Machete

My work as a personal body guard takes me to a small town in a country that is distinguished by its extreme weather phenomena. I am employed by a gentleman who fears for his life, threatened, as he is, by dark threats of sickening violence delivered by unknown persons over the telephone.
After some preliminary investigations, it becomes clear that the telephone calls are an invention produced by the imagination of my client. Nonetheless, his fear is real and I begin to wonder if, despite appearances, there may be some truth in his fears. My hunch proves right when, one night, my client's guttural screaming summons me to his bedroom. There, shifting from foot to foot and hyperventilating with feral excitement, is a foul creature from the underworld. The demon takes one look at me and seems to dismiss me as a minor player in this drama. He is wielding a large machete at my client, relishing the fear this engenders. My client is blubbering at me to do something.
In fact, I had suspected that demons may have been at the bottom of this job, and have taken the precaution of acquiring a phony machete of flimsy wooden manufacture. I tease the demon with childish taunts, and, as he rushes at me, I dextrously swap the machetes.
It is only very slightly later, when my client's head is sliced off, that I realise I have made an error. My career is finished.