Last night, Max developed this sudden and bizarre fascination with our rocking chair. He kept pulling all the cushions off of it, casting them to one side, and examining the wooden framework underneath with intense concentration. The third or fourth time he did it, Ian said, "What's under there, son?" Max looked up at Ian, smiled happily, and replied with something that sounded very much like, "Bodies!" Ian and I looked at each other with our eyebrows raised. "Did he just say 'bodies'?" Ian asked me. I was forced to agree that it had sounded like it to me, as well. Ian repeated his question, and Max said, "Bodies!" again with grisly amounts of good cheer. Ian looked cautiously at the rocking chair.
I have been forced to remove both Max and Ian to a secure location until I have finished tying up a few ... ahem ... loose ends. They know too much.