By his testimony, he just enjoys the sport of getting bitten by a handful of soil.

Every grain of sand on this beach is white except for the small ebony which like blackened coral littered the seashore. The white crystal sand was indeed rare, spotted from far away in a protected alcove by the sea. A man sat there in the smooth recesses of the cliff edge, but he was hidden by dry branches in between him and you.

You can see nobody in the alcove and you think of going up there, which you would never do for fear of robbery. But it was a retreat area on the island and you relied on being solitary. Much to your discerning terror, the man was there, and was fully awake, holding a big white walking stick.

"We'll be here for hours fighting to death."

These cold words dripped down the alcove walls and landed in your ears immediately after losing a secure exit. "Ay? Hay, what did you say? Aie?"

"I said, I'll be trying to kill you for a few hours before you finally bite it."

You jumped into the water, completely helpless, and the man came down around the sand and tugged on your feet. You kicked and struggled, escaping into the deeper water. "I'll kill you as soon as the soil bites your face, and then we'll be one again."

Obviously being attacked by a nutter fool, you take your chances at the sea and drown.

Death comes swift and wet and the pain of suffocation is only relieved by the ascension to a heavenly host bar. At the bar, there was a waiting list, and you sat there in the red light bounced off wine bottles and wonder what happened.As soon as the soil bites your face the man who killed you said. What would have happened if you lived to see your wife again?

Suddenly, you got a good look at the host. It was the killer.

"I just enjoy the sport of getting bitten by a handful of soil," he said, shining a wine glass.