Dr. Floyd had been waiting for a case like this for years. A criminally insane patient could propel an obscure psychiatrist to fame and fortune overnight. Dozens of doctors became rich from books, television miniseries, and movies about mass murderers they had studied. Charlie Hanson hadn't killed anyone, but the police chief thought he was crazy, and that was a start.

Tuesday morning, Mr. Hanson awoke and informed his wife he was not feeling well. He called his employer to let him know he would not be coming in, and laid down on the couch. His wife offered to stay home with him, but Charlie said he'd be okay; so she sent the kids to school and went to work.

About ten o'clock the neighbors called the police to report Mr. Hanson's strange behavior. He had spent the day, not resting, but dragging all the furniture in the house into the yard. The police dispatcher agreed that seemed unusual, but it was Mr. Hanson's furniture, and if he wanted it in the yard, that was his business. Maybe he was just going to steam clean the rugs.

The neighbors kept a close eye on Mr. Hanson and, at two o'clock, they called the fire department. When the fire trucks arrived, the house was already consumed in flames. They tried to fight the fire, but it seemed as if someone had doused the structure in gasoline. When the police looked for Mr. Hanson, they found him staring at the smoldering remains of the house. He stood there, in complete silence, and smiled.

That was three days ago, and Mr. Hanson has not spoken since. The police chief asked Dr. Floyd for his opinion, but he said he could not comment as to Mr. Hanson's motivation until he had examined the man. He explained that it was not uncommon for an ordinary person to have a nervous break down and commit a crime. Furthermore, in such cases the individual often became catatonic, though Hanson was not catatonic-- he just wasn't talking. He could feed and care for himself, he could even react to people around him; he just wouldn't talk.

Dr. Floyd looked through the small window and saw Mr. Hanson seated at a table. He was wearing a straitjacket, so Floyd figured it was safe. The orderly opened the door, and he stepped into the room. He sat down opposite Hanson and set his pad on the table as he introduced himself.

"Hello Mr. Hanson, I'm Dr. Floyd. I am a psychiatrist and would like to speak to you for a few minutes." He looked at Mr. Hanson for some sign, but the man just sat, in complete silence, and smiled.

Floyd decided to use the friendly approach. "Mr. Hanson, the police think your crazy, but I know better. If you'll tell me why you burned your home, I'm sure we can straighten out this terrible misunderstanding. I know you don't belong in the psycho ward. What do you say to us talking this out."

Dr. Floyd put on his best sympathetic act and touched Mr. Hanson on the shoulder. He could tell from his actions that Hanson heard what he was saying and was faking. He hoped for a break in the routine, but the man sat, in complete silence, and smiled.

After a few moments, Floyd picked up his pad and stood to leave. "Well, Mr. Hanson, its been nice chatting with you. If you ever want to talk some more, give me a call," he said with a sarcastic tone. He turned and moved toward the door.

"You know, Doctor, I'm really not crazy," said Mr. Hanson.

Floyd stopped, but did not turn to face his patient. He was almost afraid that if he did the man might stop talking. He knew it was necessary to keep the conversation going, so he said, "The police think you are."

"Well, I'm not. They just don't understand."

"Why didn't you talk to them and explain what happened."

"If I had explained, they would have thought I was crazy."

He moved back to the table, sat down, and set his pad in front of him. "Charlie," he said, "the police think you're crazy, 4because5 you aren't talking." He paused for a moment and turned on the sympathetic act again. "I really want to help you, but you must admit burning your house to the ground is a little strange."

"Strange all depends on your outlook. If my house had been infected by Bubonic Plague, and I burned it to stop the disease from spreading, that wouldn't be crazy, would it?"

"I can understand that, but if that were the case, wouldn't the furniture have been infected too?" the Doctor inquired.

"I didn't say my house was infected, I was just trying to show that you can't judge the situation until you know the facts."

The doctor was so excited he could hardly control himself. He had known the man was faking and was about to find out why. He just hoped it was juicy enough for a good book. "If you will tell me the facts, I'll talk to the police about getting you out of here."

Mr. Hanson looked around the room, as if he were checking to see if anyone else was there, then he leaned forward. He looked at Floyd until he leaned to meet him halfway. In a faint whisper, Hanson explained. "It was the voices."

