It was a dark and stormy night. Rain beat against the tall north windows. A flash of lightning would have shown a figure stealthily tiptoeing down the stairs if there had been anyone there to see it. A shot would have rung out if it hadn't coincided with the crack of lightning that hit close to the house. In the morning a rat was found dead at the foot of the stairs, a bullet through its brain. The cat wouldn't even touch it, just sat nearby licking its haunches. When the detective arrived he immediately suspected Replacement Theology and called for the guests to gather in the parlor.Don't ask.
[No, I was certainly not making any comparisons between The Harbinger and my goofy murder mystery. Just a moment of silly whimsy born of discouragement about the kind of thinking the Harbinger is up against.]