At first he walked with a slight saunter, thinking how swell he was to find this bottle of wine. But as the booming got louder so did Crispy's walking become more rapid. He was starting to get an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he knew it wasn't just from those slightly green sausages he'd had for dinner. He laughed slightly. He realised suddenly that the sausages had tasted rather like apples, which was an odd sort of realisation to make in this situation, but Crispy was like that. Very suddenly he heard feet walking behind him, and he started to feel quite scared. He was positively bounding up the stairs at this point. It didn't seem like so many on the way down, he mused. When he got to the top, he saw pale moonlight through the door, dove, spun and rolled, just as a small hippoptomas with glowing red eyes flew by over the top of him. He laughed slightly at the thought that he'd dove in the knick of time. The practice is paying off, he thought.

He ran to the door and opened it quickly, all the while hearing footsteps behind him and sounds that made his heart thump. The moonlight hit him harshly. Unfortunately, this is just a description not an actual physical event. It would have been quite a sight to see the moon actually hit someone, but I digress.

Blinded by the light, he staggered out, waving his arms about him, a bottle in each hand. If he could see, he might have been struck by fear (not actually struck, as mentioned before), the devil-pottamus was a mere few feet away, salivating an obscene viscous fluid from all facial orifices. But fortunately for him he did not. All he could do was hope for something to come and rescue him, but the chances of that happening were pretty low really. He stumbled about, his eyes closed tight to protect them from the light. If only Bomb Girl were here to save the day!! But alas she had died in a tragic grenade accident. He staggered further, waving his bottles in a menacing way. Suddenly a gust of wind sprung up causing the tomb doors to slam shut with a loud clang. Crispy got such a fright he dashed forward, arms flailing. All of a sudden there was a smash as one of his bottles connected with some object. He opened an eye and peeked out, there was the devil-pottamus dead at his feet, and a broken bottle in his hand. He laughed slightly, it was his own bottle.

And so, mysteriously, Crispy had yet again escaped almost certain death. Quite lucky, really. With a slight laugh he continued to leap and bound among the graves in joy, and did so until dawn when the groundskeeper threatened him with legal action.

****