It had been a quiet night, and Malcolm had hoped to get a good night's sleep. All hopes for that are dashed, though, as he wakes with a start, and sees the light still low in his room. He sits up quickly in his bed and looks back and forth, trying to make out anything unusual among the heavy shadows.

There is something here.

Someone"...Hello ( Read more... )

It's a subdued but masculine room. Not spartan but efficient, yet comfortable too. After a couple of years here, it has a pleasantly lived-in feel about it ( Read more... )

 
[After thisIt feels... strange. Traffic roaring, sirens screaming. Concrete under his feet, just like the song said. The sun a lot brighter than Malcolm's seen it in a long time--or it would be if it wasn't for the haze. Masses of people all around, and every one of them human. No aliens, no gods, no talking animals. He can’t believe how strange ( Read more... )

[After this.]As the last traces of the carnival disappear from sight, a gust of wind passes through the quiet meadow. Its chill sends a shiver through Malcolm. A parting gift from Dark, no doubt. But now only he remains in that autumn meadow under a bone-white moon ( Read more... )

[After this.]

He had a chance, but only if he--. (Anna--.)

No! Dammit, keep him out of your head and think. Dark's got to have a weak point. Just a question of where…"Scheming and plotting, Dr. Crowe?" Dark's voice seems to coil round his brain stem. Inspiring ancient fears ( Read more... )

[After this.]

[This one goes out to golden-age SF writer, Eric Frank Russell.]Days have passed ( Read more... )

[After this.]"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Dark. Of ‘Cooger and Dark’, the proprietors of this fine carnival you see around you. And we are so very pleased to have you, Dr. Crowe, as our guest ( Read more... )

[After this.]Lost in the Dark, Malcolm feels a great wind rise around him. He throws out his arms, reaching for Anna’s hand, but she, the bed, their home, creak and groan and finally shatter into flashing splinters of light which the wind bears away out of sight. Malcolm makes one last, desperate reach, and then recoils as he feels a part of the ( Read more... )

For weeks now, the dreams have been the same. But Malcolm is also discovering that each one is lasting several days in the bar. He’s rapidly losing track of time, but every dream takes him back to Philadelphia, back to Anna ( Read more... )

It’s warm in Philadelphia. No longer spring, the plants and trees are rich and green. Malcolm was always more of an autumn person (he's the first to admit he can be a parody of himself). But it's hard to deny how beautiful the old neighborhood looks. Here, in front of Anna’s antique shop ( Read more... )