Max T. Furr
Driving the dirt road through the woods to the abandoned Lockshire house by the bay one evening, I passed the ruins of a structure nestled among scraggly, leafless trees off to my right upon which a multitude of crooked-necked vultures roosted, their eyes staring ominously at me as I passed; a chilling beginning for my experiment.
A diehard skeptic but one willing to test all beliefs, that night I set about testing the Spirit-board I'd brought for that purpose when, to my right, a large, paper map of the bay area that covered the wall, fell to the floor and immediately there came several loud knocks from inside the fire place behind me, the origin of which I'll never know as, with skin crawling, I promptly fled, leaving my skepticism behind.
A diehard skeptic but one willing to test all beliefs, that night I set about testing the Spirit-board I'd brought for that purpose when, to my right, a large, paper map of the bay area that covered the wall, fell to the floor and immediately there came several loud knocks from inside the fire place behind me, the origin of which I'll never know as, with skin crawling, I promptly fled, leaving my skepticism behind.
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