Mr. Eugene Clark is a Spectrologist, and is known to get very defensive when anyone was to refer to him ignorantly as a Parapsychologist, speaking very strongly in defense. Otherwise know to be a very calm and collected character. He took pride in the study of ghosts and not just your run-of-the-mill study of psychic phenomenon. Much to his inconvenience he also found himself as the husband of fifteen years to Norma and father to his daughter Juliet.

Mrs. Norma Clark worked hard to live a normal life, obsessed with the daily duties of a good housewife. But with the Clark’s normal and good always had a definition all of its own. Among many other things she was also a hypochondriac, frequently suffering from many allergies. Life to her in her exact words would be ‘okie dokie Artichokie’ and she liked it exactly like that.

Their daughter Juliet was an average high school student, who never found anything in common with her parents. She didn’t try to either. Waiting desperately for the day when she could go out into the world, independent, free from her mothers Gestapo like house rules she had to abide by. She studied art and dreamt of being a world-famous artiest, make it Big out there.

Coming home from her regular visitations to the meat stall, Mrs. Clark walked in and ignorant to Mr. Clark sitting in his usual chair absorbed in a thick heavy book, made her way straight to the kitchen. The sense of peace, the oneness she so often felt in her kitchen was broken. She couldn’t even feel the carefully nestled brownbag slip from her hands. She couldn’t believe what she saw. Her eyes couldn’t lie. She was faced with something she would never let into her house, into her kitchen, never.

There It was, sitting on the kitchen table. She could feel the palpitations working up. That chocking feeling creeping up on her. She knew she had to getaway from It. She slowly backed into the living room, and with every careful step she took back, so as not to disturb It, in her mind she started to wonder – who would do such a dreadful thing? The intention of the perpetrator was only too clear. The intention had to be murder! Someone wanted her dead. It had to be someone who knew her medical condition only too well. Someone who knew about her allergies. Someone. But who she thought.

Mrs. Clark almost fell over when she came to the realization of where she was, she was in the living room and the Oriental rug her aunt Barbra had given her as a wedding gift was twisted at her heel. Then she saw Mr. Clark sitting innocuously. She thought to her self – he’s quiet, just a bit too quiet. In fact this was the norm for Mr. Clark, to sit very quietly for hours on end. But the wheels of suspicion were in motion.

Mrs. Clark looking directly in the opposite direction of where Mr. Clark was sitting made a loud complain. It was a sort of a grunting noise. Made with the specific intention of gaining her husbands attention. Mr. Clark recognized this sound, the last time Mrs. Clark made such a grunt it was simply as a sexual gesture. Sort of a calling for intimacy. But they haven’t been that way for a very long time, too long for Mr. Clark to even remember when.

Mrs. Clark filed her complain again, this time a louder grunt. This made Mr. Clark stoop over the book he was buried in, worried as to the intentions of that sound. Mrs. Clark made one last dramatic grunting sound, this time with a lot more vigor, expressing her plight. This prompted Mr. Clark to make a key mistake. And that is - he asked her ‘what’s the matter Norma?’

That’s all Mrs. Clark needed to hear. It was all to clear to her now. She needed no more evidence. Mr. Clark responding to her was his admission of guilt. He was guilty. He did It!

Mrs. Clark was careful to select her retort. She said ‘so, Eugene, what did you do all day?’
‘Nothing’ said Mr. Clark ‘are you feeling okay Norma?’
‘Nothing hu!’ bashed out Mrs. Clark disregarding the thoughtful concern Mr. Clark was showing her.
‘You think you can get rid of me that easily Eugene..?’ Mrs. Clark jumped at Mr. Clarks.

And just before Mr. Clark, who couldn’t bring himself to even begin to make sense of all of this, tried to get a word in, Mrs. Clark screamed ‘After fifteen years of putting up with this’ she said as she pointed at Mr. Clark in disapproval.
‘This is All I get’ she breaks out in to a tearless cry pointing at the murder weapon sitting on the kitchen table.
‘All I get is’ she manages to say pausing for a few sobs ‘get is This’ she cries ‘why?! Why Eugene did you try to kill me!’

Mr. Clark hearing this quickly follows the direction Mrs. Clark is pointing at only to find three tomatoes and a small kitchen knife that was used to cut one of them in half next to it on the kitchen table. Mr. Clark still very puzzled at all the accusations being hurled at him and seeing nothing to cause alarm for, grabs Mrs. Clark and said ‘What Norma? What are you saying? That’s just some tomatoes!’
But before he could say anything any further Mrs. Clark wails ‘You Eugene, fifteen years, fifteen years, you know, you know that I’m allergic to tomatoes, they’ll kill me!’ ‘You knew that Eugene, you knew that’ she cries violently.

Just then Juliet comes running down the stairs, completely oblivious to the commotion, walks right pass Mr. and Mrs. Clark who are holding a curious pose, into the kitchen. She picks up the tomatoes and makes her way back through the same path. Mr. and Mrs. Clark look at each other quizzically. And just before Juliet ran up the stairs to the hole she came out from. Mrs. Clark makes a vain attempt at a smile and says ‘Julie Dear…’ releasing herself from Mr. Clarks grip.
‘Yes! MOM!’ Juliet replies without a hint of enthusiasm, in that one statement making herself clear that she is being disturbed from important matters.
‘Your father and I where just wondering’ Mrs. Clark puts casually.
‘What! I need to get back to my room’ Juliet replies clinging to the railing of the staircase.
‘Your father was just asking me’ Mrs. Clark puts it more composed ‘what is it that you where doing with those tomatoes’
‘It’s for Art Class MOM’ Juliet replied, not amused at the trivial question. She had a painting assignment and she chose the tomatoes as her subject.
‘Now can I go to my room, please’ Juliet added, in away only a teenager could do, be sarcastic and asked to be excused at the same time.
‘Oh, O, Okay Dear’ Mrs. Clark said, even before she could finish saying it, Juliet disappeared up the stairs into her hole, while Mr. Clark had already assumed his passion in the comfortable little corner that was his.

And Mrs. Clark, well, she just went on her usual way. Yes, it was just another day at the Clark’s residence.