And, for a while, his suspicions were well enough grounded. No blood ran from the walls, and his voice sounded startlingly mundane in the still room, no more supernatural than the once-loved plushes huddled in the corner, as if for warmth. When the panelled floor gave its first hints of smoulder, the smoke was thin and faint.

But reckless teenage book donors have keen eyes for the good stuff, and Baby Blue was not to be let down.

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"MH-H-H-H-HE," insisted the pale beige goat kid, too young to be good at folding its legs and thus settling down in a loose and lanky sprawl, its sunglasses already tilting. "Mh-h-h-y apologies for the wait, mister! He-h-h-ll Highway 36 is a little conge-h-h-sted right now, and since you didn't offer a sacrifice, Purgatory Inc. can only offer minimal servi-h-h-ce!" bleated the little demon, with the faint quaver of rehearsed lines. Then, more apologetically than her manager would approve of, "...I'm an intern. How can we he-h-h-lp you?"