In the ten years since being removed from his home, the visions never returned. The visions, at first terrifying, then welcomed and cherished, had become more real than the routine of his dusty life. Was it the old house that had somehow invaded his dreams? Had some sacred site been disturbed by its construction? Questions and theories would fill his days as he rolled through years of television reruns, unsalted food and forced participation in community activities.

He grieved for the family he had known and loved, but never had. Would tonight finally bring them back? He grieved for the house that had changed itself in ways that could not be explained. The door frame marked to measure Alice’s growth? Those marks were not there the night before. Real marks made by no human hand, not by a sleep walker, and not be a senile old man. These suggestions, offered by his own son, had angered him.