“I did.”

“He said he’ll be over in a little bit to pick up my key.”

“That was fast.”

“He was concerned.”

“I’ll bet.  He probably thinks I’ve lost my mind.”

“Well you are wandering around in a cornfield.  Again.”

“True.”

Karen fell silent.

“Do you think I’ve lost my mind?”

“No.”

“Really?”

Again, she fell silent.  Eric waited it out.  Behind him, the creatures still hadn’t emerged from the woods and he grew paranoid that they might try to circle around through the corn instead.

“I really don’t think so,” she decided at last.  “I mean, you sent me the pictures.  Unless you’re playing a really elaborate prank on me—which I really doubt you’d be dumb enough to do—”

“That does sound like a stupid thing for me to do.”

“Yes.  It does.  But if you’re not…then I don’t know how else to explain it.  Either this is all real…or…you’ve gone completely nuts.”

“And that’s the simplest explanation,” Eric concluded.

“You said you were seeing creatures that don’t exist.  Monsters.  You said you jumped fifty miles by walking through a barn.”

“Well…I was told fifty miles.  I don’t actually know it was fifty.  Could have been just one.”

Again, Karen fell silent.

“So did you tell Paul I was going crazy?”

“I told him about your dream.  Not about…all the other stuff.”

Nothing rustled in the corn but a faint breeze and the half-coyote-half-deer things had not emerged from the forest.  He was still not halfway to the safety of the buildings and he did not even know for sure that those structures actually equated civilization and therefore safety.  For all he knew, the buildings had been abandoned years ago and since claimed as dens for the very creatures he sought to escape.  In that case, Karen might not be the only one getting her lunch delivered to her home.

On the other hand, he didn’t know for sure that these things wouldn’t hesitate to follow him right up to someone’s door and disembowel him right on the welcome mat.

“He was worried.”

“I know.”

Something rustled in the corn.  Was it just the wind?  A rabbit?

“I think you should send him those pictures.  Let him know what’s going on.”

“You think so?”

“Just consider it.  Maybe he can help.”

He searched the corn, but could see nothing.

“Maybe.  We’ll see.  But listen, I need to hang up again for a little while.”

“Okay.  Call me back.”

“I will.”  Although he knew perfectly well that she’d call him long before he’d get around to it.

Eric hung up and looked back the way he came.  The absence of the creatures was worse than knowing they were following him.  It was far too easy to imagine an entire pack of them gathering under the cover of the corn, stalking him, preparing to pounce.

But nothing showed itself as he made his way to the far end of the field and around the curve.

Ahead of him, the buildings loomed silently.  Six small structures and one much larger structure were clustered around a center courtyard.  Even before he reached them, he could tell they were no longer in use and his heart sank at the realization that this might not be the safe haven he was hoping to find.

Now and then something would flit around in the field, and once a pair of crows shot up and took flight, startling him into another fit of cursing, but nothing more showed itself.  The creatures were either uninterested or they were biding their time for some reason.

In the dream, he recalled feeling nervous about the corn, about all the things that might be hiding in there, just out of sight, watching him.  He remembered hearing a lot of noises in the field, but hadn’t seen anything to justify his fears.  The strange hybrid of coyote and deer had still not shown themselves.

Apparently, Dream Eric had arrived on time like a good boy and therefore didn’t have to deal with all this extra crap.

Noises taunted him, the corn rustled threateningly, yet he somehow made his way along the road to the cluster of buildings without being set upon by ravenous beasts.

As he walked out into the overgrown yard, he realized he was standing in some sort of abandoned campground.  The six smaller buildings were cabins, the larger likely contained a meeting room and cafeteria, probably an office or two.  He could see the posts where a volleyball net used to be, an old basketball court, a half-dozen picnic tables and several concrete fire pits.

There was also an old, cheesy-looking totem pole displayed at the center of the yard.  Most of the paint had faded or flaked away, leaving much of it unrecognizable without a close inspection, but the one on top was clearly a bird of prey with boxy, outstretched wings.

As he looked around, everything he saw came back to him.  Just like with the barn and the bridge, he had been here in his dream, which meant that this was precisely where he was supposed to be.  But where, exactly, was he supposed to go from here?  Grant had only told him to follow the path, which he did.  He even crossed that stupid bridge.

So where to now?

Looking around, he caught sight of a hefty bald man in a pair of baggy shorts and a dirty tee shirt.  He was walking out from behind one of the cabins and was now crossing the tall grass toward the front door of the main building.

Taylor.

Eric broke into a jog.  “Excuse me!  Hey!”

But the man walked into the building without acknowledging him.

Assuming he hadn’t been heard, Eric hurried after him.  He had almost reached the building’s front steps when he suddenly realized that something was wrong.

He stopped running and stared into the open doorway.  This was remarkably similar to the man he’d seen leaving the barn and then entering the house.  The residual man.

He had followed that one into a place he wasn’t supposed to go.  And here he was, chasing this person, merely assuming that it was the man Grant told him to expect.

His eyes fixed on the darkened doorway, he began to back away.

“Wise choice.”

Twirling around, uttering an incoherent cry, he found himself face-to-face with an elderly black man with kind eyes and a gentle smile.

“Sorry to startle you.”

“No, it’s fine.  You’d think I’d be getting used to it by now.”  He glanced around the empty courtyard.  “Where the hell did you come from?”

“I was in cabin four when I saw you run by.”  He gestured at one of the smaller buildings.

“Oh.”

The old man was dressed in worn jeans and a light work shirt, not that different from Grant, he realized.  There was a tool belt around his waist that appeared to contain very few tools, a stark contrast to the similar belt he’d so often seen Paul wearing while at work.  His always looked so laden with heavy tools that he should barely be capable of walking.

“I was hoping to catch you before you did something stupid, but it looks like you’re already onto that trick.”

“Yeah.  Fell for the residual thing back at the barn.  Lucky for me, Grant saved my ass.  I take it you’re Taylor?”

“Taylor Parlorn.”

“Eric Fortrell.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Eric.”

“You the groundskeeper here or something?”

“Not officially.  But I do keep my eye on things.”

“Because of the fissure,” Eric guessed.

“Because of the fissure.”  Still smiling, Taylor turned and walked toward the nearest cabin and Eric, having not been given any instructions on what he should do next, followed.

“So you guys are what?  The honor guard or something?”

Taylor stepped into the open doorway and surveyed the interior of the cabin for a few seconds before pulling the door closed.  Turning around, he replied, “Something like that.”

Eric followed him to the next cabin.  “What is this place?  Or was, I guess.”