He was...himself.

Not some strange reptile or insect or whatever. Himself. He checked to make sure. Yes, he had the right number of arms and legs, the right size. No heavy cotton draped over his body, no helmets or three-fingered gloves or dozens of little feet or any of that. He was truly himself. Back to normal.

...not quite.

Henry sat in a tall wooden chair, feet dangling. His hands clutched the ornately carved arms of the chair, but he couldn't see them. He couldn't see anything, really. The room in which he sat was pitch black, but he could sense that it was very large. Some huge piece of machinery thrummed some distance in front of him. The wood against his back and legs was warm and soothing. He felt like he was floating, just a little.

"Are you ready?"

The voice was a man's, slow and smooth, close by his ear. Henry didn't recognize it, but the man's presence was familiar somehow.

"Yes."

Ready for...what? he thought a moment later.

Images flooded his mind, flowing unbidden from some external source. Images he'd never seen before...

A small room...a shop, with a few rows of shelves down the middle. On one end, a series of cages held an assortment of small animals...dogs, cats, a hamster or two. In one corner, a cash register sat on a counter. The place seemed to be a pet store.

Henry was floating down the middle of the store (floating...) looking at the shelves. They were full of all kinds of things. He'd never had a pet, but he recognized most of what he saw. There were boxes of dog biscuits, bags of litter, enough cat food for an army of cats...

A man was moving from cage to cage, talking to the animals. He wore old denim overalls with one strap loose, and his dark hair was thinning on top. His face was kindly, and he spoke to the animals gently. He reached an arm into one cage to pet the cat inside, which purred under his touch. It rolled over and exposed its stomach, and wriggled happily as the man scratched and rubbed.

"That's a good tabby. Let me see that foot of yours...does it feel any better?" The man took the cat's paw gently in both hands, and turned it over carefully. "Looks like it's almost healed up. You be more careful next time, huh?"

Henry smiled to himself. He's a man who loves his work. I can understand that.

Just then, he heard a door open, then close. He couldn't see who had entered the little shop, but he had a strong impulse to hide. He pressed himself against the nearest shelf.

The man stood up and turned to face his visitor. "Can I help..." he started, but stopped short and peered at the person. "Huh. It's you. Some nerve you've got, coming back here after all this time."

Then Henry saw the man's eyes move lower, and they grew very wide.

"What the...no, don't..."

He backed up, but only managed a few steps before his back was against the row of cages. Then, Henry heard a loud pop, and another, and then the room was filled with the sound of gunfire. He tried to duck for cover, but found that he couldn't move.

Bullets swept the room, side to side. The man staggered, then fell, blood flowing from countless holes in his head and arms and legs. Henry braced for a similar fate...but he felt the strangest sensation.

The bullets...they're passing right through me. I can feel them. No pain, just an odd wriggling feeling...

The shelves behind him shifted, then toppled onto him. Henry found himself pinned beneath their weight, cans of cat food falling onto him painfully. Still, the rat-tat-tat of the gun continued. The screams of the dying animals tore through him as the bullets could not. When was this going to end?...

After some time, the shop was silent. Shelves and cages lay scattered over the floor, their occupants lying in bloody, furry piles. Food and cat litter were spread everywhere. From under the collapsed shelves, Henry could see the man in the overalls, lying face-up, motionless. Dead. Blood was pooling beneath his head.

His body...the bullets only hit his arms and legs. And his head. Strange...

There was a small noise from one of the furry piles. Footsteps approached, and there was a rat-tat-tat...then silence.

…I should be feeling horrified, but I'm not. I can't feel much. This is weird.

The feet came closer, and Henry froze. A pair of large hands descended over the man's body. One held a large knife. As Henry watched, the hands quickly cut open the man's chest and reached inside. After a few moments, they extracted something lumpy and bloody. The something went into a small plastic bag. Suddenly, Henry wanted to throw up, but he held perfectly still.

Then, the knife dipped over the man again, and stroked across his chest several times, as if carving into his skin...

Henry's vision grew fuzzy. As he lost consciousness, the voice echoed in his head.

Four.

He was outside, on a beautiful sunny day. Rows of houses stretched in front of him, behind neat green lawns. It was the picture of calm, happy suburbia, the sort of Rockwellian place where people lived out their lives day after day in tranquility, where nothing ever happened. Nothing at all. The sky was as clear as the sea...

Henry was floating again, behind a tree this time, watching.

Two kids were throwing a football back and forth. A boy and a girl, alike enough to be brother and sister. They were young, not quite in their teens, Henry guessed. An errant throw sent the ball toward some bushes by the side of a house.

"You suck!" the girl yelled as the boy went for the ball.

"And you throw like a girl!" he retorted.

"What do you expect? I am a girl, dumbass," she called after him.

"Yeah, and that's why I couldn't catch it, dumbass," he replied.

"Watch your language. Mom'll get pissed off."

"You said it first!"

She stuck out her tongue at his retreating back.

She didn't see the flash of the axe as it descended from behind her. Henry opened his mouth to call to her, to warn her, but it was too late. She fell in a spray of blood. The boy was still in the bushes, hunting around for the ball, when the axe fell on him as well. It moved silently, up and down, in a haze of red mist, as the clouds rolled in overhead.

The last of the sunlight glinted off of the shining metal of the knife as it did its work. The hands dropped their awful burden into a small plastic bag, and sealed it tightly against the coming rain. Then, the axe and knife moved back to the girl, lying sprawled in the street. She shifted slightly and groaned…she was still alive, but just barely. Henry flattened himself against the tree, and his head swam as he watched. But, try as he might, he couldn't see the person whose hands were wielding the weapons. He was always just out of the range of his vision...

