[Please read the instructions before jumping in!]

Jay considered his options, and quickly decided that he might as well be straightforward here, and just ask everything that was on his mind. After all, Louis had basically told him to.

“I guess I do have a lot I want to know,” he admitted wryly. “Everyone here seems like they’ve lived here for generations, and here I am wandering into the middle of all these situations I know nothing about.”

“Oh, you certainly are,” Louis agreed. “More than you probably realize. I’d like to, hm.” He glanced Jay over. “Throw you a bone?”

He was definitely flirting. Wasn’t he?? Jay wished he could be sure. He flustered, then rallied, giving Louis a smile back. “I’d like that,” he said. He nibbled on honey toast—good stuff, he decided, definitely real honey. “You said that I’d have large shoes to fill, that Aunt Grace was a hoarder type—it sounds like you knew her pretty well?”

“I don’t know if I’d call her a friend, exactly,” Louis said. “After all, I was still in my teenage years when she was last around. But she was friendly to me, and she and my predecessor may have been actual friends. Your Aunt Grace was a popular person. She managed, somehow, so that even in a place where there were lots of factions, she was on no side, but made herself available to help everyone. And did it in a way that people accepted.”

“I’d heard something like that,” Jay said. He hesitated, his desire not to pry warring with Louis’s own declaration that he’d only answer things that were asked directly. “I’d assume this was your family home, but you said… ‘predecessor’?”

“Not my father’s house,” Louis said lightly. Then, in a self-deprecating tone, “Maybe my daddy’s, but not my father’s.”

Jay blinked, then blanched. “Uhh.”

“No, it’s fine,” Louis said, laughing at the look that must be on his face. “I did deliberately make that sound more objectionable than it was. The person who used to live here had a job that I’ve since taken over. Consider it an apprenticeship.”

“What’s your job?” Jay asked, trying desperately to push past that moment. “I’m a programmer, though my company just went through a round of layoffs. Since Aunt Grace left me the house, I figured… well, might as well take a little break, you know?”

Louis nodded, leaning forward with his chin in one hand. “Sounds like a good idea to me. My job… hm. My job. Are you familiar with the sort of factions there are here?”

This whole conversation was beginning to feel more and more ominous, but he was neck-deep in it now. “I’m not. Camden called them cliques. Are you familiar with him?”

“Yes, I know him,” Louis said. “I’d say I know everyone here a little. He moved here with his little sister a few years ago from another nearby city, one by the sea.” He gestured at his own mask. “He’s got a condition, you know.”

“I, uh, didn’t ask,” Jay admitted. “It seemed private.”

“It probably is,” Louis said with a shrug. “He’s a nice boy. Genuinely sweet, I’d say, which is probably going to be a problem for him sooner or later.”

“So what faction is he in?” Jay asked, starting to eat the oats.

Louis said, “His own, since he moved here. His kind are usually further south.”

“…What sort of factions are here,” Jay asked. He stirred the oats uneasily, not actually willing to look away from Louis at this point.

“Honestly, they’re more like cults,” Louis said.

Great, Jay thought distantly. Sure, great, yeah. He’d moved into a house in a town full of cults. “Is this another of your jokes?”

“Sure, if you like,” Louis said easily. “Think of it as small town religions and small town superstitions. As I said, your Aunt knew everyone and was welcomed as part of it. When they know you’re connected to her, I’m sure the same thing will happen. You seem lovely; I can’t imagine anyone will want to do you harm.”

Jay put his spoon down, picking up the teacup and gulping his tea. For a moment, he struggled to find words. “Uh, you’d understand if I was, uh. Having a little trouble with this?”

“Well, you know I don’t mean you harm, or I would have drugged your tea,” Louis pointed out, with an apparently-strained patience.

Jay looked down at his cup.

“I didn’t,” Louis said.

Swallowing slowly, Jay just tried to stop thinking so much, tried to let this conversation flow where it could. “So what cults? What was your predecessor’s interest in my aunt? Is there anywhere I shouldn’t get rid of her stuff to? Does this have anything to do with the weird note I found this morning?”

Louis blinked at him, leaning back in his seat. “Numerous cults to the old gods. I’d say there are four or five in town. Yes, the neighbor on your other side is involved in one as well, though it’s not the same as mine and so I wouldn’t pry into which one without a more pressing need. My predecessor gave her some signifiers of his god, ones that could allow passage between the realms—in theory. I sent you a note about that this morning, yes. Ah, and I’d be careful of what you get rid of. Strange books or jewelry, anything that feels uncanny to you, hold onto that. If you want to get rid of it anyway? Talk to me. I can hook you up with some proper collectors.”

