Yet I knew deep down that something wasn’t right. I could sense this from the vibes I got from the house itself, as well as from the fact that Mr. Chrysanthemum was hardly ever home. The first time I had introduced myself to him had been very brief. We had met in the parlour. Arthur Chrysanthemum was a slender, delicate man, yet he had a cold exterior. That was one of the first things I noticed about him. He wasn’t mean or nasty, and he used his manners, but he often avoided eye contact. Mr. Chrysanthemum awkwardly shook my hand, and his pale knuckes felt icy and hard, yet limp at the same time. I knew right away that he was not a happy soul. Mr. Chrysanthemum cleared his throat before speaking in a somehwhat monotone. “Hello, Miss Essie Miracle. It is pleasant to finally meet you after all this time. You see, your father and I are old friends. You recieved the letter I sent to you and your father, no?” “We did. The camp you sponsor sounds like a wonderful place,” I managed.