God?” I ask him.

He looks back at me impassively. I cannot tell if he’s nodding or if his head is simply bowing under the weight of his eyestalks.

I take one step forward, then another. Is this it? Am I finally ready to go?

When my foot finally taps him on his shell, the world disappears into a dazzling array of golden sparks. I smile, ready to see everyone I ever loved in the afterlife, but suddenly, I feel myself squished and compressed. This doesn’t feel like heaven. When the dizzying motion stops, I sway a bit. Something feels wrong. Everything looks huge. Is heaven a realm of giants?

“This is the price of your immortality,” the disembodied voice of the Morgan Freeman-snail says. “Thank you for releasing me. I shall see you soon. Or not.” He laughs before a gust of wind blows past.

I blink as it dawns on me. I am the snail. And I am trapped here until I catch my replacement. My eyestalks quiver in horror. This is going to be a long millennium.