Authors note—the day after the dinner party a marks place
The sun was peaking over the horizon when Mark had to stretch. As his bones popped one by one, he thought that the net was a wonderful thing. It was filled to brim with the niftiest of ideas and loads of useful information.
Mark rubbed his eyes, and wondered how they could ever feel like they were made of sandpaper. Maybe the all knowing internet had a site devoted to such a subject stashed and hid away somewhere out there. He just did not want to look at the moment.
He thought of what he did find, and gazed tiredly at his mess of a project. All the pieces where there still, buried benigth what he now deemed unnecessary circuits and many colorful wires.
Mark didn't mind the idea of a ghost possibly lingering around his apartment at all. He felt highly enthousiastic about the whole idea, and found him self happy that he bothered to consult the internet for all possible ways to contact such a being. He ran across several ways, and wanted to try them all. But he settled on one that seemed the most reliable. That was this device could possibly do.
He mulled it .over in his mind. What he had found. The entire concept about the phrase White noise was facinating. It worked. Mostly. May be. He saw many people's posts over it. Somehow, ghosts lacking physical vocal chords and all, it was the one process that was entirely logical to Mark.
Mark took in a breath, and as he turned from the flickering monitor, he took up his screwdriver.
Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....
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