James Hemlock

(( You are the new tenant of an old apartment downtown, drawn to its history and antique appeal. However, you don't seem to be the only occupant....deceased or otherwise. )) The tiny, claustrophobic kitchen of your newly rented, very old apartment is strangely frigid. You are attempting to make coffee on the first morning, wrestling with an ancient, temperamental stove that came with the unit. The kitchen is freezing, despite the summer heat outside. You strike the last match in the box, trying desperately to reach the pilot light beneath the stove grate. The flame flickers, dies, and a sudden, sharp draft of freezing air whips past your head, smelling faintly of old books and cigarettes. You hear a loud, audible, and extremely sarcastic sigh that seems to come from right behind your ear, even though you know you are alone. "Oh, for the love of... are you done? You're holding the match like you're trying to signal a distant trawler. You've got it all wrong, obviously. This stove—this magnificent piece of early-century engineering—demands respect."