"You can't be too careful," he says with mock solemnity. "Voodoo only works if you believe in it. And, after spending six months covered in a fine powder of white ash and paprika, I was either ready to believe it or show up as an entree for Sunday dinner."

He muses on her question, the corners of his mouth pulled tight. He's gotten a lot of interesting correspondence over the years, some of which made it into a "Freaky Deaky Scrapbook" that his agent keeps for good measure.

"Most of it's pretty tame. Predictable. You get the nutjobs who send in their underwear every once in a while and I've gotten a couple of marriage proposals but," he strokes his chin thoughtfully, "I guess the weirdest thing I ever got was after I'd done the wrap for A Skull At Springtime. I got home from a signing and there was this huge crate waiting for me outside the apartment. Someone'd sent me a full-size human skeleton -- you know, the kind they use in anatomy classes? -- and a couple dozen packets of spring annuals. I gave the skeleton to a community college. 'Kept the flowers, but never planted them. I don't have much of a green thumb."