Yesterday, I met a man who was drunk. I had known him for sometime, but only to say hello and goodbye to. I asked him to come to my house. Once he was there he kept insisting we weren't alone. I told him I would take him through each room so he could see for himself. He refused. He sat in front of the piano and we played, he with both hands, me with one. Each time we paused, he yelled that there were three people behind me. I asked him to describe them but he was only able to tell me about one, the same person my daughter insisted she saw, as soon as she could talk. I opened the door to ease his fear and told him I would let them out. I felt them pass by me but I knew it meant nothing: they would return, perhaps in no less than a moment.