Many of us remember the long nights of childhood when a mother’s soothing words were small protection against the thing in the corner. As we grow older, we recall how night’s monster died with the flick of the light switch and the way its tentacles turned to pants. But there are some nights and some places when shifting shadows catch the corner of our eye and we wonder, in the words of Stephen King, if there are “spiritually noxious places, buildings where the milk of the cosmos has become sour and rancid.”
