My work as a personal body guard takes me to a small town in a country that is
distinguished by its extreme weather phenomena. I am employed by a gentleman who
fears for his life, threatened, as he is, by dark threats of sickening
violence delivered by unknown persons over the telephone.
preliminary investigations, it becomes clear that the telephone calls are an
invention produced by the imagination of my client. Nonetheless, his fear is
real and I begin to wonder if, despite appearances, there may be some truth in
his fears. My hunch proves right when, one night, my client's guttural
screaming summons me to his bedroom. There, shifting from foot to foot and
hyperventilating with feral excitement, is a foul creature from the
underworld. The demon takes one look at me and seems to dismiss me as a minor
player in this drama. He is wielding a large machete at my client, relishing
the fear this engenders. My client is blubbering at me to do something.
fact, I had suspected that demons may have been at the bottom of this job, and
have taken the precaution of acquiring a phony machete of flimsy wooden
manufacture. I tease the demon with childish taunts, and, as he rushes at me,
I dextrously swap the machetes.
It is only very slightly later, when my client's
head is sliced off, that I realise I have made an error. My career is