He sees it, first as a whisp of the ghost of an image and then clearly.

A tentacle. In the hot tub. Amidst the girlish laughter and masculine guffaws, a tentacle.

Ah, well, he thinks, the giant squid deserves a break as well at the holidays. And who knows? Maybe some real thrills and chills for some.

"Landlord," he says, holding out his ten-gallon mug, "fill 'er up with some of that Monogahela Red you keep for yourself."