Jay wheezed softly, leaning back in his seat. “Holy shit.”

“Was that a bit much?”

“You sent me that note?“

For a moment, Louis just gazed at him. And then he tilted his head slowly, smiling behind his mask. “When people find certain things, I know. It’s traditional to warn someone if they’re about to find the Yellow Sign. If you don’t want to find it, don’t read The King in Yellow. If you read it, you’ll find the sign sooner or later. You might anyway.”

“How exactly,” Jay said, “did you know that I found The King in Yellow? Were you watching through the window?”

“I am the Messenger. The Phantom of Truth who wears the Pallid Mask,” Louis said, tone light and easy. “I know all the things that could trigger His coming. That’s my job.”

Jay wheezed, “Does that pay well?”

“Not really,” Louis said. “I also do transcription online.”

“I think I should go,” Jay said.

“Oh,” Louis said. He sounded disappointed, but rose, coming around the table. “That’s fine. I understand.”

And despite everything, Jay didn’t like the dejected tone of Louis’ voice. He drew a breath to apologize, but didn’t know what to say. “…It’s nothing personal,” he said finally, heading to the front hall and taking his shoes down from the cubby there. “I just have a lot to think about.”

“Of course,” Louis said, tone grave. He folded his hands in front of himself, knotting them together. “Well, I won’t take it personally, then. You have a good day, Jay.”

Sure, okay, they could do this all normally now. Sure. “You too, Louis.”

Louis opened the door for him. Jay stepped out, gave him a little nod, and watched as the door closed behind him.

And then he sat down on the steps of Louis’s house, putting his head in his hands.

Now what?

[Please suggest an action in the Comments.]

[Previous Day: Day 8. Next Day: Day 10.] 

[Please read the instructions before jumping in!]

“You know what,” Jay said, “I honestly am pretty hungry. If it’s no trouble, I’d love to come in.”

Mask or not, Louis was clearly being polite, and Jay could do the same. Besides, if he wanted to get to know the neighbors, it’d be better to spend a little time getting to know each one rather than running around, just barely making introductions. Even if the other neighbors went out, he could talk to them later today, or tomorrow—or whenever, really. He was going to be here a while, after all.

As for inviting the guy over right away… yeah, naw. Not until he got to know him better, at least. He did seem nice—maybe they’d hit it off. And if they did, who knew if, later on, he’d want to invite Louis over anyway.

Louis seemed to smile, eyes crinkling behind the mask, and stepped aside more fully. “Come in, then.”

Jay stepped inside, glancing around. A second impression confirmed his first; the entryway was tidy, decked out with an old console table of scraped varnished wood, decorative paintings, and a cubbyhole shoe rack with only two sets of shoes in them. He took his own shoes off, putting them inside, and heard Louis make a faint hum of approval.

“The dining room’s this way,” Louis said. He lead the way down the corridor to a heavy mahogany table under a slightly-dusty chandelier. “Please take a seat. Any food restrictions?”

“Can’t really manage milk. Cheese is the biggest problem with breakfast foods for me,” Jay said. “Is that okay?”

“I’m inventive,” Louis said. He seemed to wink. “Do get comfortable.”

Jay sat, watching as Louis headed into the kitchen, where he could only just see Louis’s back as he moved around, taking things from the fridge, fiddling around on the counter.

Louis didn’t seem inclined to talk as he worked, and after a few moments of looking around at the room—a painting on the wall of a half-clothed artist’s model, the large china cabinet on another wall—Jay cleared his throat. “Can you direct me to the bathroom?”

“Up the stairs, second door from the end,” Louis called back over his shoulder.

“Be right back.”

Jay headed back to the entrance, then up the stairs. He was being just a little nosy, he knew, taking the time that Louis was busy to look around just a little—though he supposed that Louis had done the same to him as well, if outside.

As he reached the second landing, he realized that the layout of this house was the same as his; they must have been made around the same time. So, that closed door was the office, that one would be a closet, that to the attic stairs, then the bathroom, and the bedroom.

The bedroom door was open, and he glanced into it as he headed into the bathroom. With the lights out, it was hard to see in there. What he could tell was only that the walls were painted black, and the room was dominated by an enormous bed with an intricate metal headboard.

