The police approached the Mullin family home, their knocks echoing like the tolling of a death knell through the silent house, surrounded by uncollected mail, a silent testament to absence. Imagining the worst, they prepared to breach this fortress of solitude, fearing Herb had taken his own life in some final, desperate act. As they made arrangements for a warrant, a neighbor emerged, a ghoul from normalcy, to explain that no amount of knocking would summon the Mullins, for they had escaped to the tropical paradise of Hawaii, oblivious to the storm brewing back home.
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