The works of man often take on a life of their own beyond what was intended for them - Cold War veterans are nodding, thinking of those dirty communists, I'm sure. Some lives are more bizarre - and more sinister - than others, however.

There are locations in the world referred to by a variety of names - I call them "hungry places," but other people have different names. A hungry place is like a venus flytrap: it's innocuous, perhaps slightly strange; it has a certain appeal. A cheap grand suite at a luxurious hotel. An unbelievably afforable apartment. A well-preserved 80's sedan. A hungry place is created accidentally, most of the time - hotels are common due to suicides, rapes, and murders, but they're hardly alone. For example, I knew of a 50's refrigerator once that had a taste for dogs and the occasional child, but I'm getting off-track. The point is, death can leave an impression on its witness, and like a wolf that's tastes human blood, a hungry place can no longer be trusted. Most are weak; you'll find yourself uncomfortable, perhaps depressed. Your skin may itch, and you may hesitate to touch surfaces. Hungry places aren't particularly intelligent; they know how to crouch in the grass like any predator, and their intelligence is of the snapshot sort, the remnants of the minds of those they've consumed.

Other places, however, old places - they are fat and cunning with age and success, and they are eternally hungry. Should you ever find yourself in a place where the wallpaper ripples like flesh out of the corner of your eye, and a smell like spoiled meat teases your sinuses, leave by any means possible; once the jaws of the Venus flytrap close, the fly never escapes.