He stared at the back of the Lysol can for a bit, then gave it a good shake and shrugged. "Why not?" he asked no one in particular. Into the bag it went, next to the makeshift cattle prod assemblage, the pouch of Epsom Salts, a bunch of Zippo lighters (with two fireplace lighters as a backup), some extension cords, a box of candles, and a gallon of muriatic acid. Bob wandered over to his closet and picked out the heavy duty shop apron, grill gloves, and welding helmet for protection. "Gonna be heavy - all of it," he mumbled, irritated (for heavy meant slow and slow might be a problem). "No time like the present, gawd dammit," Bob Johnson, occult janitor, muttered as he grabbed his car keys, the keys to the high school, and the handle of the equipment bag. "Stupid, meddling kids and their little asshole portals to Hell."