You speak of Occam's Razor, and now he's interested. You walk over to the table with all of the delicious eats spread out, and you pour yourself a cup of punch.

"Tell me more about the razor theory. I've heard of it, but I'd like to know more," he says. You explain that it derives from William of Occam, sometime way back, maybe in the 1300s. And you say that, essentially, it advises that of two competing theories, the simpler one is probably more correct. "Go with simplicity," you say.

He smiles, eyes slipping down your dress, back up. "Yes," that seems like good advice."

And then you launch into a discussion on ghosts, the afterlife, the spirit, the soul, god. "All require faith," you say.

"And aliens," he adds.

"Right, until we discover them. Then that will be a separate issue."

He is still looking you over. You seem to have made the right choice in picking this blue dress, and in letting your hair down for once. Usually you are in scientist mode, with your glasses and your tidiness and your functionality. But for this party, why not let the hair down? It is, after all, the last couple of hours before a new year.

Wow, another new year already. You have been holed up in your lab for so long--for most of your adult life, you think. Time to get out, to break out, to become something new. Maybe the gym, you think. Or an instrument. No, no, I tried piano--that wasn't going anywhere. Well...that was as a child, and I was forced to take lessons back then. So maybe now things would be different. But no, it would remind me of mother, and that-- Well...

You will not learn to play the piano, despite how much you'd enjoy having a piano in the house. And the sound of piano music wafting through the place, that cavernous house... It also reminds you of mother, and of those old times. You've tried for so long to put those feelings aside, and now--

What is happening here? Where has your mind gone? You look around, see unknown faces all of a sudden. Even the man standing right beside you--he is a stranger to you. He's not even the person you were speaking with. His face is that of a demon. He stands there, a bit blurred, glowing red, with huge eyes rolling in their sockets, some awful sound coming from his mouth, like sludge. You have to get away. But as you head for the sliding-glass door, you get caught up in the center of the room, surrounded by other demon-looking figures, all of them laughing down at you. And you are buried in them, swallowed up, pulled down to hell...