Jack grinned a crooked grin as he watched Beckett struggle against the shackles that bound him to the chair.

Now, you may be wondering just why Jack had Beckett chained to chair. You may also be wondering where that chair was. Well, if you would not be so impatient, dearest readers of mine, all will soon be revealed.

"Why are you doing this, you filthy scoundrel?" Beckett simpered, bouncing up and down in a vain effort to escape. "And why ever do you have me strapped to a chair that has been planted in front of… what is this thing!"

Jack chuckled. "That thing, right there in front of you, is a wonderful thing that has yet to be invented, but I've somehow managed to steal it anyway. It's a television, or a tv, if ye'd prefer. As to why I'm doin' this, well, it's just fer fun."

Beckett squawked like a chicken (for more on this, see chapter five of my story Secret Obsessions.) and rattled the chair furiously.

Ignoring him, Jack walked over to the television and pushed a few buttons. In a short time, a program flickered onto the screen. He laughed again, and walked away from the television, to stand beside Beckett's chair. He wanted to watch Beckett's misery.

Beckett's face paled as the creepy purple… thing on the television started to dance around and sing.

"I love yoooouu! You love meee! We're a happy familyyyy!" the purple thing sang in an obnoxious and nasally voice.

"What is this monstrosity?" Beckett whispered hoarsely.

"I already told you. Now shut up." Jack said, nodding at the television, which had changed to a different scary show now.

"Tinkwinky, Dipsy, Lala, Po! (Po!) Telletubbies! Telletubies!" a chirpy Enlgish voice sang as four scary bright things skipped across the screen.

Beckett gasped in pain and began to writhe in his chair. "No, no! MAKE IT STOOOOOPP!"

"Sorry, mate. No can do." Jack snickered, reveling in Beckett's pain.

The television switched again, and little short people marched around yelling: "BOB THE BUILDER! CAN WE FIX IT? BOB THE BUILER! YES WE CANNNN!"

"Oooohhhhawwehashbrownmuffinface!" Beckett moaned, writhing even more.

This repeated itself for awhile, with various elements of torturous children's shows appearing on the television. Jack was quite enjoying himself when he noticed something odd.

"Beckett, ol' mate?" he said, prodding Beckett in the head with his finger. Beckett didn't respond, he only tipped over (bringing the chair to the ground with him) with a thunk.

Why did he do this?

Well, kiddies, he was dead.

Stone cold dead.

"Oh, well. It's no loss fer the world, is it, then/" Jack shrugged, and walked out of the room, leaving Beckett to rot.