Page 160 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

Apparently, you're expected to engage in this long, tedious dance of mutual deception before anyone decides you're trustworthy. You have to ask about their careers even though neither of you actually cares. You have to nod politely while they explain mortgage rates, meal-prepping, or why gluten personally offended them in 2019. You pretend their vacation photographs are fascinating. They pretend your story about accidentally killing your basil plant deserves sympathy.

Then, after approximately seventeen carefully monitored conversations, you're allowed to text each other first. It's ridiculous. Honestly, I think children had the superior operating system.

So.

Naturally.

I decided to bypass the traditional channels entirely. The laptop glowed a pale blue against the kitchen table, the screen throwing cold light across the old maple wood while the rest of the cottage still sat wrapped in the soft gold of early morning. Outside, fog drifted lazily between the birch trees, and somewhere deeper in the valley, a woodpecker had declared war on something that probably deserved it.

I opened an anonymous online forum. The cursor blinked patiently waiting, probably expecting professionalism. It was about to be disappointed. I rested my fingers on the keyboard before typing my title with great care.

Looking for Psycho Friends (Female Preferred)

I leaned back and read it once. Tilted my head.

"Perfect."

"You're going to attract tax auditors."

Gerald's horrified voice floated across the table from his usual position beside the butter dish. His tiny painted eyes were so wide I worried one might actually pop loose.

"The phrasing lacks structural ambiguity," he continued, already spiralling into bureaucratic despair. "It's an open invitation for federal observation. This is exactly how people end up in psychological evaluations."

Frank didn't even look up from the windowsill.

"She's filtering."

Gerald turned toward him so fast his little red hat nearly tipped sideways.

"Filtering?"

"Mm."

Frank shrugged.

"If somebody replies enthusiastically to an advertisement titled Looking for Psycho Friends, they've already saved everyone a tremendous amount of time."

"They could be dangerous!"

"They could."

"They could be murderers!"

Frank blinked once.

"So could accountants."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I've met accountants."

Gerald threw both tiny ceramic hands into the air.

"They also keep human teeth in jewellery boxes, Frank!"

Frank sighed.

"We all have hobbies."