Boxjen and Boxmichael slumbered peacefully in their hollowed-out banjos. Their slumber filled the attic almost to overflowing.
Beneath them, in the shed, Boxalex the dolphin, swam about nervously. Boxalex felt small vibrations not unlike pure evil, and this worried him. Boxalex tried to warn his masters using a few high-pitched squeals, some splashes and a few colour graphs, but it was no use. They were too slumberly.
Back upstairs, Boxjen and Boxmichael were still asleep, completely unaware of Boxalex's urgent warnings. Suddenly, at the window, there appeared a long, dark, evil shadow, with a shape reminiscent of an oval. Boxmichael awoke suddenly, gagging on his own terror. Every organ in his body--and even some that weren't--began pumping out gallon after gallon of pure adrenaline. The horror permeated not just his mind, but every molecule of his body. Boxmichael began to scream the scream of a wounded vulture, his body managing to remain solid only through intense self-control. All the glass in the universe shattered at the sound of Boxmichael's infinitely tortured, hideous and terror- filled wail. Soon enough the blood began to shoot out--at first, it was simply a few spurts from his ears, but then these were joined by harsh, gushing jets streaming from his eyes and nostrils, and soon enough vast, powerful sprays emanating from his fingers, knees and shoulders, and then thin, horror-filled jets of blood began to spray in all directions from his tongue, skin, hair and teeth with laser-like intensity. Boxmichael was scared.
There was a faint rustling sound--just the leaves, or huge masses of long, dark, evil corn husks rubbing against one another as they gathered around his home, plotting an end to himself and the still innocently slumbering Boxjen? Boxmichael managed to control his escalating panic and reach for the hole, which he jumped down just in time, barely avoiding huge flowing torrents of Boxjen's thick, syruppy and rather sweet-tasting blood.
Boxmichael landed with a bloody thump as he entered Boxalex's shed. The water turned a long, dark, evil shade of red, and Boxalex swam in terror-filled circles. Boxmichael stood still and screamed, and screamed, and screamed, as husk after husk entered the shed through the long, dark, evil hole in the ceiling, and began to float limply about. Boxalex exploded into a huge red cloud of blood and driftwood, in a spectacle which altered the continent's outlook on the relationship between life and art for nearly a generation. Boxmichael just kept screaming, and in the end, it worked.