The Man With The Axe

I'm looking down at a couple of thick, hairy legs, wearing some sort of very old lumberjack boots, with an axe resting against the right leg. A big muscular tattooed arm with some really ugly scars comes down and picks up the axe. I slowly shift my gaze up. I see past his worker's shorts, his red checked half-torn shirt, and then I see his vicious face with the yellow eyes, and a predatory expression playing across it. The yellow eyes looked at me, like some creature about to devour its prey. And then he lifted the axe above his head, held it steady with both hands, and aimed it right at my neck. He pulled the axe back for the swing. That's when I started screaming.