Eureka, thought Dr. Floyd. It was a clear cut case of acute schizophrenia. He made a quick note and contemplated his next move. "The voices told you to burn the house?" he asked.

"No, no," Hanson said as he shook his head from side to side. "The voices were in the house."

"What did the voices say?"

"They really didn't say anything, at least I don't think so. At first I ran around the house thinking that one of the kids had left a radio on. The voices were always muffled, like they were in another room, but when I would get to the room, the voices were gone. Then, suddenly, they would start in another room, and I'd start looking again."

When Mr. Hanson stopped explaining, the Doctor leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. This was getting better by the minute. "Charlie," he asked as he leaned forward on his elbows, "Do you hear the voices now?"

"Oh no, of course not!" The man laughed at his private joke. "I only heard the voices in the house. They were never at the office, or in the car, or anywhere else-- just in the house."

Dr. Floyd raised his eyebrows. Maybe it wasn't schizophrenia, maybe it was a case of paranoia. The house seemed to be the center of his fear, that's why it was the only place he heard the voices, and that's why he burned it. He knew this was going to make a best seller. "I understand. Your house was haunted."

"Yes, yes, that's it, haunted. Yes, haunted." Mr. Hanson bounced in his seat from the excitement of finally finding someone that understood.

Floyd continued the interrogation. "Well, why didn't you just leave the house?"

"I couldn't do that. That would be like leaving an unexploded bomb rather than defusing it. If I hadn't destroyed the house, someone else would have moved in, and the voices would have tormented them. Don't you see, I had to burn the house."

It made sense, in a crazy kind of way. After all, if the house had been infected by Bubonic Plague, they would have had to burn it to protect everyone else. "Okay, Charlie, but what about the furniture? Why didn't you burn the furniture?"

Mr. Hanson flashed Dr. Floyd an annoyed look. "I thought it would be bad enough to burn my family's home, I saw no reason to ruin perfectly good furniture, too."

Dr. Floyd picked up his pad and stood next to his chair. "Will you talk to the police now?" he asked.

"No, I don't think so. You explain it... you understand." Mr. Hanson leaned back in his chair, in complete silence, and smiled.

After the orderly let him out of the room, Dr. Floyd walked down the hall to where the police chief and Mrs. Hanson sat. She looked terrible: her hair was uncombed, there were deep worry lines at the corners of her eyes, and she looked like she hadn't slept since the fire. The Chief stood and asked, "Any luck, Doc?"

"Yes, I got him talking," he responded.

Mrs. Hanson jumped up. "How is he, Doctor?" she asked in a soft, very concerned voice.

The Doctor placed his hand on her shoulder and put on his sympathetic act once more. "I'm afraid your husband is suffering from a severe mental disorder that is causing hallucinations and paranoia. We'll need more time to complete the diagnosis." She fell into the chair and lowered her face in sorrow. She had been through a very traumatic experience, and this was the last straw.

"Mrs. Hanson, I understand how you must feel, but your husband's condition probably is not permanent. I think I can help him." She looked up and forced a smile. "Let me ask you one question, though, did you hear any strange voices in your home?"

Her eyebrows tipped in and she looked at Floyd as if 4he5 were crazy. "No," she stated. "No... I didn't hear any voices."

"Of course not. Thank you, Mrs. Hanson," the Doctor said as he pulled the Chief away. They walked until they were far enough that she could not hear them, then the Doctor continued. "Chief, the truth is, this guy is bonkers. He thought the house was haunted, so he burned it down."

The Chief whistled. "But, what about the furniture?" he inquired.

"He said it was okay. Say, what happened to that stuff anyway?" the Doctor asked.

"I think she put it in storage until she and the kids could find some place to live," the chief replied, and the two of them walked out of the hospital.

The next morning at Jenning's Furniture Storage & Moving Company, Joe the foreman asked Tom the nightwatchman if anything exciting happened last night. For a brief moment, Tom turned as pale as a ghost. "Well," he said in an uneasy voice, "You know that furniture they picked up the other day? When I walked passed it, I could have swore... I heard voices."