I find Mr. Gray in Putnam’s writing room on the second floor. The mutt stares at the wall above the desk and growls. He barks once, twice, and three times. Nothing’s there, of course. No spirit, orb, or ghost. If something’s there, it’s invisible, naked to the human eye.
Putnam’s house has to be 110 years old, like other houses in the Fairmount area. I’m sure the homes are loaded with ghosts and goblins and supernatural demons from hell. No biggie for me though, since I’m only spending this last night; the second of two. But I’m not about to tolerate Mr. Gray’s barking, which drives me nuts, particularly since I’m trying to read. After he lets out two more barks, I snap at him, “Quiet!” and he listens to me. In fact, he lets out a tender and almost hurtful cry, turns on his thin legs, bol
