There are some things that just feel different, strange, like they belong to another place or time. Things glipsed from the corners of eyes, from behind the safety of windows, from a mind occuped with the shadows. It's easy to forget them, these things, in the safety of the sunlight. But sittingalone at the edge of teh day, as the light slowly fades from the waking world, there's a moment when things are different. When things begin to creep in, to seep and bleed from the edges. Dark things. Old things. Things far to frightening to focus on or think about for any extended length of time. Horrific silent things waiting to be dreamt, but even in the dreams, there is danger. There are paths from there ot here, and that's a dangerous and terrible thing.