You take a step to the northeast and place your curious little pot carefully and without incident. However, as you take your second step you hear - or rather don't hear - your voice fall silent. In fact, you see the horrific visage appear just to your east at the same time as you recognize that suddenly all sound has stopped.
The skeletal figure stops what he's doing - pouring something into the pile of grain at his feet - and stands to confront you, brandishing an ancient rusted sickle.
You've got the drop on him, but not surprise.