"Look at the intricate root system. No wonder the grand Oak is stealing the precious nutrients from the Silver Birch trees. You could even say..."

Dexter shuddered as he came a little in his pine-stained overalls. "...that it meets the code."

Conveniently, Ghost Harry popped out from behind a tree, smiling. "That's good, Dex. You've got to be sure that these things are kept satisfied. If you don't...well, you ever wonder why I spent more time with you than Doris? My Dark Passenger has needs too, damn it."

Harry looked to Dexter for a nod of approval, but the jumberjack already had other things on his mind. Bending down, he pointed to a faint trickle of sticky liquid covering the ground by his feet. "See the spatter of the sap on the ground? This type of spray could only be coming out of a dying tree. And look at the mark on the root system jutting out of the ground...the Oak is literally squeezing the life out of this fine Silver Birch."

Dexter patted the tree with great pleasure. "It's trees like this that convinced me to fake my own death in a large storm; throw my sister's dead body into the ocean to be with my victims - all murderers and rapists, essentially; abandon my son and leave him with a well-known serial killer on the run from the law. I feel I've made the right choice."

"That's great, Dexter," Harry proclaimed proudly. "All I've ever wanted for you is for you to be happy. And to be a sociopathic killing machine who would one day tear down the fabric of the whole family."

"Meh, what can you do?" Dexter shrugged. "I mean, the price of a good shrink is just astronomical these days!"

"Tell me about it," Harry chortled. "Definitely better to just create a serial killer and go along with it."

"Word," Dexter spouted. Whilst talking, he had rolled up his flanelette sleves and had prepared his favourite axe for the ritual. Unwrapping his tuna and mayonaise sandwich, which he kept perfectly preserved in a cooler next to his apple and blackcurrent juice, he twirled the wrapping around the tree, murmuring softly to himself. Standing tall and picking up the axe, Dexter knew at once that this was who he was supposed to be, what he was supposed to do. All he needed now was a sweet exit line, and then the deed could be done.

"Well...I guess you should have respected the Hoenn Region and their professor, Oak."

Harry shook his head. "Rubbish."

"Um...why don't you make like yourself and leaf?"

"Bullshit," Harry scolded. "Why don't you make like your sister and die?"

"Fine," Dexter growled. "What are you going to do with all that trunk?"

Dexter's axe thudded into the side of the tree as hard as Isaak would into Viktor. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

He leaned back, smiling at the saved Birch, as satisfied as a viewer after watching the series finale. Rolling his sleeves down again, he breathed in the fresh country air, knowing that nothing could possibly disrupt his beloved and fulfilling lumberjack lifestyle. That was, until, a voice cried out from the darkness suddenly and a strange mist filled the air.

"Fruit flies, mother fucker!"