I was picking a piece of viscera out of my teeth with a thin shard of femur when I received a communication from a littermate, one I long assumed had either trudged off to Alaska with the grizzlies or finally fallen into a ravine as dinner for the coyotes.

It was always the same spot. The exact same spot. First it was a money plant. Then a bird of paradise several weeks later. Then an aloe which was quickly followed by a schefflera. It took me a few months to realize it was always on that particular spot of the windowsill. I would wake in the morning to find one of my houseplants shriveled and crumpled as though it had been strangled in the night.

“This wallpaper is almost psychedelic,” Rian said, running his hand along the pattern. Up close, the image was beautiful, but uncanny. “It looks like eyes.”

“I kind of see a mouth,” Toby said, placing their weekend bag on the bed.

It began when a tiny sputtering stream of water rained down on Kevin O’Donnell’s forkful of au gratin potatoes as he lifted them towards his mouth. He paused, examining his fork, and then he looked across the dining room table at his wife, Tori who had also witnessed the offending water spout.

“May I have your name, sir?” asked the mousy young woman who stood just beyond the threshold of the concave wooden door.

“Yes. It is Edward Irving,” I replied.

Having been dispatched by S.P.O.O.K. to investigate the Weill family and Summerland, their “institute for psychical research,” I gave a pseudonym, wishing to keep my identity a secret for obvious reasons.

Gary circled September 29, 1974 in his date book in bold red marker. He dared not write anything else, for fear of jinxing it. That night, in the chill of the garage he rented from his landlord, under sepulchral fluorescents, the turntable-sized machine clicked and hummed on the workbench.

John lightly held the reins with his left hand while Betsy snuggled under his right arm. They were worn ragged after losing Johnny. Weighing flour, oats, and tea at the grocery brought her some distraction. John had not found peace. His agitation flared when she convinced him to attend this tomfoolery.