“Is this bullshit?”
“Oh, no, my dear,” she says vehemently, shaking her head. “I assure you, this is the farthest thing from bullshit.”
As more evidence of my crumbling grip on reality, I spend a moment debating with myself about the difference between the words furthest and farthest. Then I sigh and give up.
“Fine. We’ll do the séance in Michael’s office. But if the Ghost of Christmas Past shows up, I can’t be held responsible if I crack and bludgeon it with the nearest heavy object. Let’s get this over with.”
I turn and walk down the hall, listening to their footsteps behind me and wondering if it would be poor spiritual etiquette to drink wine during a séance.
I have a feeling I’m going to need booze before this is done.
I open the door to the office and switch on the lights. Step
