I was an exterminator, and my last job has driven me to early retirement. There are pretty

much sums of the story. Have you ever seen those shows where they send

in people in hazmat suits to clean up the crap-powered mountains of Horde garbage? Yeah, well that

was me. On top of deep cleaning homes, I had the lovely job of exterminating the swarms

of pests that thrived in those conditions. I've seen things you wouldn't imagine.

Bathtubs filled with roaches, living and dead, laid on top of each other like a crunchy

crawling lasagna. Oh, and there was this one time where me and my partner Phil went into

a house with, and I quote, a small rat problem. Let me tell you, there was nothing small

about them. They were like rats and roids. Phil even joked, he saw he saw one with a

teardrop tattoo and a switchblade. I digress. The reason I'm telling you all this is

so you understand, so you can tell that I'm just an average Joe. Literally, my name

is Joe, and I'm a sane, straight-shooting working-class bloke. That's important you

see, but what I'm about to tell you will make you question the validity of my story, but

I swear to you that it is the honest truth. About a week ago, we got a call for a job

just outside of Kansas. There was a little farmstead with the owner complaining about a

vermin problem. Rats, no problem, I thought it was Phil Tommy. I mean, having dealt with

cat-sized roid rats, I was pretty sure I could handle whatever pests were running a muck

on a farm. Besides, Phil had assured me that this was going to be an easy job. I had no

reason to think he'd be wrong. So, we went out to the home of a woman who called a Mrs.

Kederwell. Across the agrid wastes we drove, and upon driving up the dirt road, I could

see it. A little farm with a crooked, crudely-crafted

windmill spinning slowly beside it. The place was quaint, like a dream of yesterday, that

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