— Grave Encounters (2011).

Houston Gray—television’s obliging necromancer, all cadence and cologne—was not a medium so much as a movable caption, a flourish for the cutaway shot. Yet the asylum requires no credentials to recognize edible fear. Before he could unloose his careful confession (that he saw nothing, that he merely calibrated the audience), the corridor announced him to the resident geometry, and the geometry replied with an embrace that tightened to a thesis. He was unmade with the efficiency reserved for liars and novitiates: throat closed, horizon tilted, camera aghast. Even counterfeit keys will turn a door, provided the door is hungry.