He felt his cheeks heat a little and headed into the bathroom. It, too, had the same style: claw-foot bathtub, freestanding sink, and so on. Slightly water-stained lace curtains fell over the bathroom window; from here, he saw, he could see right his own house’s office, where he could make out the rough shape of the desk.

No wonder Louis had got curious, then, if he’d seen him working in there. Feeling a little more reassured, Jay finished up his business, washed his hands, and came back downstairs.

Louis was just carrying a platter into the dining room as he returned. “Toast and honey,” he said. “A small bowl of oats. Jam. No milk or cheese. Tea?”

“Uh, please,” Jay said. It seemed like the entirety of breakfast was going to be slightly sweet, so the tea would cut the sugar flavor. “Thanks.”

“Of course. It’s my pleasure,” Louis said. He headed back into the kitchen. “I already started the water.”

“Great.” The food did look very good, arranged neatly on the platter. Jay was getting the impression that Louis cared for his aesthetics—and, almost certainly, also his manners. Although he’d found himself suddenly starving, he folded his hands on either side of the platter, waiting for Louis to return.

When he did, carrying a cup of tea, he paused in the doorway, apparently surprised to see Jay waiting. “I’m sorry—feel free to start.”

“Uh.” The single cup of tea, the single platter… “I didn’t want to start before you. Aren’t you joining me?” Jay asked.

“I ate already,” Louis said. He put the cup down at Jay’s elbow, then went around the table, sitting. Folding his hands under his masked chin, he seemed to smile at Jay again. “So, what do you want to ask me about?”

[Please suggest an action in the Comments.]

[Previous day: Day 7. Next day: Day 9.] 

[Please read the instructions before jumping in!]

Huh, Jay thought blankly. Guess I found the woods guy.

Under normal circumstances, meeting a man in a mask who had crept around outside his house as night fell would absolutely be cause for panic. But the absurdity of the entire situation—sunlight, flannel, tight jeans and all—made it almost impossible to panic.

“…Good morning,” he said. He held out a hand. “I’m your new neighbor, Jay Park.”

That masked head tilted, and then his neighbor took it, shaking, his hand slightly chill to the touch. “Louis Castaigne,” he said, his voice odd and soft. Maybe just muffled a little behind his mask. “You moved into Miss Evans’ house.”

As Camden had implied, then, Aunt Grace was well known among the neighbors. “Yes—she was my great-aunt.” Louis gave him a slow look over, as if trying to compare him to Grace and the results not being what he expected. “On my mother’s side.”

“I see,” Louis said. “You’ve large shoes to fill.” The handshake, which had lingered a moment too long, was dropped.

“I’ve heard she was popular in the community,” Jay agreed. He shifted, tucking his hand back into his pocket, his knuckles bumping his pocket knife. “I thought I saw you outside last night—taking a walk?”

“Ah, something like that,” Louis said. “I was curious. I’d known Miss Evans, you see.”

“It was a bit alarming,” Jay admitted. With his other hand, he gestured at his own face, as if to mime a mask there as well. “I’m sorry if this is rude, but looking into the woods at night and seeing…”

Louis tilted his head, as if waiting to see if Jay would finish what he was saying, then chuckled. The sound was warm, his body language slowly relaxing. “Ah. Yes. I do wear this. Everyone around here is used to it.”

“Should I ask…?”

“Only if you want to know the answer,” Louis said, head tilting again. Jay watched him blink languidly through the eye-holes.

Jay laughed awkwardly. “Well, now I’m not sure I do,” he said, still prompting.

Louis nodded. “Don’t ask questions around here unless you want answers,” he advised. “But do ask questions if you do want to dig into people’s business. Secrets don’t get volunteered on their own.”

His voice had warmed considerably through the conversation, and although the words themselves seemed oddly threatening in isolation, his tone was not, more conspiratorial, two people sharing a joke that Jay only wished he got.

“I’m from Seattle,” Jay said. “It’s a pretty different environment.”

“It would be,” Louis said. He stepped aside, holding the door open. “Have you eaten? If you just moved in, you might not have much in the house. Can I offer you anything?”

Through the door, Jay could see that the interior of Louis’ house had a look of luxury—if a faded luxury. Slightly threadbare rugs lay over scuffed hardwood; the kitchen had faux-marble counters and floors, and he could see somewhat scratched and peeled gold gilt on the banisters in the stairway leading up. Perhaps the interior had been opulent in Louis’ parents time, or even his grandparents’, but whatever he’d inherited was less so.

