Somewhere in week three of cleaning out his grandfather's house, carl found the end of the canned goods. It had taken half a dumpster to empty the cupboards stacked with rusty, dented cans. But he'd gotten the last of them. Buried in a dark recess in the garage, he found them: seven boxes of Rice-a-roni from the early 1980s, six cans with no label and no discernible origin, and a can of pickled sausage, circa 1911. A mouthy can that had, at some point, attained sentience and was not pleased at being thrown out. This house was weird.