Dreaming of salt. Not the sea. The flat, gray pans of the inland marsh. White crust under black boots. A heavy, wet silence.

Elias woke with his mouth tasting of iron. He sat up. The bedframe creaked. The room was cold. A draft slipped under the door. He rubbed his face. His hands were shaking. Not from cold. From fear.

He dressed. Shirt. Trousers. Boots. No tie. He looked in the mirror. The man staring back was hollow. Dark circles. Gray stubble. He was fifty-two. He looked older. He felt older. He was a man who had spent thirty years studying things that did not exist. Or perhaps things that existed only in the space between thoughts.

He left the house. The town of Harrow Creek was still. The sky was the color of old bruised fruit. Purple. Gray. It hung low over the rooftops. The air smelled of damp earth and rot.

He walked to the university. Or what was left of it. It was a campus. But it felt like a prison. Stone walls. Ivy that looked like veins. He walked fast. His breath came in short, sharp bursts. He needed to see Marcus.

He found Marcus in the library. The old man sat at a desk near the window. He was reading a book. Or pretending to. His eyes were closed. His head rested on his arms.

Elias stood over him. He did not speak. He waited. The clock on the wall ticked. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. It was too loud. It sounded like a hammer striking bone.

Marcus opened his eyes. They were red. He looked up. He saw Elias. He did not smile.

You look dead, Marcus said. His voice was dry. Like leaves skittering on pavement.

I feel it, Elias said.

Feel what?

The weight.

Marcus sat up. He straightened his tie. It was crooked. He didn't fix it.

What weight?

The one in the air. It’s thicker today. I can taste it.

Marcus laughed. A short, harsh sound. You’re tired, Elias. Go home. Sleep.

I can’t sleep. I dream of the marsh.

Don’t. Don’t dream of it.

I can’t stop.

Marcus closed his book. He looked at Elias. His face was pale. He looked like Elias. They were mirrors. Two old men in a stone box, waiting for something that would never come. Or something that was already here.

We have to go, Marcus said.

Go where?

To the site. Today. We have to finish it.

We don’t have to. We can leave it.

No.

Elias looked at him. He knew. He had known for weeks. The pressure in his head was a physical thing. A stone sitting on his brain. It pushed. It pulled. It whispered.

It’s getting louder, Elias said.

Yes.

And it’s not just in my head. It’s outside. I can feel it in the walls.

Marcus nodded. He stood up. His joints popped. He grabbed his coat.

Let’s go.

They walked. The campus was empty. The trees were bare. Branches clawed at the sky. The wind blew. It sounded like crying.

They reached the edge of the campus. The fence. Beyond it, the marsh. It stretched out. Endless. Gray. Flat. It looked like a sheet of metal.

Elias stopped. He looked at it. He felt a pull. A hook in his chest. It yanked him forward. He wanted to walk into it. He wanted to sink.

Don’t, Marcus said. He held Elias’s arm. His grip was tight. His fingers were cold.

I want to, Elias said.

You don’t.

I do.

Marcus pulled him back. They turned away. They went back to the car. The car was an old sedan. Black. Dusty. It started on the second try. The engine coughed. Then it roared.

They drove to the marsh. The road was bad. Potholes. Mud. The car shook. Elias gripped the steering wheel. His knuckles were white.

Why are we doing this? he asked.

To stop it, Marcus said.

Can we stop it?

I don’t know.

Elias looked at him. Marcus was looking at the road. His face was blank. He was thinking. Elias could see the gears turning. He could hear them grinding.

It’s not natural, Elias said.

No.

It’s not human.

No.

Then why do we fight it?

Because it’s here. And it wants us.

Elias nodded. He didn’t answer. He drove. The marsh grew larger in the windshield. The gray turned black. The air in the car grew cold.

They parked. The engine died. Silence. Then, the wind. It came from the marsh. It blew into the open door. It smelled of rot. Of salt. Of blood.

They got out. They walked. The ground was soft. It sucked at their boots. Every step was heavy. Every step was a struggle.

