The next morning, as I walk to the large circle of stones, something catches my eye. Tucked between two of the rocks is an brown piece of paper. Opening it, it nearly crumbles to dust in my hands. The text is scratched in a shaky script and reads as follows:

“We followed the Mad Arab’s instructions perfectly, no detail overlooked. We all stood around anxiously when we heard it. From the looks on our faces, we all knew the music was real, but none of us could place it’s origin.

“What happened next is nearly beyond description. As we stood, serenaded by the twisted pipe’s melody, the sky began to shift. A hand pushed into our reality like a hand pushing into a blanket held taut. It took our sacrifice, and it was pleased. Then it took another, and another. We numbered in the hundreds and were gone in minutes.

“I fled the scene and found safety. I write this now as a warning to those who fo”

The letter ends there.

The sound of pipes fills the air as I rush back to my car.