"Jim, what was that?" Cheryl peeped softly from on under her covers. There was an obvious rustling in the hallway outside their bedroom that was concerning her. "Jim, wake up" she said over and over, trying to wake the sleeping giant. Jim tried to swat her away while rambling in coherently.
"Beer, hotdogs, tits, Guantanamo Bay, football" he muttered in his sleep. The rumbling outside got louder and Cheryl more hysterical. Now she was punching to Jim, who woke up startled. But it was too late. Their bedroom door swung open to reveal a masked man pointing a semi-automatic at them.
A bloody end for Jim and Cheryl.