"Aaaaaahhhhhh!!!" I clutch my ears from the intolerable noise. For many years I have endured the constant singing and pounding of the Danes. But after another tortuous night of the same sounds of pleasure and joy, I finally snap and take ahold of the situation. Charging from my cave I make a quick dash through my dreary swampland for Herot, where they do their merriment. The unbearable banging fuels me with anger and hatred. I transform into a midnight stalker and lone-walker. When I arrive at the shimmering Herot, I creep sneakily into the precious building. Thirty men are lying on the floor sleeping, helpless and vulnerable. The living, breathing humans drive my blood to a steaming boil. I become a food hunter of souls. I start to feed on each corpse after tearing them limb from limb. Ah, human blood tastes so divine, heavenly, and mouthwatering than all the other food I have ever eaten. I devour all thirty men loving the taste as it satisfies my hunger and desire to silence them. My work here is finally done. I knew I could shower a reign of terror upon all the land as a human killer and spine chiller. So, I start to retreat back home knowing that I could sleep peacefully from now on.
Thud, thud, thud, bam, thud, thud, thud, bam… Oh no, not again! Do those Danes know how to keep quiet even after twelve years? Lately, I have heard around my land that a defender of the Geats is coming to kill me. Pish-posh. No one can defeat me the guardian of crime, captain of evil. Aggravated in being woken up another time I get up from the cold, slimy ground and leave my lovely abode. As I turn the corner to arrive at Herot, I smell the metallic blood pumping through human veins. Tonight is going to be a delicious feast. Upon entering the building the men look different, I have never seen them before. Hmm, all well. I pick my first target. I enjoy chewing the skull of the man, then sucking the blood from the severed neck. Oh how I have missed being a bone crusher and blood gusher. Satisfied I look at the other men. I turn my attention to my next meal. Reaching down to kill the foolish man, I am startled when he opens his eyes and grabs me with both hands around my wrists. I pull back so I can release myself from his grip, but he has too strong of a hold on me. It is unnatural for this kind of strength in a human. Something is not right about him. I struggle to loosen the firm grip of the man. In despair I try to tug his arm free but it is a fruitless attempt. He is determined to hold his grasp. As a result, I pull so hard one way and he pulls the other way that it rips my arm from the shoulder off. I have never felt something more painful than this experience. Still in panic I run like a dog with its tail between his legs away from the tortuous doors of Herot. I flee back home looking for Mother, meanwhile blood oozes out from my wound. I finally make it to the marshes and I collapse on the ground slowly dying. I start to weep aware of the fact that my final hours are near.