When we first moved in my mother-in-law had a Catholic priest bless our house. He was a tiny Filipino with a giant cross and a sprinkler full of Holy Water. When he got up to the attic he splashed a bit of water but refused to go up the stairs. His eyes were suddenly huge there, at the foot of the stair, where that odd attic smell begins and the temperature is always way too hot or way too cool for whatever season it happens to be.

I don't buy that blessing or exoricising shit; and not for the same reasons I used to not. Hell, I used to think ghosts and spirits were hooey. Mr. Splitfoot has rained on that parade. The reason I currently don't buy that blessing or exorcising shit is because it didn't work. Last night I was doing research for a big paper on Michel Leiris--I had Post-Its and bookmarks in a couple dozen books and photocopied articles, many in French--and I foolishly left them unattended on the coffee table and got up to make some tea. Not three minutes later I found the books under the sofa and the bookmarks and Post-Its in the Kleenex box. Took me a good two hours to get everything back in place.

Up in our attic is a small cubby hole I've only been in once. Something moved in there when I went in just under ten years ago, and the only light was from a slim crack along the vented eaves. I thought it was maybe a raccoon I'd seen, or a very long and big-eyed cat. Perhaps I try to convince myself that's what it was, because the attic cubby is the only part of the house our Filipino priest didn't bless, and when I was in there I must admit I had little desire to hang around and figure things out. I wonder if Mr. Splitfoot hid in there during the sprinkling and that's how he's able to continue tormenting us?