(You wave your holy symbol at the zombie and shout "Back, foul beast!". As it vanishes, you realize that you no longer have a misshapen twin brother. A pile of dust sifts to the ground in front of you and the crickets begin to chirp again. They are eerily loud; the sound of your banjo fails to block the chirps no matter how hard you strum.)
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Fee fi fiddle-i-oh
Fee fi fiddle-i-oh oh oh oh
Fee fi fiddle-i-ohhhhhhhhh
Strummin' on my old banjo!
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