And in the dream, Margot could do nothing. She was bound by what had happened that morning: dutifully following the funeral director to that dim, dusty room. The space with the rows of caskets and coffins lined up like sentries. The spaces where her parents lay, inside the boxes that were designed to keep them whole and protected once they were placed into the ground, as though they should be whole and protected, as though those faces were something Margot wanted to preserve…

The funeral director fit his key into the lock, and as he turned it, Margot woke with a gasping jolt.

She was breathing hard enough to make her lungs ache. She scrambled to sit, eyes wide but sightless. The world was gone. A horrible thought speared through her mind, sending ice into her veins.

I’m in a casket. He put me in a casket by mistake.

But then her eyes began to adjust, and she saw the bronze bell next to the door, thankfully still, and the faint outline of her phone and its looping power cord beside her bed.

The space was dark. Far, far darker than it had been when she’d lain down. She’d planned for a nap, but both dusk and early night had passed her by. She reached for her phone, squinting in what traces of moonlight reached under the curtains, and tapped to see the time. Nearly one in the morning.

She pulled back, bringing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. The hour felt dangerous. Like she wasn’t supposed to be conscious at such an unnatural time.

That was foolishness, she knew. She’d been awake at one in the morning before. After New Years’. During some holidays and weekends too, when her friends threw parties or had a movie marathon. One in the morning had never felt wrong before, just late.

Now, though, the time felt deeply sick. As though anyone who was alert at this hour invited terrible, horrific things into their lives. As though it opened a doorway to a darker world.

It’s the house. The land and its history. The stories have gotten into your head. You’re not used to living in the country, and it’s making you paranoid.

Margot’s wide eyes glanced from the bell to the closed curtains. It was the land, she thought, but not in the sense that she was letting urban legends upset her. The land itself did something to the hour. Warped it, the way the city never could.

Stop it. This is your home now.

She’d only wanted to sleep for an hour or two. Then she could have eaten while there were still traces of light outside and been in bed before it was truly dark. Now, though, she had the choice of creeping through the building as deep night coated it or forgoing dinner entirely and trying to sleep until morning.