They reached the center of the marsh. There was a clearing. A circle of bare earth. In the middle, a stone. It was black. Smooth. It looked like an eye.

Elias looked at it. He felt the pull. It was stronger here. It wrapped around his heart. It squeezed.

We have to break it, Marcus said.

How?

With the hammer.

Elias looked at the hammer. It was lying on the ground. Rusty. Heavy. He picked it up. It felt light. Too light.

Marcus stood back. He watched. His face was hard. He was afraid. Elias could see it. The fear was a shadow on his skin.

Elias raised the hammer. He swung.

The hammer hit the stone.

Nothing happened.

The stone did not move. It did not crack. It did not even make a sound. The hammer bounced off. Elias fell to his knees. The hammer clattered on the ground.

He tried again. He swung. And again. And again. His arm burned. His muscles screamed. The stone remained whole.

Stop, Marcus said.

No.

Stop, Elias.

Why?

Because it’s not the stone.

Elias stopped. He breathed. He looked at the stone. He looked at Marcus.

What is it?

It’s us, Marcus said.

Elias looked at the marsh. The water was still. The sky was still. Everything was still.

It’s not us, Elias said.

It is.

No. It’s the void. It’s the nothing.

It’s the part of you that wants to disappear.

Elias stood up. He looked at Marcus. He saw the truth. Marcus was right. The stone was a mirror. It reflected what was inside. The emptiness. The hunger. The desire to end.

He looked at the marsh. It was beautiful. In a terrible way. It was perfect. It was complete.

He wanted to jump in. He wanted to sink. He wanted to become part of the gray.

He picked up the hammer. He looked at the stone. He looked at Marcus.

I can’t do it, Elias said.

Do what?

Break it.

Why?

Because it’s not real.

Marcus frowned.

It’s in my head. It’s a lie.

Marcus stared at him. His eyes widened. Then, he smiled. It was a sad smile. A tired smile.

You’re right, Marcus said.

Elias felt a surge of relief. It was sweet. It was warm. He felt light. He felt free.

So we leave? he asked.

No, Marcus said.

Elias frowned.

We don’t leave. We stay.

Why?

Because it’s real. It’s just not where you think it is.

Marcus pointed to the ground. To the mud. To the water.

It’s here, Marcus said. In the earth. In the water. In the air. It’s everywhere.

Elias looked down. He saw the mud. It was black. It was wet. It moved. It shifted. It looked alive.

He felt the pull again. It was stronger now. It was not a hook. It was a tide. It was rising.

He looked at Marcus. Marcus was watching him. His face was calm. He accepted it. He had already let go.

Elias felt the fear. It was sharp. It was bright. He fought it. He resisted. He pulled against the current.

He fell.

He fell into the mud.

It was cold. It was wet. It wrapped around him. It held him. He struggled. He kicked. He screamed.

Marcus stood over him. He did not move. He watched.

Elias gasped. The mud was in his mouth. It was in his nose. It was in his ears. He couldn’t breathe.

He stopped struggling.

It was easier.

It was quiet.

He looked at Marcus. Marcus looked at him.

I’m sorry, Marcus said.

Elias didn’t hear him.

He was gone.

The marsh settled. The water was still. The sky was gray. The stone stood in the center of the clearing. It was whole. It was smooth. It was waiting.

Marcus walked away. He walked back to the car. He did not look back.

He started the car. He drove. The road was bad. The car shook.

He drove home.

The town was silent. The houses were dark. The streets were empty.

He parked. He got out. He walked to his door. He unlocked it. He went in.

He sat down.

He waited.

The silence was heavy.

It was thick.

It was real.

He closed his eyes.

He dreamed of salt.

Not the sea.

The flat, gray pans.

White crust.

Black boots.

A heavy, wet silence.

He woke up.

He was alone.

The room was cold.

The air was still.

He looked at the wall.

The shadow was long.

It moved.

He did not move.

He let it come.

He let it take him.

He was quiet.

He was still.

He was gone.