Jerald cowered, waiting for the ax to descend. His ax-murderer flexed his shoulders and the ax swung downwards, the sharp blade making a whooshing sound. It chimed metallically as it struck a surprisingly solid silver tea-tray that appeared between the ax and Jerald's head.
"What the-?" said the ax-murderer staggering backwards slightly as the ax jarred in his hands.
"I'm terribly sorry, Sir," said the wielder of the silver tea-tray, stepping out of the undergrowth. He was wearing a smart black tuxedo with a starched white shirt underneath, carrying a silver tea-tray in one hand and an elegant silver teapot in the other. His back was ram-rod stiff. "It would simply not be the done thing to kill Master Jerald in cold blood like that. It's not sporting."
Jerald stared in disbelief at his British butler, Simpsonkins.
"Simpsonkins," he said, "what are you doing out here?"
"I was intended to murder you, Sir," said the butler. "I've sharpened the edges of this tea-tray especially to use as a decapitating frisbee (patent pending), and the tea in the tea-pot is scaldingly hot."
"Hey!" said the ax-murderer, "He's my kill! I saw him first!"
"On the contrary, Sir, I have been plotting to kill him for the last six months. He cuts the top off his boiled eggs instead of breaking them open with a boiled-egg-spoon."
"A boiled-egg-spoon. You have to be British and employ a butler to understand, Sir."
"You're going to kill me over that? Simpsonkins, isn't that a little... irrational?"
The butler's answer was to pour some of the scalding hot tea into Jerald's lap and Jerald's scream was shrill and eerie enough to be a perfect fit for the dark woods late at night. The ax-murderer nodded in grim satisfaction, this was the kind of scream he'd been hoping for himself. He raised the ax over his head again.
"My turn," he said, "It's time to die, again!"