It had been nearly six months since Jeanette had first volunteered to read to the blind. In that time she’d read for a kind old man named Mr. Gunston. He’d liked her to read what he called weird fiction. Writers she’d never heard of like H.P. Lovecraft and Phillip K Dick. They opened up strange new worlds for her that she never would have known to seek out previously.

She read to Mr. Gunston once a week for over five months, and then he died quietly in his sleep one night after one of her visits.

Jeanette was saddened by his death and nearly abandoned further volunteering, but she was surprised to find how much she had come to enjoy and rely on the process of reading to another.

The next man she read for was a very different sort of man.