James walked down the old and cracked asphalt in the cool air of post-sunset. On all sides he was surrounded by rolling hills, covered sporadically with oak trees. From the old and uncared-for road winding behind the hills, James could see the branches of the trees silhouetted against red clouds, underlit by the set sun. As James' own driveway disappeared behind the curve of a hill, he walked by the driveway of a boyhood friend. As he passed James traced the path of the driveway up to the little house -- deserted now for years -- at the top of a hill.

Turning his eyes back to the road stretching out in front of him, James notice for the first the sounds of crickets in the still evening air. A few miles off, James could also heard the sounds of cars whizzing by on the highway. He began to whistle to himself, a sad song he hardly knew. In his mind, the words floated by, fitting for the current scenery.

James sighed deeply, and closed his eyes. He shivered. Opening his eyes and casting them upward, an overcast sky looked back at him. James' brow furrowed; the sky hadn't been overcast a moment ago. Quickly, he scanned the horizon. As far as he could see in both directions the sky was blanketed with gray clouds. It didn't seem any darker or lighter than it had been, but the light seemed... different now. Instead of coming up from the horizon in front of him, as it had, it seemed to filter diffusely through the clouds.

There was something else too... though James couldn't place it at first. He took a step apprehensively, weary of what might happen. As his foot settled firmly back to the earth, James heard the crunch of loose asphalt being displaced under his weight, though it seemed oddly dampened. That was it, that's what seemed wrong; there was no other sound. It was totally silent. He looked back from where he had come. The abandoned house on the hill was no longer there. Even its driveway seemed to have gone without a trace.

James shivered. His brain was tumbling wildly. He suddenly had the urge to throw up, but nothing came out. He panicked. His head swam and his vision went black. No sense of direction or orientation. With a thud he collapsed to the asphalt where he lay, breathing heavily, as his eyesight returned slowly.

Collecting his wits -- as they were, anyway -- he sat up, using his arm to support himself up. Suddenly he became aware that he had just collapsed in the middle of the road. What would have happened if a car had come by? he thought with a growing sense of panic. With sinking spirits though, he reminded himself that all sound had ceased; there were no cars on the highway, and there would certainly be none on this little road.

Trying to calm himself, he closed his eyes and started breathing deeply. Remembering a mediation technique he had learned, he started counting his breaths. He got to thirty-five before he realized that there was something else at the edge of his consciousness, a tiny nagging something vying for his attention. Keeping his eyes shut, he strained his ears to pick up anything he might not have heard earlier in his panic.

Barely, at the very edge of perception, he heard something. A constant sound, white noise. Something your brain would filter out anyway, like rain. Rain, it did sound something like rain, he thought. Deciding that the sound was coming from somewhere off the his right, he got to his feet and turned toward the sound. To his surprise, and at some level his approval, there was no fence to deal with as memory dictated there should have been.

With a burst of energy, James vaulted himself up the cut-out bank of the hill and onto its grassy, slopping surface. As he made his way to the crest of the hill, the trees began to thicken around him. Regardless of the density of the trees, though, the light was always a diffuse yellow, giving everything an almost contrived look. As he made his way forward, the sound he had barely been able to hear at the road grew more distinct. It wasn't rain after all, but the sound of running water, he realized. As he crested the hill, the sound became much clearer. From this vantage point, he could see down to little stream. There is was darker; the trees grew so thickly along the stream that it was shrouded in a peculiar dusky light.

Carefully, he made his way down the slope. Everything seemed to be covered by a light dew, made more noticeable by the chill in the air. As he neared the edge of the little stream, he noticed a pair of legs, barely visible, mostly obscured by a tree.

James cleared his throat. "Hello?" he said, uncertainly.

"Hello?" came the reply, just as uncertainly. The girl who had been sitting against the tree sat forward, letting her legs fold to the ground.

"Becca?" James ask, baffled.

"James..." the girl said, almost to herself. A little smiled played across her lips.

"Um, I, um...."

"Don't worry James, everything is OK."

"This might sound strange, Becca, but--"

"I can imagine, James. Come here, sit down."

"Um, OK..." James replied, walking over to the tree where Rebecca sat. Letting himself slowly to the ground, he brought brought his legs into the half-lotus position.

Rebecca smiled. "Don't be nervous James." For a long time they talked together; laughing and reminiscing. The two had known each other for years, but never really been friends. After a few hours of talking it had become dark, only the light from the moon filtering through the branches above them. As they had become more comfortable and the night had grown colder, the two had nestled together, and currently James had his arm around Rebecca's shoulders while Rebecca lay with her head on James' shoulder.

Now Rebecca picked up her head and looked at James. "Remember," she said, and kissed James on the cheek.

 

James woke up slowly, with the light of the sun beating down on his eyes. Gingerly opening his eyes, he brought up his hand to obstruct the sun, which was just above the hills in the distance. He still had on his clothes from the previous day. He was at the crest of the hill, from here he could see the little winding road that led to his house. Between he and it was a rusted old barbed-wire fence.

James made his way home, carefully crawling through the fence and then jumping down to the road. The events of the previous night were going through his mind. He wasn't sure what to think. Maybe it was all a dream? He had obviously fallen asleep at some point on his walk. After a few more minutes of walking, he arrived home.

After a second of thinking, he went to the phone book. Opening it to the entry to Rebecca's parents, he picked up the phone and dialed.