But I was being braver now, wasn’t I? The Farm was my place, and I wasn’t to fear anything here. And besides, the vision had told me to. At least I thought it had.

I took a deep breath and stuck my arm down into the cleft in the tree. It went in far, past my elbow, like the whole middle of the tree was hollowed out. I grasped around in there and felt something skitter up my arm. But I didn’t yank my hand out, not yet. Because I’d found something else in there, something plastic, placed there just for me.

I pulled it out. An old ’80s-style tape player. I popped it open. There was a blank cassette inside, a Memorex, with “JEREMIAH 07-18-88” scribbled in black ink on the label. Who the hell was Jeremiah?

I clicked play.

A voice rang out into the forest, bold through the cheap tinny speaker. It was deep and rich and full and lovely and beautiful, more like music than talking. It carried a rhythm in it, a lilting hope and a beauty. I could have listened to it all day.

“Children, have you ever felt alone? Rejected by the world? Cast out, friendless, unfit for the company of others? Do you feel as if you will never find a place of your own, somewhere you can truly belong? If this is so—listen to me now, children—I say you are blessed.”

I heard other voices on the tape, people in the room with him during the recording, clapping and hollering along. It was a sermon, some kind of church service. It seemed wild and ecstatic like a Pentecostal church, but also not quite Christian either.

“Blessed, I say. And do you know why? Because I am here to tell you a secret. Would you like to hear that secret? Listen close to me.”

Tape hiss, static, more clapping.

“It is not the world that has rejected you, children. No, it is you who have rejected the world. The Spirit has told you that this world is not worthy of you. There is a light inside each and every one of you, and the world is blinded by that light. It drives those born of darkness far away—it repels them. For they want you to deny your own light, to banish the sweetest and most beautiful parts of yourselves. Friends, they want you to become empty, vessels of night, those who live for nothing but their own bellies, their own selfish gain. In short, they want you to become just like them.

“And praise the Spirit, because you are unable to do so. Praise the Spirit, because something in you revolts at the thought of being one of them, your very bones quake at the notion. Praise the Spirit, because you are here now, and you are listening.”

The applause was rapturous. People cheering, hollering, going absolutely wild.

“What are you doing?” said a girl’s voice.

I pressed stop and whirled around. I also probably made a yelping sound like a tiny terrified little puppy, if you want me to be honest about it.