Casper and Martha are hunting for a midnight meal when their fridge starts behaving like it has opinions. What they find behind the mayonnaise is worse than empty shelves.
Casper was stretched out on the sofa, scrolling through the menu of the local pizzeria with the devotion of a man conducting serious research. In the kitchen, Martha prowled the cupboards with the grim focus of Sherlock Holmes after a bad night and a stronger coffee. Friday had settled over the flat like a warm blanket, except the place smelled more like reheated popcorn and desperation.
"Do we have anything in this house besides stale bread and ketchup?" Martha called, peering into the fridge.
Something answered from inside with a sharp little clink.
Casper lowered the menu. He had just reached the section on "Four-Cheese Pizza: Fact or Fiction?" when he looked up. "Did you hear that?"
"I heard it," Martha said. She shut the door and gave it a cautious tap. The fridge responded with a bounce from somewhere deep in its metal belly, as if it had opinions about being touched.
The counter light clicked on by itself.
Casper sat up straighter. "That is either a wiring problem or a haunting, and frankly I'm not happy with either option."
"You're assuming the fridge is the innocent party here," Martha said.
Then the thing began to burble. Not the polite, refrigerated hum of an appliance doing its job. This was a low, disgruntled gurgle, like it was storing a secret and resenting the effort.
Martha reached for the handle.
The door flew open with a bang.
Inside were the usual suspect jars, a warped half-lemon, and three shelves of items that looked as though they'd been forgotten by several previous owners. But behind a packet of mayonnaise, something green and glossy shifted into view.
An eye.
It blinked once.
Then twice.
And from somewhere in the back of the fridge, just beyond the jars, something gave a soft, deliberate knock.