Samara ventured into the long dark corridor, deep within CRASH Towers. What was that strange noise? It sounded like an animal, but what was it doing here? Had one of Phil’s sheep lost its way? Yes, the sound was a distinct ‘baa’.

But then, Samara heard a strange voice whispering ‘Come closer, come closer’. A shiver ran down her spine as she found the way ahead was blocked by a pile of old AMTIX! binders covered in cobwebs. She could now hear footsteps coming from behind her. But as the shadows grew shorter, her anguish was quelled. The face of Phil King appeared from beyond the shadows, but he wasn’t happy. In fact, he looked decidedly bedeviled by what stood before him.

‘Baa! You’ve insulted one of my sheep for the last time Miss Sugar Face! One of my cousins lost his eyes to your Christmas lunch and now he has to have a guide-chihuahua. So now prepare to meet your death: we’re having Samara pie for dinner.’

With that, Phil drew an axe from his side. He swiped at Samara’s neck, one blow was enough. Torrents of crimson blood spewed out in a jet, leaving her head lying in the pool of her own blood. The hardened adventure reviewer had been in many dangerous situations in her travels but this time her luck was out — never to see Egypt again.

Mercifully, she could not know that the depraved reviewer then lopped off her limbs and tore out her intestines to make a nice pie (with Grandma Mangram’s special pastry recipe), put it on gas mark 4 for two hours and had a nice dinner with diced carrots, mashed potato and treacle tart for pud. The adventure column was now King’s. He sat down contented with the thought this was the best meal he’d had in ages.