"Superstitious," I said, smiling my academic smile. "A classic apotropaic ritual. Naming the thing gives it power."
I should have stopped. Every instinct, every ghost story I’d ever collected, screamed at me to run. But the academic hunger is a terrible thing. It unlatches the doors that common sense keeps locked.
I couldn't move. I couldn't scream. My tape recorder clattered to the ground, still running.