On the top of my bookshelf, there's a little box with two things in it. One is a tarnished old amulet with a narrow cut on one end and a fragment of parchment inside. The other is an old wooden pocketknife with a divot where a bullet struck.
I keep them away from inquisitive eyes-- they are too hard to try to explain. I've never told a soul where they really came from... I'm not sure I believe it myself. But every once in awhile I take that box down and I look at those things.
And sometimes, I dream...