The shed door is open. Why is it open?

I know I closed it. I closed it before bed.

There’s someone in the shed. I hear labored breaths. Who is it? What’s there?

Hello?

❧❧❧❧❧❧❧

My head is throbbing when I wake. My eyes burn. I run to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face when reaching for the cupboard. The pill bottle falls into the sink. Luckily the lid is on, but it takes me a good minute to actually open it and take some medicine. When the cabinet is shut, I peer at my bloodshot eyes in the mirror.

I can’t remember much of that dream, only this feeling in my gut, my own thoughts swirling in my head. My head hurts too bad to really think about it right now. God, it feels like someone beat my brain with a sledge hammer then tried to glue the pieces back together. The medicine will kick in eventually. It’s a bit later than usual, I’m probably hungry too, so I go downstairs to get a bite to eat.

It’s been a total of four weeks since I’ve been here. I can’t lie and say that things aren’t changing because I’ve been having weird...dreams? Like the one I had last night, although last night was certainly the weirdest of all. I recall some thoughts a few days ago, like hearing my name but no one being there. Some would call me crazy for staying because that’s weird, right? Isn’t this textbook weird? To the point that it’s obvious what I should do; pack up and run, immediately.

Except even with all this happening I don’t feel unsafe. Normally there’s a gut feeling, everyone has had it, when our body or our mind or our very soul simply says, “no.” Something says to get out, to leave and we can feel it, but I don’t get that here, never. Not even when I sense eyes on me, not even now when my head is aching or later in the afternoon when I’m sitting on the dock and I swear I can hear the woods.

The water is cold on my feet. My jeans are rolled up to my knees, shoes and socks sitting next to me on the docks while my feet are a bit more than ankle deep in the water.

“Edwin.”

I jerk my head around, finding nothing behind me. My ears are tingling.

“Winnie.”

Standing up, I look into the yard, near my house and the treeline, but there’s no one. Something is telling me to move, something I can’t ignore. I’m hastily pulling my shoes and socks back on. The voice is still ringing in my ears.

“Take my hand.”

I’m moving through the grass towards the woods with no idea where I’m going. Am I thinking at all?

All I know is the voice; a boy’s voice, so distinct, but I can’t pinpoint who it is. The brush is thick. I somehow find a path, ducking under branches and squeezing between briar bushes. The air is cool. The forest floor is a little damp and my fingers dance over the bark of the trees and tall grass.

There’s water up ahead, I hear it. The words are blurring together. I’m humming that tune without words again. It’s echoing through the trees, a soothing sound that mixes with that of the water I now see. A small stream working its way through the rocks, there’s even a small waterfall and, beneath it, rocks that—

“Look like stars.”

“What?” I whisper, my eyes blinking rapidly when my mind finally returns and realizes that I just walked into the woods after some imaginary voice. Holy shit, I really am mad!

What? How? Why?

I search for any sign of the voice or whatever the hell managed to drag me in here with a few words, but there’s no one. No one other than me and a squirrel perched atop a branch above. This is the moment where I should be scared. I should feel a sense of dread, ask myself what ghost or ghoul is messing with me, but I’m not. There’s not a single ounce of dread, only a curiosity mixed with this familiar warmth twisting in my gut. Dare I say it, the feeling reminds me of what I always felt when I returned to my grandparents in the summer.

I loathed being with my parents through the school year. I was consumed with excitement when summer came, even more so when my grandparents picked me up at the airport. We’d take the two hour drive back to Whisper Woods singing oldies the whole way. Nana would stop at our favorite restaurant and we’d get the best homemade rolls I’ve ever had. When we pulled up to the house, that’s when it really hit me. Pure joy. Pure contentment. An excitement that I can’t explain and, right now, that’s what I’m feeling, which makes no sense.

Is this really some demon messing with my head? Does that even make sense?

Slowly, I make my way back home. Somehow the path is clear in my mind. I’m moving through the brush the same way I came in. When I make it out of the woods, I look over the lake, the docks and my own house half expecting to see someone, but I’m alone.

“Maybe I need to see a doctor,” I say to myself.

With the headache I had this morning and now that, there might actually be something wrong. I should probably make an appointment, even talk to Dr. Driscall about it tomorrow.

Except I don’t make it until tomorrow because later that evening, after I’ve painted, after a shower, after I’ve wasted my day away in the warm summer sun, something even stranger happens.