“Oh, I couldn’t put you out,” Jay said. “Besides, I was hoping to meet all the neighbors this morning—I really want to go around and make some friends around here.”

“It’s no trouble,” Louis said. “I don’t get company often, not since I began to live here alone. And I could tell you about the neighbors, if you wish.” His gaze passed over Jay, eyes intent, and Jay had the sudden distinct impression of getting checked out. Louis’s expression warmed again, heavy lids lowering again. There was a hint of smile in his voice when he spoke again. “I’d like to know more about you, Jay. Or if you’d rather not come in, perhaps you I could come help you with your house, later? I recall Miss Evans being something of a hoarder, and it must be a lot for you to deal with alone. I’d love if I could take some of the burden away, help you sort her things.”

Jay hesitated on answering. He hadn’t eaten yet today, and while he could eat some of his cold pizza later, it might not hurt to get to know this handsome—if mysterious—neighbor a bit better, and see what information he could get from him.

On the other hand, he did want to meet the other neighbors for himself, and delaying here might mean missing them, since they’d probably go out as the day went on. Learning about them secondhand might be helpful, but could also bias him, especially if it was as cliquey here as Camden had said.

And he could use the help with the house, certainly; a second pair of hands would make things go faster. Still, he wasn’t sure if he should; he didn’t know how Grace and Louis had got along, after all, and there was still the question of whoever had slid the note under his door, let alone the vagueness of Louis’ answer about what he’d been doing in the woods.

But if he refused all offers entirely, might Louis take that badly? Louis might be a little weird, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was a bad person. Fitting in here was going to be hard enough already. Refusing both offers might close some doors, at least if he wasn’t careful in how he went about it.

[Please suggest an action in the Comments.
Sorry about the delay on this part—I had visitors myself today.
To make it fair, turn-in cutoff will be an hour later, at 5 pm PST Oct 8.]

[Previous Day: Day 6. Next Day: Day 8.] 

[Please read the instructions before jumping in!]

Slowly, carefully, Jay folded the strange message and tucked it in the key-holder next to the door. No matter how much it had to be a coincidence with his dream, clearly ‘signs’ were important in some way, or the note wouldn’t have been left for him.

Maybe it had to do with what Camden had said about town politics; it might be a code word around here. Perhaps the factions were color-coded in some way? Certainly, the local issues had been on his mind last night—that, along with reading the book, had obviously influenced his dreams, both shaping them and giving him reason to recall them more clearly than usual.

Had Camden mentioned anything about signs? He didn’t think so, but he couldn’t be entirely sure. Or maybe he’d seen something in the bedroom when he was moving Aunt Grace’s stuff around so he could sleep—either a sign, or the word sign might have been among her things. Perhaps it was a simple, harmless issue, an item someone had loaned Aunt Grace and never got back. It was capitalized; maybe it was the title of a movie or a book. Just a normal Have you found the book I loaned her, but more intimidating when taken out of context.

Maybe.

He could look for anything that might have made him get ‘signs’ on the brain later, he decided. One thing at a time. The part that played into his dreams was definitely of less an issue strangers nosing around. As much as he’d wanted to hide last night, maybe he should go out and see what he could learn, introduce himself to the neighbors, try to make a good impression.

After all, if there were cliques, as Camden had said, people were probably wondering if he’d be like Grace, who had apparently got along with everyone, or if he’d be swayed one way or another. It’d be better if he learned whatever he could about it as early as possible. And while he really didn’t want to deal with that after dark… everything was at least a little less intimidating by the light of day.

Besides, he was at least temporarily stuck with this situation. He didn’t have any other home, and the house wasn’t salable until he got it in order. So he’d better just get ahead of things, he thought, with a grim humor.

It’d be fine to bring some of Aunt Grace’s stuff down to town later today, or even tomorrow. For now…

Jay headed out to the car, checking it carefully to see if either the woods-lurker, or whoever had left the note, had made any attempt to get in. He didn’t see any; everything looked exactly as he’d left it, which reassured him a little that whoever had been around might not have meant any harm after all. He spent the next hour bringing his bins into the living room, dragging in his suitcase so he’d have some fresh clothes to change into, and freshening up.

Once dressed in clean clothes, he slid his folding knife into his pocket—not that he could imagine ever using it, but it certainly made him feel better to have. “Well,” he muttered to himself. “Time to meet the neighbors.”

As he headed out, he made sure to lock up behind himself, jiggling the knob to confirm that it was secure. Whether they were harmless visitors who were just curious about what was going on, or something less benevolent, he sure didn’t want them inside the house.

