She wanted to express it, everything, all of it, her desires, her true, dark, deep down desires, express it all in writing, in poetry. But her hand would always cramp up. She couldn't hold the pencil long enough to get serious. Some other thought would creep in. So she went for walks. Long walks at night, late at night. She was a night person, had always been. A vampire. And her mind would open up then. She would just let it go as she walked through the cool of the night, all alone. And then things would come to her. By the time she circled back around, she had a starting point, a launching point for that poem or short story or song.

And she would walk and think and be totally oblivious to what was going on around her, to the man who was following her. She walked down to Parson's Valley Road. And then, out of the darkness, he emerged, all in dark robes, a dark, flat hat. And he approached, seemed to float over to her. You have come here for a reason, he said, and his voice was something unnerving. She felt that she was going to die, or else going down a road that she could not get off of. It was all music to her ears, and she was composing like a musician, like a pianist, really, because her fingers just let go and zipped it out over the keyboard, and she shook her head and grimaced in the tougher parts, and slowly it all worked its way out of her. The man, the faceless dark man, stood there still. Where are you going in your mind? I am here for you. And then he vanished into the night. She followed, but there was a thick fog, and she was suddenly immersed in it, and lost.

Making her way through the fog, she encountered things she hadn't noticed during the day: an old beat-up pickup, a creek running through the forest that was not there earlier. She saw a windmill, and she wondered what the purpose of that was, here in this part of the city that was no longer a city. She continued on through the fog, far from home...