Agnes clapped both potholder-clad hands to

Agnes clapped both potholder-clad hands to her ears. "Nonononononononononononononono!" Buster hesitated. "I guess then you don't want to?" He raised his eyebrows.

No, Agnes did not want to hear about the Game of Thrones episode she'd DVR'd. Buster had to "go"; where to depended on his Maker's judgment. Why did everyone have to be killed off?

And how was Agnes suppose to explain Buster, the Maker, and the Game of Thrones to her uncle who just could not understand her obsession with the plot. He didn't get how it matche

s his own story of incest. Her Uncle had married his sister. They had a boy and girl who also got married. They had two children who married as well. Finally,

everyone was married and having children with one another, so they lost the track of it. The girl for whom our hero thought to be his great-granddaughter and also his aunt, was

Page had been hijacked by spolactites while she slept fitfully. It was suddenly plastered by pictures of mold spores magnified 500 times, with the words, "channel 147" onscreen.

She Googled "channel 147" and found that it was not a recommended site, as it contained a virus. So she drank plenty of water and took her vitamin C, and visited the site anyway.

She found herself lost in an infinite waiting room standing cheek to jowl, butt to butt, elbow to elbow twice holding the number 147 tightly in her fist. The giant number sign

counted upward, yet somehow it never got to 147. She began to see that now, nothing separated her from the others. They had merged into a single mass, together lost in the numbers.