They had come almost two miles north from the fence, and had just passed a line of low, scrubby hardwoods on their left—to the west of the road. As the grove had slid past, it had revealed a small house standing half a mile away, all alone in the rippling grass. The thing was sun-bleached yellow, with a dark grey roof. A quarter mile farther west stood an enormous barn, broadside to the yellow house. The barn’s roof had partly caved in from rot, but the exterior walls remained intact.

Dryden realized his breathing had changed—had gone just noticeably shallow. He turned to Danica and saw her staring at the house and barn, too—raptly.

Grace turned in his seat and looked up at both of them. “You got something?”

“I don’t know,” Dryden said. “Maybe.”

“Call it a strong maybe,” Danica said.

“Is it the house or the barn?” Grace asked.

Dryden shook his head. “I can’t tell. Might be both.”

Grace turned to the driver. “Take us over there.”

The Jeep got moving again. Up ahead, the telltale impression of a crossroad cut through the weeds. The driver made the left, and a few seconds later the Jeep was accelerating straight west toward the two derelict structures.

The moment Dryden climbed out of the vehicle, in front of the small house, the sense of déjà vu intensified. The exterior walls were made of brick, and the roof was slate. Dryden realized he had already known that, even before they were close enough to see those details—he had been thinking of it as a brick house from the moment it slid into view past that grove.

Danica got out behind him. In his peripheral vision, Dryden saw the Jeep’s driver start to open his door, but Grace leaned across and stopped him, making a gesture that said, Leave them to it.

Dryden glanced down at the weeds in front of him, looking for the near edge of the runoff ditch that flanked the road. Instead he saw what must have been the entry drive to the yard, long ago: a gravel lane that crossed the ditch, just visible now in the deep grass. Dryden followed it. He had gone only half a dozen steps beyond when his foot smacked against something rock solid. He cursed softly and caught his balance, then stepped back from the thing.

He saw a low, squat shape under the weeds. He knelt and pushed them aside, revealing what at first appeared to be a tombstone. Then he read the engraving:

ASHLAND TOWNSHIP SCHOOL

FUNCTIONAL 1847–1938

“I’m getting a really strong vibe from this,” Danica said. There was a hush in her voice—some mix of wonder and fear. “How about you?”

Dryden nodded. “I’ve seen this before. I know it.”