When Randy had first arrived in Wolf, clutching the printout from the realtor’s website, he’d had two suitcases and his laptop bag. They now rested on the bed, open, getting filled at a rate that was surprisingly quick for someone who had to do the back and forth between dresser and bed with a limp. As he packed, his rage grew.
It was two-thousand and fourteen. It was a world of realistic explanations for the things that people used to think were outside of the realm of understanding. There were scientists, and forensic examiners, and psychiatrists. There was medication to balance those brains that couldn’t let go of the psychosis that made them believe that the bumps in the night and the scratches behind walls were anything other than shifting foundations and rodents. Sure, there were fa
