Where’s my Ouija

I had a nice little chat with my friend Stingray today on IM, following up on the progress of his house-buying adventures. I suggested that a previous offer that fell through was meant to be, because the house was built on a Native American burial ground. He said he wouldn’t mind a mild haunting, a little blood on the walls, whatever. I said I’d like a poltergeist that folds laundry. Hello, friendly, helpful haunts! Find me on the Eastside!

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