Many years ago, In a land far far away, I used to fly a DHC-6 (Twin Otter) single crew out in the desert. I carried all sorts backwards and forwards, and one or two people were always out and back with me. One regular would sit in the right hand empty pilots seat, and from time to time would have a go at some straight and level. He became good enough so that I could then read a book. It had no autopilot, so I was always pleased to see him.
Eventually he announced that this flying lark looked easy and that he could land if I dropped dead. So I said, there you go, You have control, I am now dead.
We started level at 10,000'. He pushed the nose down to descend and trimmed it all out very nicely. So far so good. He did however forget to reduce the power, so I had to intervene before the wings blew off, and or, the engines over sped. We continued to hurtle downwards and at some ridiculous speed pointed it at the runway. With some lurching and pulling and pushing we got it lined up. He then decided that flaps would be a good idea. I had to prevent that from happening. Still going far to fast. The relationship between power speed and attitude was lost upon the novice, and I had to take it away from him to rescue me and him from imminent disaster.
He would have definitely have died, had I been dead.