Late the other night I returned to the San Francisco apartment I share with several young men to discover that the downstairs front door was unlocked. As I trudged up the dark, narrow stairs I couldn’t help wonder what kind of slime-dripping mutant aberration was waiting for me in my apartment.
I don’t know if you’re familiar with the fine TV show Fringe, which ended a five-year run last season? Lately I’ve been watching a lot of it on Netflix. It’s horror-science fiction, and in its early episodes was quite formulaic. Generally some unsuspecting doofus like myself goes into a darkened hallway, basement, apartment, lab, whatever, there’s a gristly munching noise followed by enthusiastic screaming, then roll opening credits. After the commercial the investigators would examine a beslimed and disassembled corpse and Dr. Bishop the mad scientist would say, “This mucus-like substance could only be digestive fluid from a…
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