When your journalist friend says “Oh, by the way, there’s a dangerous frog cult in this town, so watch what you say,” it’s perfectly natural to laugh. But when they have notes, and photographs, and stories they can’t publish about ruined lives… lives ruined in the dripping catacombs beneath the public library, the same ones high schoolers dare each other to enter, no matter how many of their older siblings warn them off with tales of lost classmates no one will talk about or acknowledge… well then. Then you just have to listen. And wonder how much of the croaking you hear on warm nights with your window open is benign… and how much of it may be plotting.