The historical town of Quakehaven had never been so Imperilled. Monsters everywhere, shambling up and down the streets of Quakehaven looking for people to attack - for souls to eat! Many townspeople simply stood outside their houses, eyes closed, waiting for the worst to happen. A Passenger massacre was in full swing and no one was lifting a finger to stop it.
"Get away from here!" I shouted at them as I ran. "It's not too late to escape". No one heeded my advice.
By the time I reached Sub Rosa, bedraggled but relatively unscathed, the last defender lay dead, his eyes open, silver darts embedded in his chest, his staff broken in two and discarded into the gutter like a dead stick. I bent over to inspect his corpse and nearly vomited: it was Mr Walker, the basketball coach. I closed his eyes gently.
Strong hands suddenly encircled my waist and flung me down hard onto the bitumen. The monster snarled, its breath a cloud of gunpowder and garlic.
Flat on my back, I could do nothing but gape, stunned, at my bizarre assailant. It was very short, with a squat body and chicken legs. Atop its legs sat an enormous gut, like Uncle Gerry's. Its head was a bowling ball, with dish-like, glowing eyes, and inset jaws like the metal grate of an incinerator.
The monster pinned me to the ground with its chicken talons.
"What are you?" I shrieked, trying to prise its sucker-fingers off my chest. I succeeded in detaching the beast's left index sucker with a wet and painful pop and saw that the sucker featured crown-shaped cogs of whirling, red teeth.
"Call me Joke," said the monster, in a sing-song voice, then squealed with enraged joy as its mouth plate retracted.