A folk grimoire of destagnation.

Those of us with European parents are undoubtedly familiar with the feeling of coming home from some trip, where your parents urge you to run through the house and open all the windows: "air out the house!" You speed around, kicking up dust, moving the air, slowly washing away the strange feeling of stillness that has contaminated your home. Air out the house. "Don't catch the draft," your parent yells up the stairs at you. The draft, of course, is never explicitly acknowledged to contain some ill-wishing spirit that will give you the flu, but everybody knows it does. And the same can be said for that stagnant air in the house, the silence permeating the walls.