Dr. Naesle.

Something brought me out of sleep in the musty motel room.

At first, as I blanked in the blurry darkness, I didn't know what it was.

The digital clock said it was just after three in the morning.

I reached for my phone on the nightstand, but couldn't find it in the darkness,

even though I could have sworn I left it next to the clock.

A faint shifting sound, like the swish of clothes rubbing together, caught my attention.

Sitting up in bed, I looked over at the full-length mirror on the wall.

It seemed to be hanging off the wall from one side.

As I shifted, moving closer to the mirror, I saw that there was a gap in the wall behind the mirror.

It was a door. Sensing movement behind me, I looked over my shoulder to see a figure rising

from the other side of my bed. It was the man from the motel office. John, he was the kind of old man

that still looked highly capable and plenty strong. He was dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt.

He had one hand behind his back and a frustrated look on his face.

Now, now, he said, no need to worry. This is just a strange dream.

What are you doing in my room? I asked, struggling to shake the grogginess of sleep off.

Not to worry. John said, moving closer. He whipped his right arm around from behind his back

and launched toward me, leading with a syringe.

There was smoke coming out of the front of the truck as we pulled into the motel parking lot.

The stench coming through the vents didn't give me much hope. It smelled like burning rubber.

Since I was the newest member of the moving team, I was sitting in one of the two back seats

in the semi-truck cab. A man in his forties named Wesley was driving. He had a beer belly,

...