“Land of the Dead? Is that what you dream about?” she asks. “Boy who kills ghosts for a living?” “No. I dream about penguins doing bridge construction. Don’t ask why.”

“You do know what we’re dealing with here, don’t you?” I ask. “She’s not just a ghost. She’s a hurricane. Overkill is fine by me.”

“You know what you are, don’t you?” she asks. “You’re my salvation. My way to atone. To pay for everything I’ve done."“Anna,” I say. “Don’t ask me to do this.”

“It's like I'm trapped in one of those omniscient dreams where you just watch yourself do stupid shit, yelling at yourself about how stupid it is, and your dream-self just keeps doing what it's doing anyway.”

“Why are you here? Did you come to try to kill me again?” “Oddly enough, no. I—I had a bad dream. I needed to talk to someone.”

“What is the truth?” Carmel asks. “What happened in that house? Am I really supposed to believe that Mike was murdered by a ghost?”

“She’s no ordinary ghost, that seems certain,” he says. “I know. Something’s made her stronger.” “The way she died?” he asks. “I’m not sure. From what I’ve heard, she was just murdered like so many others. Throat slit. But now she’s haunting her old house, killing whoever steps inside, like some goddamn spider.”