A short walk down his driveway gave him a better view of the houses on either side of his. Both were similar large, older houses. It wouldn’t have been difficult for people looking out of their upper-story windows to see his car, or see the lights on and someone moving around inside. He hesitated by the road, trying to decide where to go first.

Well, the stranger in the woods had gone off to the right. Although he didn’t feel comfortable confronting whoever it was, introducing himself and asking about the people around here might at least give him a chance to feel out who it might have been. He’d be subtle, of course. Not mention signs, or messages under his door, but only that he’d seen someone out for a walk—that would probably be fine.

Steeling himself, he headed up the drive of the neighbor on the right, and knocked on the door. He tried to swallow his beating heart, his impression of not belonging. Act like you fit in, he thought to himself wryly, even suspecting as he did so that he was too young, too queer, not white enough. And even if he hadn’t been all those things, he might still feel like an outsider; small communities like this went back generations. People were born here, lived all their life here, died here.

The door opened, and he stared. For a moment, his uncertainty vanished—along with all thoughts of subtlety.

“Good morning?” the young man on the other side said, prompting. He was tall, lean and muscular; there was no way he didn’t hit the gym regularly. Despite the fairly early hour, he was already dressed, wearing tight-fitting jeans, along with a t-shirt under a long-sleeved flannel shirt.

He was also wearing a plain white mask, hiding everything but his heavy-lidded pale eyes.

[Please suggest an action in the Comments.]

[Previous day: Day 5. Next day: Day 7.] 

[Please read the instructions before jumping in!]

Jay drew a deep breath and tried to chill the fuck out.

It was only natural to be wired. Everything had changed around him. He’d lost his job, moved away from his family, and had left a big, fairly diverse city in favor of a free home in the middle of Whitesville, Nowhereland. On top of that, his aunt’s disappearance from here had him on edge—why else would he be overreacting so much to the normal curiosity of the neighbors?

He got out of bed, heading down the darkened hallway to the office again, and browsed briefly for a book to take back to bed with him. He didn’t plan to read much—no point in getting himself woken up even more—but a little bit would help distract his spiraling thoughts.

Listlessly, he cast his gaze over the bookcases, but found himself instead drawn to the pile of books he’d made on the desk. In the dim light from the moon outside, he read I had the Library Dream again in Grace’s handwriting, and shifted The King in Yellow to the side to pick up the slim, leather-bound volume immediately beneath it.

When he’d glanced through it earlier, it had seemed to be someone’s fictionalized account of having visited a library on some far away world, and the mythologies he’d written down from the books there. It must, he realized, be the inspiration for Grace’s stories about the library between the stars that she would travel to, the mysterious histories of impossible people that she’d read there. Maybe she, too, had lain awake some nights, unable to sleep, and flipped through this volume to give her brain something harmless to explore in the night.

A library dream sounded just fine to him.

He took that slim volume back to bed and propped himself up, reading by the light of the bedside lamp. Although it was fiction, there weren’t exactly chapters—just sections about different subjects, the author’s ‘notes’ on the things he’d read in the library there. Creatures that could pass through time by entering mirrors, gods who mourned that they had been forgotten, the creature at the center of the universe piping music out for the cosmos to whirl to. All things the author had only read about secondhand in this library between the worlds, nothing he had encountered himself, nothing he could be sure was accurate. But, the fiction demanded of you, if he had ended up in a library between worlds, who was he to doubt the stories he read?

Jay put the book on the bedside table, clicked the light off, and closed his eyes.

***

The painting in front of him was of an impossible city, black domes and ebony spires and a lake that reflected two pallid moons hovering in the sky. Jay examined it uncertainly, hands tucked behind his back, then glanced around.

On either side of the painting were bookshelves; each of these were filled with orderly books, none of which had any titles on the spines, but each of which were slotted away as if they belonged in that spot. They were probably organized by subject, he decided, or this wouldn’t be a library. Still, he found himself oddly reluctant to take any off the shelf to try to prove his theory.

Instead, he wandered, weaving around old, heavy wood tables and through the stacks. Each of the shelves rose from floor to ceiling, marking out a maze that he didn’t think it would be possible to remember, let alone find his way back in. All of this he did in silence; he couldn’t hear anyone else in the building at all, no shuffling or breathing, not even the ticking of a clock. Just his own movements, horribly loud in the oppressive silence.

