I used to get the shakes back when I first started. Always seemed to happen the night before. Felt strange. Like a mixture of fear, anxiety, excitement, euphoria, and my own violent intent. I haven’t had ’em in years, but for some reason last night my hand wouldn’t stop trembling.

A job came in today. Ordinary. Boring. It’s some house out in the sticks. A married couple —Jason and Lily Mures — just moved in, so I gotta get there quick before they’re killed. Shouldn’t be a problem, though; should be easy. Usually, the hardest part of house jobs isn’t the job at all, but the questions that come with it: Is our house haunted? Is it a ghost? A poltergeist? Is it my great-aunt Dorothy haunting us because Grandma cut her out of the will? All wrong, of course, but I don’t bother explaining. Waste of my time.

It’s just that . . . something feels “off” with this one. I don’t understand; everything seems normal, but I feel like I’m heading into a war. I threw an extra gun and knife into my truck. Maybe I’m thinking too much, or maybe it’s the recent rumors getting to me.

It’s probably nothing.