Page 78 of The Witching Hours

“Well, it transformed itself into the shape of a head. A big round meatloaf head, kind of like Charlie Brown. The cartoon?”

“Yes. I know Charlie Brown.”

“It was horrifying. And, if that was horrifying for me, I can’t help wondering what this stuff is doing to our kids.”

“You said it talked. What did it say?”

“It said not to eat it or we’d be sorry.”

“I have to ask. Did you?”

“Of course not. Would you?”

“Probably not. Sounds like an appetite suppressant. What did you do with it?”

“I put it in a plastic bag, waited until late at night, took it down the block to a vacant lot and buried it.” I sighed. “What’s wrong? That was the wrong thing to do, wasn’t it?”

“Let’s finish my questionnaire then circle back to the interred meatloaf.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t suppose Bob is in a position to take the dogandthe kids? Just until this is settled?”

“I’d have to tell him why and he’d…”

“He’d think you’re all certifiable.”

“I don’t want anybody telling my kids they’re not experiencing what they’re experiencing. Somehow, I think that would do more damage than living with whatever this is.”

“I believe you are right on both counts.” It seemed like a good segue to resume my questionnaire. “Are you experiencing phenomenon at any particular time of day?”

“No. All day. All night.” His voice broke a little. “We’re all so… tired.”

“I can imagine. Tell me, is there a particular part of the house where stuff is more likely to occur?”

“Things happen all over the house. Yesterday, my wife went to the grocery store after picking up the kids from school. She came home and put everything away. When it was time to cook dinner, it was all gone.”

“The food?”

“Everything she’d bought yesterday and everything that was here right down to salt and pepper. Pantry and refrigerator were completely empty. I got to tell you that we’re one of those families they talk about on the news who’re a few hundred dollars away from ruin at any given time. Having all our food disappear really hurt. Oh, wait. I forgot to mention the dining room table. It seems to be an irritant.”

“What do you mean?”

“Half a dozen times we’ve come down in the morning to find the dining room table moved to the middle of the living room. Once it was even in the backyard. Molly, my wife, used to be an athlete. She’s strong enough to help me put it back. Thank goodness. Hiring movers to put furniture back where it goes would be such a crazy use of money. Especially when we have to be careful about food. Now we try not to buy more than we need for a half day at a time. It’s a pain.”

“It’s almost like the entities have you under siege. Meaning that, since they haven’t scared you away, Plan B is to deprive you of food until you give up.”

“If they want us out so bad, all they have to do is get us a new house. At this point we’d go gladly.”

I laughed softly. “Far too rational. I find that reason rarely comes into play with unusual occurrences such as these.”

“Spirit psychopathy?”

“Well. Gosh. I hope not, but let’s do one step at a time.”

“Agreed.”

“Your eleven-year-old. Is he pubescent?”