There is a darkness at the edges of the world. Dark is the natural state of the universe, not light. And someday, that dark will triumph. Of course, we will all be long dead. But someone, somewhere, will be watching. They are always watching.
That's what the sign says, anyway. There's an arrow, too. It points down the road. Well, not really. It points up, to the right, like it is pointing to the tops of the redwood trees. But the motorists understand. It means "This road, the one off the freeway, will take you to two towns: Holmes, or Redcrest. But only if you take the exit. Exit 667."
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The offramp dips politely away from the freeway. There is an underpass. If you exit the Northbound lane, the road continues to your right, away through the heavy, lichen laden trees, looking like the set of a movie, probably one with unexplained disappearances, or a long lost prince.
If you exit from the Southbound side, or take the underpass beneath the highway, there is a lot. A parking lot, easily accommodating 20, 30 cars. But it is always empty. There is a building there, painted with the traditional browns and greens of the Department of Forestry. There are shutters on the windows. All, save the last. On this, the shutters are open.
Of course, this book is a work of fiction. Certainly, you shouldn't believe anything you read here. All the people and events, the exit itself, are works of fiction. Even if you take the exit and see that it is exactly as I described, you must know, you have to, that it is not real.
But just because it isn't real, doesn't mean it isn't here.
