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I turned it back on, then off… then on again.

The son lowered his pizza. “Okay.”

The wife reached toward the lamp, but before her hand got there, I shut it off again.

Everybody got quiet.

I smiled.

Her husband stood. “Could be a loose connection.”

Of course.

There was always one mothafucka determined to explain everything.

He walked toward the lamp, and I let him get close enough to reach for the switch before I turned the TV off.

Both teenagers yelled.

The husband spun around. “Who touched the remote?”

The remote sat untouched on the coffee table between two pizza boxes.

Nobody answered.

I turned the TV back on.

The son stared at it while his sister pulled the blanket higher beneath her chin. “Dad.”

“It’s probably the electrical system.”

This nigga gon’ blame faulty wiring until I damn near sit in his lap.

Say less.

The chandelier over the foyer started swinging… not hard, just enough.

The crystals clicked softly against one another as it moved, making this faint tinkling sound that carried farther than it should’ve in the sudden quiet.

The wife slowly stood. “Okay. Why is that moving?”

Nobody had an answer.

You need me to spell it out too?

Cold air suddenly rushed through the vents, hard enough to stir the curtains even though the thermostat was set to heat. The temperature seemed to drop with it, that sharp kind of cold that went straight through clothes instead of simply cooling a room.

The daughter pulled the blanket tighter around herself. “I don’t like this!”

Neither do I.

That’s the whole fucking point.

A heavy thud sounded upstairs.

All of them whipped their heads toward the ceiling.

The father stepped into the foyer. “Hello?”