The two windows are fully covered with aluminum foil and yellowing newspaper, and the ceiling lamp is turned off, yet the room is brilliantly lit.
"Huh," says Kas, looking at the sequoia tree in one corner that was apparently growing out of the wood floor. "I can't tell if that thing is our height, or if the ceiling's bigger over there, and it's giving me a headache."
"So don't look," you suggest. You're next to a beat-up wooden dresser with what you guess is a mound of protoplasm on top of it. One solid piece of something is sticking out; you yank on it, only to gasp and drop it on the floor after you realize you've pulled out a baby's arm.
Next to Kas is a wooden workbench that's somehow beaten up even more than the dresser, with a few tools resting on its surface. He picks up what looks like a hammer and taps it on the workbench. The sound is of a high-pitched bell, and with a flash, the workbench transforms into an elegant marble-topped table, the tools atop it now looking out of place.
"Uh," says Kas, about to absent-mindedly tap the palm of his left hand with the hammer, but he stops its movement and gingerly puts it down on the marble. "Oh, hey, look at this," he says, picking up something else that was halfway under what looked like a soldering iron.
He holds it up to show you. It's an old Nintendo video game console controller, although it has no cord.
"Is there another one over there?" you ask. "Or the NES that it goes with?" You look around briefly, but don't see anything.
"I don't think so," says Kas. "Too bad, I bet God would have an awesome game collection." He jabs at the controller absently, and...