i was merely entering a small colonial cottage that had somehow survived the ages, it seemed lost and misplaced in the middle New York, the winding paths and alleyways seemed to obscure it from the rest of the city and remove it from prying eyes. I walked over the remains of the fallen fence, up to the window, which i managed to gently slide open and begin to crawl into, and as i shifted my weight to set myself upon the floor...

for the briefest moment in time i felt as though i had been plucked from my own place in time and space, to be examined by some curious entity. i could not move, i could not look around, most of what surrounded me was pure darkness, and the appearance of a giant hand, I deeply believe that this imagery was not the truth, merely a shield, to protect my own mind from the reality of that horrid thing which, had the ability to pluck individuals from time and space.

and then my foot touched the floor of the old colonial house... the boards creaked underfoot.

my mind reels at the thought of such a power that could makes toys of the concept of time, space, and reality.

i have not returned to field work since that day, my brethren have been kind and bring me new books to read, fantasies to take my mind off it. i enjoy them greatly.
but when i close my eyes the hand is there, it had left a scar upon my mind that i fear will never fade.