Prologue

Tempest Lane was a narrow, beaten dirt path with no streetlights. Even sunlight didn’t seem able to penetrate the thick forest canopy which the path cut through. The branches of old sycamore and oak trees hung low, as if reaching for passer-bys that would never arrive. After all, Tempest Lane was a dreary, unkempt thing that hardly qualified as a road.

Luke Harlow had never seen anyone drive on it, much less walk along it. He wasn’t really sure where it led. Every evening of the workweek, he took an obscure highway southbound as he headed home from his shift at the auto factory.

He found his vocation ironic, considering the rusty pickup that he drove was at least thirty years old. Even so, it drove well enough, and its radio was reliable. Luke enjoyed the local classic rock station, but he found that it fizzled out and the airwaves would be covered instead by a different station every time he drove past Tempest Lane. The odd proximity of the radiowave disturbance to the location gave him the willies.

As far as Luke could tell, this other station did not transmit music. For the few seconds he could hear it while driving, it sounded like a hoarse voice overlaid with static. He didn’t think much of it before.

One such afternoon, Luke drove past the turn for Tempest Lane and he heard that same raspy voice and static once again.

This time, however, was different. This time, he could make out a few words. They brought time and his vehicle to a stop.

Luke saw his hand reach for the tuning knob, and he found the source of the voice. Now he could hear it more clearly. It spoke of beautiful, soothing things. It spoke of the peace that comes with surrender, the visible wind, and the all-seeing eye.

Luke knew what he had to do. He remembered the shovel that he had stowed in the bed of his truck. How convenient, he thought.

He jerked the steering wheel right, pulling sharply onto that dreary, unkempt dirt path.

He was never seen again.