I started at the imperative in the voice of the pale-gowned figure in the bed beside the sole window of the cabin, incoming moonlight causing her to appear ghostly. "Oh, ho, ho, ho," I thought, throwing the Angel of Death from me... who ran to the door of the cabin. It was locked. Her tangled and sleep-tossled weave flopping across her shoulders and whipping around her face as she threw terrified glances over her shoulder at me, her NEMESIS, she beat frantically on the timbers. But she was of no consequence, I knew, squinting through bleary, sleep-encrusted eyes at the apparition in the corner, throwing up what looked like gang signs with her hands.... imprecations to who.... SATAN?
Forget the gold.... The Angel of Death was going nowhere anyways.... I thought. No. I didn't think. I acted! I threw the lamp at the head of the apparition. She ducked. Screamed out for the Dark Prince to save her. HA! I ain't skeered o' no monkey-tailed RED man! And I was determined to get my gold!
I ran on winged feet across the hard, planked floors and grabbed the apparition. Flung her around like her master's rag doll. The Angel of Death screamed when she fell to the floor, drooling, expelling body waste onto her pristine white gown and in a heap.
The Angel of Death ran to her minion's side (or Satan's, but a minion, I was sure). "What have you done?!" she cried, looking up at me, horrified.
Engulfed in my own private fog and staring bleary-eyed at the woman's brown-stained gown, I said, wondrously: "I think I just beat the sh*t out of a ghost."