In the kitchen, Paul stopped. “Keep the radio on at all times. I cannot stress this enough.” Kelley looked over at the ancient boom box and smiled. “The house likes to jam?” she asked, smiling. The 40s Big Band melody suddenly switched to a club mix of “Pump Up The Jam”. Kelley froze. “The house … this house … communicates through song,” Paul said quietly. “Muy importante that you let it talk and listen very carefully.” “Holiday!” the boom box sang in Madonna’s familiar voice. “Celebrate!” “I will,” Paul said to no one in particular, “but I will miss you, buddy!” He patted the door frame as he steered Kelley out of the kitchen. “Keep a duffel bag by the front door with essential things in it,” Paul whispered into Kelley’s ear. “This is getting creepy; I didn’t think it would be creepy,” Kelley mumbled, regretting that she’d said yes to house sitting for the week. “If you hear the first beats of “Another One Bites the Dust”, run like hell,” Paul finished, forcing a smile.