He slept better that night than he had since they had brought him here. And he
had an extremely vivid dream. He had always dreamed a great deal-his wife had
complained about him thrashing and muttering in his sleep-but he had never had a
dream like this.
He was standing on a country road, at the precise place where the black hottop.gave up to bone-white dirt. A blazing summer sun shone down. On both sides of
the road there was green corn, and it stretched away endlessly. There was a
sign, but it was dusty and he couldn't read it. There was the sound of crows,
harsh and far away. Closer by, someone was playing an acoustic guitar,
fingerpicking it. Vic Palfrey had been a picker, and it was a fine sound.
This is where I ought to get to, Stu thought dimly. Yeah, this is the place,
all right.
What was that tune? "Beautiful Zion"?. "The Fields of My Father's Home"?
"Sweet Bye and Bye"? Some hymn he remembered from his childhood, something he
associated with full immersion and picnic lunches. But he couldn't remember
which one.
Then the music stopped. A cloud came over the sun. He began to be afraid. He
began to feel that there was something terrible, something worse than plague,
fire, or earthquake. Something was in the corn and it was watching him.
Something dark was in the corn.