Page 161 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

I ignored them.

Experience had taught me that intervening in one of Gerald's ethical debates was like attempting to negotiate peace between two particularly opinionated pigeons. Instead, I began typing. If I was going to find a friend, then the baseline had to be very specific. People always complain that modern friendships are shallow. Personally...

I think the application process simply isn't thorough enough.

Requirements:

Must not panic upon hearing words such as bleach, luminol, or molecular binding. If your immediate response is "Should I call somebody?" this probably won't work.

Must understand that the IRS is infinitely more terrifying than haunted houses. Ghosts have never audited anyone.

Comfortable with ravens, moss-covered gravestones, abandoned greenhouses, rainy forests, and the peculiar peace that exists in places everyone else avoids.

Must appreciate silence. Not awkward silence. Proper silence. The sort where two people can spend three hours together without feeling obligated to discuss the weather.

Will not judge me for alphabetizing things, arranging my spices by height, or folding kitchen towels exactly three times. There is a system. Respect the system.

Bonus points if you also think cemeteries are significantly quieter than coffee shops.

I paused.

"...Maybe that's too much."

"It absolutely is," Gerald groaned.

His little ceramic boots stomped dramatically across the butter dish.

"You're not looking for a friend anymore. You're conducting psychological screening."

"I thought that's what friendship was."

Frank snorted.

"I like her list."

"Of course you do."

Gerald pointed an accusing finger toward him.

"You've encouraged this."

"I have."

"You should be ashamed."

Frank considered that.

"I’m not."

Gerald looked genuinely offended.

"I don't know why I continue speaking to either of you."

"You don't."

Frank yawned.

"You continue speaking at us."