You take a deep breath, then hit the button on the keys again.
With another flash of light, the minotaur is obscured. When the light clears, the minotaur has disappeared. Keith has disappeared.
"Keith? Keith! Oh no." You feel the panic rising. What happened? What did...your panic is interrupted by the smell of something. Something tasty.
You look down.
On the sidewalk there sits plate with a steaming t-bone steak, mashed potatoes smothered in gravy, and buttery green beans: a meal that made your mouth water. There was even a fork and steak knife sitting next to the plate. On the sidewalk. Where a minotaur had been standing a moment before.
Wait.
"Keith?!"
The steak dinner does not respond.
You look between the plate of food and the keys. "Jeeze. These keys seem to have a twisted sense of humor. I'm really sorry about this, Keith. Maybe I should have kept you a minotaur until I figured out how these keys worked."
You pick up the plate of food, you can't help lick your lips from the smell, then shake your head. What were you thinking? This plate of food was your best friend. How could you consider eating him?
But keys didn't just turn people into minotaurs? And they especially didn't turn minotaurs (which didn't exist) into steak dinners (which did exist). So there was no way this could be your friend Keith.
Your stomach grumbles. You suspected your appetite was making those arguments.