He just looked different. He smiled, but it wasn't the same sort of smile. It was distant, calculating - but then it was easy and friendly. He started smoking something at night that made his eyes look even weirder, but he didn't spend all his time on business like other dads. No, he wanted to play Skittle-Bowl. At first it was cool but then he wanted to do it at one in the morning in the basement, in a room he'd painted all dark. "The box says this game is 400 years old," he said, in an odd, distant voice. He laughed in a way that wasn't funny. "Oh, it's older than that."
(Note for the pedants: the copyright is 1967, but the ad is from 1970. The idea of pledging your soul to Satan, of course, knows no such petty distinctions.)
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