The doorbell rang at 9:47 p.m. Sarah checked her Ring camera and a man in a cheap brown suit, clipboard in hand, smile too wide with ‘Extended warranties,’ written on the label of his shirt read. No company name.
"I don't own anything worth warrantying,"
She said through the door.
"You own your life. And it's about to expire."
He replied. She shouldn't have opened the door. But the man had eyes like her mother's. Her mother who'd died of a sudden aneurysm three months ago. The salesman handed her a contract. Single page. Large print.
"For the sum of one signature, the undersigned agrees to extend their natural lifespan by thirty years. Renewal terms apply."
"What's the catch?"
Sarah asked knowing there has to be one. Theresa man reached into his pocket and grabbed a pen and responded.
"Standard terms. You pay when you renew."
She signed. She was lonely and afraid and twenty nine years old, and thirty more years felt like a gift.
For a decade, nothing happened. She married, had a daughter, bought a house. Then the salesman returned. Same suit. Same eyes that weren't quite her mother's.
"Time to renew. Price has gone up."
He said.
"What's the price?"
"Five years off your daughter's life."
She slammed the door. That night, her daughter woke screaming about a man in her closet. Sarah found the salesman's business card on the nightstand:
"Cancellation fees apply. We always collect."
She tried burning the contract. Tried moving across the country. Tried a priest, a lawyer, a woman who claimed to be a witch. Nothing worked. The salesman appeared on her birthday every year, offering new term. Her health, her memories, her ability to feel joy. Each refusal cost her something she hadn't agreed to lose.
On her fiftieth birthday, she stopped answering the door. The salesman left a voicemail instead. Voice dry as old paper:
"Ma'am, your warranty has expired. We'll be sending a collection specialist to your location within the hour. Thank you for choosing eternity."
She's been hiding in her bathroom for three days now. The knocking stopped this morning. But the lights keep flickering, and someone just flushed the toilet in the guest bathroom. Same bathroom she had remodeled to have no toilet at all.