I awoke at three in the morning,
My heart raced and my fingers twitched.
The candleabra flickered before going out,
Leaving me in the pitch black.
I pounced out of bed and crept slowly to the doorway,
The faint sound of jazz luring me out to the hall,
And to an eerie trail of buttons.
Tiptoeing slowly,
Down the stairs,
Through the corridor,
And into the kitchen.
There.
A horrifying sight.
A minion in front of my fridge,
Repeating over and over;
"You've run out of milk".