Speaking in rhyme was a right pain in the ass, and Richie hoped to avoid that as much as possible - he had encountered some dumbfuck shit in this house, so even if he did get afflicted with this newest urse more befitting of those in preschool age, it honestly wouldn't have surprised him.
"Alright, let's see - " He stepped closer to the table, adjusting his glasses so he could read the words from where he stood and not actually touch the paper. A tale of woe, clearly, and it explained a lot - so it was important, in the scheme of things.
He sort of felt like they all were close, when it came to unraveling the endless tapestry of this shitty mystery, but not quite there yet.
"David Frontenac le Brook," he repeated. "I mean - like I said, there's a ghost in the computer upstairs named Dave, presumably. I think when the spirits said 'we are the house' in the seance, he meant this guy. Dave. Also Carstairs. We're caught in a tug of war between them and they can't exactly free themselves on their own because they're trapped and still feuding in the afterlife, so they need us." Probably Dave more than Carstairs though. That guy sounded like a jackass.