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Who knew mass murder could be so prosaic.
“I can’t afford new furniture, Garrett.” “Yeah, but it looks super creepy in here, Dix.” “Will you please stop calling it creepy? It’s not helping.” “Sorry, but I don’t know another word for it.” “How about . . . ‘vintage.’” “Okay,” he said, grinning. “It’s vintage creepy. Does that sound better?”
“Well, if I see any ghosts, I might be banging on your door in the middle of the night.” I said this with a laugh, but I wasn’t joking.
I bit back the urge to tell him to get the hell out of my perfectly lovely haunted house.
