Their names were Karen and Sharon. Karen wore thick glasses. Sharon wore contacts. Karen smoked lots of dope and was addicted to science-fiction magazines. Sharon smoked lots of dope and rode a Harley, which gave us something to talk about. Sharon left after a while to do some shopping; Karen gave me a walk-through.

The first-floor ceilings were twelve feet high. All the wallpaper had been stripped off, baring the dark lumber beneath. The women had separate rooms on the first floor. There was also a big bathroom, a living room, a library (shelf after shelf of Analog and Fantasy and Science Fiction), and a cavernous kitchen with yellow plaster walls. There was a poster of Janis Joplin over the refrigerator.

A back door off the kitchen opened onto a small wooden porch. They had turned the back yard into a big garden, with rows and rows of tomatoes and sunflowers.

“Now I’ll show you your room,” Karen said.

The stairway was narrow and steep. The second floor was much smaller, with a short, dark hallway that led to a bathroom at one end and a bedroom at the other. The room had a low ceiling and bare walls. It was narrow and U-shaped, with windows facing all around. The drapes were gray with age and dirt. The furniture consisted of an old dresser, a few chairs, and a mattress on the floor. I told Karen I liked it.

As we stepped back into the hallway, I looked up the last flight of steps. They ended in a trapdoor.

“You might as well see the rest of the house,” Karen offered. “I think Michael’s out. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if we take a peek.” I followed her up the short flight. She pushed the door open a few inches and peered inside, her eyes at floor level.

“Just want to make sure there aren’t any burnt offerings or spilled entrails oh the floor,” she said.

“Huh?”

Karen laughed. “Just kidding. Sort of. Michael’s into some pretty weird stuff.” She pushed the trapdoor open. “Come on up.”

At first I couldn’t see much for the darkness. As my eyes adjusted, I blinked in amazement.

We were in the octagonal room at the top of the house. There were four walls painted deep purple separated by four walls with windows. The windows were covered by heavy black drapes that admitted no light. I wondered where the faint illumination came from, then realized it was concentrated in a bar in the center of the room. I looked up. A tiny stained-glass skylight shaped like an eight-pointed star was set in the center of the high ceiling.

“Michael owns the place. You may not meet him for a while. He keeps odd hours, eats up here in his room….”