Shortly after an attempt at sleeping, a tall, ghoulish man with sunken cheeks howl from the hall. “Lower-r-r-r the price of crude oil-l-l-l,” he says from the door. He wears garish blood coloured cloak and spoke in a cruel manner. “Or els-s-s-e-e…”
“I can’t do that. I wouldn’t know where to start. I don’t control the global price of crude oil,” I say.
“Don’t offer me excuses liar!” The door moves ajar at the sound of his voice. He holds in his left hand the decapitated skulls of my landlord’s by the hair. Blood drips from the throats on to the fake hardwood floor in the hallway.
Confused, I mutter, “I’ll see what I can do.”
“You’ll see nothing!” He leans closer and I see a mass of grubs and maggots where his eyes should be. Chunks of meat begin to drop off his face.
“Good lord,” I think as I slam my bedroom door and lock the aluminum knob with a twist.
The creature is still out there. Banging skulls on the floor, howling through the door, scratching at the walls.
The price of crude is set to crest $70 US a barrel and the only idea I can think of to drive the price down is the complete destruction of everything.