So this is how it's going to end? my desperate mind babbled. After all those loyal years working in the cheese factory? My volunteer service at the vasectomy clinic? The all you can eat haggis tournament and championship? All of it for nothing? Somehow, I'd envisioned my death to be a little less involved than this. The heels of my boots dug into the softened dirt of the man's floor. If I was going to die, I wanted to be on my feet when it happened. My visual perception was crazier than a jar of assorted nuts. The man was laughing now. Actually, he had been laughing for some time. Then, as the laughter grew louder, I realized that the sound was not coming from anywhere inside the house. My captor must've noticed it as well, because for a moment, his attention was focused on the mystery noise, and not on me. Here's your chance. Get the hell out while you still can. But I was glued to the spot. The laughing was replaced by a primal scream more fantastic than anything I'd ever heard at the "War Cry and Grunting Ceremonies" I sometimes used to attend. There was a distinctive chewing sound from outside, as someone, or something, began to eat its way into the cardboard walls. And with a final tear from the enforced front door, the screaming intruder tumbled into the living room. Although my vision was deceptive, I could still decipher it's identity. It was Skeet, the man's pet goat. I caught a look on his face that was unmistakably one of revenge. I saw in his eyes the years of torture and abuse he must've suffered at the hands of his master. All the kicks to the backside, all the cursing, all the beatings. He had a look of desperation. Of being pushed to the point where thoughts of brutal murderous revenge filled his mind. He turned his head, and his blazing eyes stared into my soul. And then, in a cheesy British accent, he spoke.

"Just stay right there bloke, I'll be but a minute."

I sat there, my muscles relaxing to the consistency of jello. The whole experience seemed so external. It felt like "The Fight of the Century" between two pro-wrestling super- giants at the peak of their testosterone-fueled, steroid-laced careers, both told before the match that their mothers had been murdered and their bodies defiled by the opposite man. And I, the lowly spectator, was in the ring with them. A brakeless drag racer heading toward a brick wall. A diver cageless in the middle of a great white feeding frenzy. It was the dance of madmen. The goat circled. White, frothy spittle flicking from its curled lips. I reveled in the satisfaction, as I'm sure Skeet did, at seeing a being so clearly consumed by possessing power over others, reduced to nothing more than a frightened child. It was quite a transformation. Clearly, the thing, whatever it was, recognized the desire in the animal's eyes. I kept waiting, holding my breath for the being to strike back, to reassume it's control of the situation. Lucky for you (whoever may be reading this tale,) I had to draw air. Otherwise, you might be stuck reading this page for quite some time. Because the moment I was waiting for, never came. Fear gets the best of inter-dimensional creatures as well, I suppose.

Skeet turned his attention back to me once more. He spoke quickly.

"Avert your eyes, stranger. No matter what happens, do not look back. Do it now for bleeding sake, you will know when it's safe."

Feeling I had no other alternative, I turned my back, and closed my eyes. I could hear the goat advancing on his captor, his four hoofed feet scuffing up the hard dirt. What followed can only be described as, well, indescribable. To the best of my ability, I can only say that the noise I heard that day would shame even the best fictional monster that was distinctively characterized as something with a rather nasty, and original screech. This horrible sound was followed by a brilliantly intense light, which seeped through the cracks of my closed lids, and pierced my sensitive pupils. Seconds later, the light and noise died. I was left with a bright, flash bulb impression directly in front of my field of vision. It told the story of a sad, pathetic soul, sucked back into some lifeless void from where it was born. I heard Skeet's voice, much stronger than ever before.

"Turn around my friend."

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