[ WP ] Your narrator seems to think he is narrating a horror story . You 're not amused .

The day broke, gray and sterile. White winds howled across the surface of the black water, while grasping tendrils of chill mist encircled the silent lake house. 
 
 [ *Editor's note: It was a bit overcast. Otherwise, it was a perfectly nice morning. * ] 
 
 The man and the woman arrived. The guttural cries of their creaking automobile echoed across the surrounding forest like the wail of the dead. 
 
 [ *Editor's note: It was Jim Farmer and his wife, Samantha. And they drive a Prius so I doubt it was all that loud. * ] 
 
 Inside the ancient house, a being stirred... 
 
 [ *Editor's note: That's Corey, the house sitter. * ] 
 
 Up above, in the chalk-dry eaves, black-winged bats hung in silent communion. 
 
 [ *Editor's note: Bats actually help keep the mosquito population in check, you know. So let's not start badmouthing the bats. * ] 
 
 The man and the woman entered the house. Inside, a voice like thunder and God's wrath bellowed in terrible protest... a warning all should heed. 
 
 [ *Editor's note: Security system. Top of the line. It's supposed to be loud! And they HAD the code, alright? * ] 
 
 Out on the landing, the man and the woman surveyed the bleak, glass face of the still, ponderous water. Below the black sheen, dead-eyed spirits floated slowly towards the surface... 
 
 [ *Editor's note: Sturgeon. It was sturgeon. Probably some brook trout, too. * ] 
 
 From the quiet shadows of the highest loft, the being began to descend... 
 
 [ *Editor's note: Again, that's Corey. * ] 
 
 The woman felt a chill - a deep chill, one that reached beyond flesh and bone, down to the dark material of the soul. 
 
 [ *Editor's note: It can be chilly on the lake. That's why we always advise people to bring layers. * ] 
 
 The man placed an arm around the woman, but the warmth had gone out of him, gone out of the world that morning... 
 
 [ *Editor's note: Upper 50s! It gets up into the 70s by the afternoon. Just wear a sweater! * ] 
 
 As they huddled in their mutual despair, the being, born of the shadows, passed through the glass partition, unseen and unheard... 
 
 [ *Editor's note: HIS. NAME. IS. COREY! * ] 
 
 In his hand, a sharpened slip of ancient metal, jagged as dragon's fang, cold as the milky expanse of space... 
 
 [ *Editor's note: KEY TO THE BOATHOUSE KEY TO THE BOATHOUSE OH SWEET JESUS IT'S JUST THE GODDAMN KEY TO THE BOATHOUSE. * ] 
 
 The man and the woman felt his presence at last... too late... too slow... the bitter tang of his essence enveloping them, encircling their minds, peeling apart the silken layers of their spirit, strip by strip, until nothing was left, nothing remained but cold husks of bone and sorrow... 
 
 [ *Editor's note: Fine! Fine. I'll talk to Corey about his cologne. * ] 
 
 It's gross. 
 
 [ *Editor's note: I'll talk to him. * ] 
 
 It's Axe body spray. 
 
 [ *Editor's note: Okay. * ] 
 
 He sprays it on like it's suntan lotion. 
 
 [ *Editor's note: It's too much. Got it. * ] 
 
 Like, he just goes crazy with it. 
 
 [ *Editor's note: Uh huh. * ] 
 
 I'm not being sensitive or anything, it's really too much. 
 
 [ *Editor's note: Yes, I get that. * ] 
 
 Okay. But can you not tell Corey I'm the one who complained? 
 
 [ *Editor's note: * Sighs ]