As he rounded corner after corner, shifting between the openings of shelves while trying to keep as close to the wall as he could in order to make a path it would be easier to follow, he began to realize that the building had no windows, and paintings were used in their place. Each showed a new scene, different from those previous—here, a view of a great tomb at the base of a ruined city, half-drowned in stagnant water. There, a vista full of burrowed holes, five suns burning overhead.

“Excuse me,” he heard behind him.

He jumped, whirling, and was surprised to see a lovely woman standing there. She was no more than thirty, with heavy dark hair bound back in a plait and dark, dark eyes, smiling at him peacefully.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think anyone else was here.”

“No,” she agreed. She looked him over. “I’m not sure you should be here yet, though I’m sort of glad you are.”

“Uh.” There was an intensity to her, an energy in the way she held herself, that intimidated him. It wasn’t just that she was impossibly attractive, but something else, something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He felt alert, like he couldn’t take his eyes off her or he’d regret it. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t have permission. You should have a sign before you come here,” she said, as if that explained anything. “You came from Kingsport?”

“Yes,” he said. That feeling grew, but it was his dream—of course she’d know that. “What do you mean, a sign?”

She nodded to herself, her expression decisive. “Well, there’s plenty of signs you can get in Kingsport,” she said. “You could even get mine, if you want—I’ve got people there! But I’m not the only one, if others suit you better. Honestly, you might already have aroused interest, bearing the blood of a waking-worlder as you do.”

Was there such thing as a semi-lucid dream, he wondered. He had meant to dream of a library, and knew he was dreaming, but he didn’t seem to have any control over what was happening. “I’m not sure what a sign is.”

“A symbol. A mark. A gift. Get one—well, at least one,” she amended, seeming amused at herself. “Most people could never bear more than one, but with the current situation, we all need to cooperate for now. And it’s so interesting when something changes.”

“My aunt’s house is a mess,” he said. “Finding anything might take a while. What do you mean by ‘current situation’?”

She shook her head, hair slithering over her shoulder to fall in front of her chest. It didn’t sit quite right, and he tore his eyes away from that to her perfectly-proportioned face again. “No,” she said. “You can’t take any real information away from here until you bear a sign. As is, you’re in danger.”

His heart was beating hard. The dream felt like it was shifting, edging on nightmare. “In danger?”

“Not with me, of course,” she said, and smiled. Her teeth seemed too sharp, somehow. “I can protect you. But anyone can come here, and right now, you don’t bear anyone’s favor. So go and get it before you come back. And when you come, try to come back the proper way. When you use only your own mind as a doorway… well, that’s dangerous too. You can’t shut and lock your mind the way you can a real door. All right?”

“I don’t understand,” he began, but she put a friendly hand on his shoulder, warm and with the perfect amount of firmness, and turned him.

The painting, most recently of that burrow-filled wasteland, now showed Aunt Grace’s bedroom.

“Go home,” she said. “Find a sign, or signs. Help us, and win our favor. But be careful. It’s a dangerous world out there.”

She didn’t specify which one.

***

Jay woke up, and for a moment, he didn’t know where he was, not recognizing the angle of sunlight, the shape of his ceiling.

And then reality clicked back into place. It was morning, and he had a lot of chores ahead of him still.

“What a weird dream,” he muttered to himself. He glared absently at the book on the bedside table—thanks for nothing, Dr. Shrewsbury, he thought at the author.

Well, no point in letting himself dwell. He got up, changing back into his clothes from the day before. First thing first, he needed to bring in the bins of his belongings and find somewhere to put them, both so he could get dressed properly, and so he’d have room in the car to start packing up some of Aunt Grace’s things to take into town.

He headed to the front door, intent on doing that, then frowned down at the welcome mat. For a moment, he thought the piece of paper that he saw there—one which had clearly been slid under the door—was just some sort of flyer.

But it was standard 8×11 printer paper, and when he picked it up, he saw that someone had handwritten just one sentence on it:

Have you found the Yellow Sign?

“Well, fuck,” Jay said aloud. What the hell was he supposed to do with this? Go around to ask the neighbors who did this? Maybe see if he could ask after Camden, who at least had seemed relatively friendly, and see if he knew whatever this yellow sign was.

Or maybe, he thought, he should just ignore it. He had a lot to do, and this was probably someone’s prank—one that just happened to be unnerving after the dream he’d had the night before.

[Please suggest an action in the Comments.]

[Previous day: Day 4. Next day: Day 6.]