“I run behind a wide-leaf palm, shaking. I know that I’m shaking because I’m gripping the palm and its leaves are moving and I’m afraid the man might see the tree on the beach. Of course, that’s ridiculous because all the trees are swaying in the breeze.”

Helen remained speechless, and Sherry continued, “So, I watch the man walk right onto the beach, about fifty meters from my tree, and he begins to dig a hole in the sand with his hands, like a dog burying a bone. I watch him throwing that sand between his legs, wondering why a man who could walk on water would dig like that. And then I hear children laughing, and I think, Yes, that’s how children would dig a hole. But as soon as I think it, real children, not just their laughter, are running onto the beach. I can’t even tell you where they come from, but they’re suddenly everywhere—and then adults too, thousands of them crowding the white sand, tossing balls, talking, laughing.

“But the man’s still there, in the middle of all these people, digging that hole. They don’t see him. And if he sees them, he doesn’t show any sign of it. Then the man drops an object, like a coconut, into the hole; covers it with sand; and walks off the beach, onto the water, and over the horizon.”

She continued quickly, aware that her heart now pounded steadily in her ears.

“At first nothing else happens. The people are just out there running over the sand, right over that spot. But then suddenly a plant pokes through the sand. I can actually see it grow. It just grows and the people are walking around it as if this is some everyday occurrence. They’re walking around it so I know they must see the plant, or else they would step on it, right?”

Sherry paused, not really expecting Helen to answer.

Sherry felt her lips twitch and it occurred to her that most people sitting in Helen’s chair would be narrowing their diagnosis to schizophrenia about now.

Her fingers were trembling and she closed them. “It grows like a mushroom. A giant mushroom that keeps growing. And as it grows, I sink to my knees. I remember that because a sharp shell dug into my right knee. The mushroom towers over the whole beach, like a giant umbrella blocking the sun.”

Sherry swallowed.

“Then the rain falls. Large drops of flaming liquid, like an acid that smokes wherever it lands, pouring down in torrents from the mushroom above us.” Her voice was wavering a bit. She folded her hands and struggled to sound sane.

“The drops . . . melt . . . they melt everything they touch. People are trying to leave the beach in a panic, but they can’t. They just . . . they just run around in circles being pelted by these large drops—acid drops that melt their flesh. It’s the most horrible sight. You know, I’m yelling at the people to leave the beach, but I don’t think they can hear me. They just run through the rain and then fall in a heap of bones.”