It was the vilest creature ever to disturb my vision. Eight hairy legs propelled it with preternatural haste, yet total silence. Obsidian orbs glinting with evil studded its twitching head.
The hound, whose virtues do not necessarily include courage, stared in shocked confusion at the horrendous creature approaching us, and then retreated with a low growl.
My heart thundered in my chest, adrenaline gushing through my veins. It is at times of such intractable peril that it is revealed whether one is a man or a mouse.
I fled to the kitchen.
Once there, I seized the newspaper and returned to the defiled sanctity of my solar to confront the hellish demon. It seemed to have grown during my brief absence, swollen with wickedness and terror.
But I am a man. And, what's more, a Yorkshireman at that. It takes more than a bowel-emptying nightmare from the ninth circle of Hell to drive me from my own castle. I advanced towards the octopedal beast and lashed out with my mighty weapon.
My demonic foe's swiftness evaded the strike, and, for a panic-stricken moment, I was unsure whence it had gone. Frenzied searching revealed it, and I struck a second time. Fortune smiled upon my heroic endeavour, and I pulverised the intruder.
Such an unholy creation was unworthy of civilised burial, so I disposed of the fiend in the bin. The hound returned, tail wagging in celebratory congratulation, and there was much rejoicing.
Thaddeus, Slayer of Demons
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