forest, the winds in the boughs, the tick of birds and other creatures, has already faded. But it’s
also bad, because only at this point do I realize that I haven’t heard many birds at all. Perhaps I
have heard none. But this is also good, as it is a genuine insight. My surmises are correct: this is
a portal. Animals avoid portals.
Then, I hear something else. The sounds of words carried on the wind. Words that are not
English, but they are words. I do not understand them directly, but they have the feel of a call.
That feel is more important than the understanding of the words. If my mystical mind interprets a
call, then a call is what it is.
I pack my tent, orient my compass, set a ranging rod, and begin my journey again. I am at
the one end of my range when suddenly I hear a thick snap behind me. I turn and see, not ten feet
from me, a boy of about ten. He wears strange clothes. He motions to me to come to him. I
smile. I do not take the bait. I set another rod another range, and march again.
I don’t get very far before I hear the voices again, calling me. I wonder if this is how it
was for John Geller or Delbert Cosgrove. I think of Otis Tanner calling for his friends to come
get him out for days. I know I am bound to make my way for their sake. Someone must write the
reason for their disappearance. The true reason.
After another mile, I walk over a rise and find this time a young girl is standing there. Her
eyes are sad. She says “You must come with me.”
“No,” I say, and walk past her. She grabs onto my arm to try to hold me, but I do not
overreact to this, even as I fear some curse or mark may pass to me thereby. Even if there is, if I
move purposefully, I will be able to overcome it. The power of a curse is strongest in the
submission to it. I will not submit.