Well, if it isn't nice seeing you again, friend, I do not know what is.

Can't tell you how much I look forward to your visits here.

It's rather refreshing, if I'm being honest.

Your enthusiasm is palpable.

One might even say it demands a reward, which brings me to something I've been saving just for you.

This would be a spelling bee trophy from Wellington Prep, one of the finest private schools around these parts.

I'm giving you first place.

In an award-winning story I call Mr. Nobody.

Welcome to the antiquarium of sinister happenings and odd goings on. I was six years old when my parents divorced. I mean, I don't blame my dad.

My mother was out of control.

The best way to describe her was a word that rhymes with witch, but starts with the letter B.

She was a horrendous person, and she was so hard to live with.

I mean, if I could divorce her, I would. My dad was the reasonable one. He at least

tried to understand me. She wore the pants in the relationship, and my dad would often cower and

gave in to her. Probably just to shut her up. My mother was an overly refined woman. You never

saw her without her face on. She loved living

in high society, and that's something my father was able to provide for her. She had lunch with

their friends weekly, and always dressed like a million dollars. I'm not sure why she even

wanted me. I was too messy and didn't fit into her perfect life.

I think after all her friends started having kids, she felt pressure or thought she was missing out on something.

I mean, it all starts with one of them wanting a baby and praising the joys of motherhood for them all to want to have one.

Her friends are cut from the same cloth, all wealthy and egocentric.

...