Sounds like someone was getting a little too intimate with his bong.
"No way, man," he says. "How do you explain this? When I lived in that house, I used to share a room with my little brother. He was about 2 at the time, and I remember I'd wake up in the middle of the night to my brother standing in his crib, laughing, like he was playing a game with someone. When I asked him what he was doing, he'd say in his baby talk: 'Peek-a-boo with the man.' I'd look around and there was no one else in the room but us. But my brother would keep on laughing and pointing and clapping at nothing. We eventually found out that the people who lived there before us were santeros. We moved not too long after that."
And as the hairs on my arms stand up, Karen recalls a creepy little dog her old roommate used to have.
"First off, he wasn't a cute dog; he was more like the kind that would burp in your face. He was a little and dirty-looking mutt, with one ear that always flopped over while the other stood up straight. And he was a pervert as well," she says in a sweet little voice. "He'd hump everything — the couch, a leg, a sock, the remote control, everything. And he was really attracted to my feet. I couldn't walk around the place barefoot, because if I did, it was only a matter of time before he snuck up on me, hovered over my foot, and gently caressed me with his penis hairs. It was like he was possessed or something.
"God, and that was years ago too," she says. "And I'm still traumatized by that apartment and that dog. I still can't walk around my house without at least my socks on."
"Out of curiosity, where was this apartment?" I ask.
"You mean, where in Miami? Down the street, in Kendall."