“... the cupboards start opening and closing by themselves, drawers slamming shut and the walls start to bleed. Slamming doors and smashing plates. Anna is acting like a common poltergeist. How embarrassing.”

“I don’t have my knife,” I mumble. “Don’t start that,” Anna says. She walks away from me sharply. “Arthur without Excalibur was still Arthur.”

“Without a word, we start to walk together down the long hall. I'm so pent up and irritated with this place; I want to kick down the closed doors and break up a prayer circle, maybe juggle the athame with a couple of candles just to see the horrified looks on their faces and hear their screams of "Sacrilege!”

“This is as close as I've ever heard to a Thomas and Carmel argument. And as special as it is to listen to your friends argue over whether or not you have a mental illness, I'm starting to get the urge to go back to class.”

“Anna, my strong, terrifying Anna.”

“I think of her again. Anna. Anna Dressed in Blood. I wonder what tricks she'll try. I wonder if she'll be clever. Will she float? Will she laugh or scream?How will she try to kill me?”

“Yes. Smashing. You’ll be just like those four chaps in the movie. You know the one, with the oversized marshmallow.”