A jolt of adrenaline seized him, sending electric warnings to his brain. He moved one foot, preparing to follow the advice, then stopped.

“Just a small earthquake,” he said. “Stop scaring yourself. Everyone gets spooked in the woods. Everyone.” And then, just to squash the little voice forever, he screamed across the valley. “Come get me! Come and freaking get me! I’m all alone up here in the orchard, near the Black River!”

His words echoed into the enormous light curtains. The pulsating orb in the sky’s center ebbed and flowed, then shot flashes of white-hot light to the horizon.

Matt laughed. Tonight had been strange. Maybe if he hadn’t taken those mushrooms at Trent’s party. Whatever was left of them was probably working its way through his system. That was it. Of course. The mushrooms from two months ago explained everything.

Soon, the enchanting light display calmed his nerves. There was no way it couldn’t. This was his home. He was where he wanted to be. The unparalleled beauty triggered thoughts he didn’t care to think— thoughts of his father and Stacey. He pivoted in a circle, absorbing the sky and spectacle, trying to tune his mind out. Completing the turn, he felt something tiny crawling on his leg. A tick was perched on his muscular calf. The tick had not dug into his skin yet, so he flicked it away with his wrist.

Should’ve put some pants on, he thought, shivering and crossing his arms. He walked back down the path, humbled by the display and shaken by the earthquake. Two extreme natural events such as these happening at the same time was improbable. But hey, this was the U.P. It wasn’t exactly a normal place.

Don’t forget the birds, Matthew, the little anxiety voice said. They didn’t want to be caught, and neither do you.

Matt let the creaky shack door drown out the voice in his head. He crawled into his sleeping bag and turned on his side so he could see the shafts of northern lights breaking into the room. As the minutes passed, the lights dimmed. All that remained was white light—as if a child had sucked the green juice out of a Fla-Vor-Ice pop—dancing outside the windows. Soon his eyelids grew heavy, the train sound on a loop in his mind. The last, scant reflections of Northern Lights receded from the cherrywood table, then ghosted out the southern window like the tentacles of a retreating octopus.

At 2:00 a.m., Matt woke to claws scratching on glass.