Panic Button

This totally works, guys. You just need to be patient. I'll wait with you and keep you company. 

So, how are things? I'm doing good, thanks. 

You enjoying this blog? Of course you are. Who wouldn't?! 

Oh! Did you see that? ... Oh, just a stupid orb. You know there are people who think those are actually spirits? Ha! I know. They totally are what you just said they are, but I can't say it, because they may be avid visitors. 

You're funny. Thank you. I know I'm funny too. 

... So, you uh, you come here often? Tee-hee. Me too. Then again, I do own this blog. But really does anyone own a blog? I've always thought it's foolish when I say I own this blog. I'm more of the caretaker. Blogger provides it and I fill it with material. So, in a way it makes me like the manager of this blog. 

Wake up! I think you missed something! 

(They both stood there in awkward silence for what seemed like an eternity. Scared went off to the bathroom and said he wouldn't be long. He took a magazine with him ... he took more than 30 minutes. During that 30 minutes you sat there and waited for something to happen. But that is the name of the game in investigating. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Patiently! Waiting ... waiting ... waiting. And then! ... You're waiting again. Your palms sweaty with anticipation for something to run down that hallway, so you can press that Panic Button. Suddenly you realize all along that the Panic Button is an unpressable button. How could Scared do this to you?! I'd burn down his f*cking house if I were you! No! Better yet, leave a minefield of Legos for that rat bastard to step on! Yeah. Do that.)