Ever since I was a child I used to work at papa's slaughter house. I grew up working there and when my daddy died after being stamped on by three untamely beasts, I took over his business. From that day onwards we killed 20-a-day until there were none left. This was to make sure that my daddy's killers ended up as minced beef. But after the last one, Marvin, had met the axe I found myself getting scared at night, feeling as though there was some form of presence about me. The fear of ghost cows is called, as far as I know; bovinospiraphobia. Good day.
