The crash of thunder cues a harsh peck at the door. The peck again grows louder with the roar of the skies, forcing the young lad sat home alone to open the door.

It swings open, and a flash of the lightning reveals an ominous goose stood firm, a bowler hat sat proud on his head. He waddles his way up to the young lad and utters these words.

“The skies belly grumbles tonight for she must be hungry for some justice”

The thunder crashes once more. The young boy nervously invites Mr Goose into his home.

They sit on opposite sides of the small oak table for two sat barren in the kitchen, steaming cups of tea for the both of them cloud the room gradually.

The goose speaks again.

“The Duck brothers down by the marsh regret to inform me of some unpaid debt on your families behalf. Do you claim ownership of this misconduct youngster?”

The boy gulps, seemingly swallowing a small golf ball, before he nods his head forward.

Mr Goose continues.

“As I expected… Now the bread tax has been one implemented for many a year now, and for good reason I’ll have you know. So if you ever were to find yourself wandering around the marshes again with that troll of a mother and mutt of a dog you best remember…”

A small pause between the two of them before Mr Goose erupted.

“YOU BEST PAY THE FUCKING BREAD TAX, FOR IF I FIND MYSELF IN THIS SLUM AGAIN, YOU’LL OWE ME MORE THAN A SLICE OF BREAD”

Mr Goose took a deep breath.

“Is that crystal for you?”

The young boys eyes started to well up, but he nodded in agreement nonetheless.

Mr Goose pushed back his chair before hoping off and making his way back into the storm.