Original article posted by Greg:

The moths were in a sort of frenzy- dashing themselves against the face and hands of the passerby on the street. Wilt called it an omen, but only an omen of a coming thunderstorm, nothing so dark as sickness, death or the coming of a specter or ghoul. Wilt was a man who often became carried away by his own fancy, though, so it’s hard to guess at what he really knew versus what he imagined. However, in this instance, either Wilt or the moths or both were right because one of the biggest thunderstorms in memory later crawled itself across the June night sky. It announced itself with a sudden gust of wind that rattled the windows, tore at skirts, and carried all moths and other insects still careless enough to be on the wing far away into the black.

It’s an odd sort of name. It often put people who heard it in the mind of dry, drooping plants–which was appropriate in its way since Wilt Carrow was a dry, drooping man of indeterminate age. He was somewhere between grey hair and youthful vigor, yet retained an ability to access both of those parts of his destiny. Ask him to help lifting the sofa and he accessed the tired old bones in his body, but get him started on one of his pet subjects and he would speak and gesticulate with a passion unmatched by the average man, his mouth in such a commotion that flecks of spit would foam at the corners of it, distracting you from following whatever tirade he was embarking upon as you thought ‘certainly he must know that he has spit foaming at the corners of his mouth.’

Duncan Finn, son of a demon with a penchant for news periodicals, thought this exact thought more often than any other person in the world. This is because Duncan was the next-apartment neighbor and best friend of Wilt Carrow. Duncan, who was raised in a orphanage ran by nuns, had never been certain where, when, or how he picked up the friendship of Wilt, but all in all he didn’t mind it. Wilt and Duncan became the sort of friends who could spend a day together doing their separate free-time tasks in the same space without feeling odd about the company in the slightest. Much like a married couple, where the couple lives in separate apartments so that when they get on each other’s nerves the other can leave, and where the apartment building is somewhere in New York City, and also where one of them works online as a junior editor of some sort of literary review while the other works as a professional retired person, and finally where one of them is the son of a demon and the other is hiding a secret at least as terrible.

In fact their lives and relationships were very much like that situation. At least until the one of them who was the retired-person-hiding-a-terrible-secret suggested, on the night of that terrific thunderstorm, that they needed to visit his auntie in the countryside as soon as possible.