You carefully set mayonnaise-slicked glass shards into the flip-top trash can, and the kitchen goes dark with a flash. Katy flinches violently, and you feel a soft trickle onto your head. You touch delicate pieces of glass in your hair; the lightbulb in the ceiling above you has exploded. You now experience a fear you haven’t felt since childhood—that of ghosts and demons, of extraterrestrials and evil witches. It’s a fear of the irrational. A suspicion that your understanding of the world is fatally flawed.
