You meet a police officer. Luckily her English is perfect and you explain what's just happened.
"There was a farm house here 30 years ago but it burnt down... very tragic," she says. She looks as though she is lost in thought. "Such a strange smell of garlic when it burnt. So very strange. But I suggest you get out of here. Drive your car and go."
You pause to look back. Sure enough there is nothing there where the farmhouse stood except for a few blackened rocks that are partially covered with moss.
You get back into the rental car and then realise that it won't start.
A man wearing a 17th-century red coat and ruff comes running down the road in hot pursuit of a monkey carrying some petrol. The man is blowing on a whistle. His face has gone bright red. The monkey pours the petrol into your car, tosses a box onto the back seat and tries to drive off.
"Hang on a moment!" you shout and jump in. The monkey drives with one hand on the steering wheel and one on the rotting banana he's eating. The man chasing you is the fastest runner you've ever seen and he starts to chase the car, still blowing on the whistle.
"Where did you learn to drive like that?" you ask the monkey, who's now moved onto mouldy strawberries.
The monkey eats a mouldy watermelon and turns slowly to look at you. His breath is none too fresh.
"I've selected Chris Richards," he says.
He asks you to hand him the box on the back seat. You do so. In it is a whole lot more rotting fruit.
As the fast runner follows you, still blasting away on that whistle, the monkey imitates everything he does - his whistling, his method of running and even his red face.
"Why's he chasing you?" you ask.
The monkey turns slowly to face you. In between chewing on some rotten mangoes and keeping his eye on the road he says, simply, "I've elected Chris Richards".