As the axe cut through the girl's frail body, splintering bone and ripping flesh, Henry sagged against the tree, and slid to the ground. He saw no more.

Eight.

Nine.

"…so what's the plan, Gein? Gonna hit the old orphanage again tonight?"

"…N-n-no. Was g-gonna s-s-s-s-"

"Stay home? Good. Damn tired of skulking around in forests anyway. We're grabbing a burger at the Happy Burger. Wanna come along?"

"N-n-no, thanks."

"Suit yourself. Later."

"Later, S-S-Sein."

Click.

"Damn fool. He knew about this weeks ago. Hell, he came up with the idea."

"Figures he'd wuss out at the last minute."

"Screw him, Bobby. We can do this without him. Let's head over to PRU. Find that guy, what's his name?"

"Yeah. Shouldn't be hard to hit the dorms and figure out where he lives. Place isn't that big."

"Yeah. Jasper would just get in the way, anyway. Damn s-s-stuttering would take forever. Outta here."

"Don't forget that book you brought. I'll grab my camera in case."

Twenty minutes later, the knife was doing its work again. Two baggies, two bleeding lumps and two cooling corpses lying in the moist grass behind Hanford Hall. Henry knew the place well…it was where he'd lived for his four years at PRU.

They had found what they had sought…and so had he.

Two.

Three.

There was a cold breeze blowing through the trees. Henry could smell the faint scent of wildflowers, which seemed a strange thing in a dark, thick forest. A very dark, very thick forest. Almost impossibly so.

A dirt path was just visible, running through the trees. Moonlight filtered down and was swallowed up almost before it hit the ground. A break in the trees allowed light into a small clearing off to the side of the path, in which a pool of water surrounded a single pedestal of some sort. It looked like a huge birdbath to him, but it was clearly a birdbath with a purpose.

Henry floated through the trees, trying to remember if he'd ever been there before. Somehow, the place felt familiar, but he couldn't place it at all. Although he couldn't see it, he knew that there was a building at the end of the path, some ways off…he had to get there for some reason, but he didn't want to go…

A crunch, then another. Footsteps were approaching. He moved behind a tree as someone came down the path…an old woman. She was moving slowly, bent from age, clutching a magazine in her hand. Her dark clothing and black hat made her nearly impossible to see. Still, what with the noise she was making in the otherwise silent forest, it was almost unbelievable that she hadn't fallen prey to the things that were rumored to live in these woods.

I have been here before…but dammit, where is here?

"It's got to be here," she muttered to herself. "That evil place has to be around here somewhere. It's close. I can feel it." Then, she stopped suddenly, as if she heard something. Henry tried to move around the tree to see what it was, but he couldn't see anything in the darkness except for the old woman. He saw her black hat lift up, and her hand clench more tightly around the magazine as she stiffened.

"Who are you? Are you one of them?"

She must have known right away that that was the wrong question to ask. Something grabbed her and lifted her off of the ground. He still couldn't see, but he could hear her screaming bloody murder as she was carried off in the direction of the pond. As Henry crept closer, he could hear her asking where her family was, where they were keeping them…and getting no response.

Then, there was a loud splash. He saw water flying as she thrashed around in the pond against the dark hand that held her down. She had lost her hat, and her white hair glowed in the moonlight as she struggled and sputtered. It took her a long time to die.

That knife flashed again, in the moonlight, but for a shorter time. It stroked across the skin briefly, and then the moon disappeared behind the clouds as the old woman's body floated in the pond, hand still clutched around the magazine she'd brought with her.

And everything went black.

Thirteen.

"Happy birthday to you..."

Henry couldn't place the voice.

"Happy birthday to you...

"Happy birthday, dear Eric...

"Happy birthday to you..."

A whoosh as the candles on the cake were blown out, then…

BAM!

Ten. Thus was it done.

More sights and sounds flowed through Henry's mind like water. Blood and death and screaming and an axe and a spade and a spoon and a chainsaw and everywhere that knife, everywhere that knife.

For an eternity, they came to him. Men and women, tall and short, young and old, but all with the same look of terror in their eyes as their fate overtook them. He'd never forget that look, even if he couldn't remember all of their faces. Some kept their hearts, and some didn't. Some died quickly, while some took a long, long time to leave this earth. Through it all, he felt the presence of the man beside him, and realized that everything he was seeing was coming from him...it all derived from him…

He was just a witness.

The images stopped suddenly. Henry sagged into the warm wood of the chair, exhausted, but very alert. His body was tired, and his senses were drained, but his mind hummed with all that he'd seen. He felt things moving, coming together like puzzle pieces in his head. It all felt like it was going to make sense, not yet, but soon.

"That's it. That's everything."

The voice was soothing to his ears.

"It's time, Henry."

A hand grasped his and lifted, and Henry slid forward and stood up. The hand pulled him forward, toward the faint red glow coming from somewhere in front of him.

"Now you have seen it all. Everything."

"What do you mean?"

"This is the reason. What all of this has been about, and why."

The dreams, yes…but there's more to it than just dreams. Everything has happened for a reason. Because…

"It had to be this way. You see. Now you understand."

And he felt it slip into place in his head. Yes, he did. Everything, everything, made sense now. Its perfection gleamed like a jewel in the darkness. What it was that he understood, he couldn't say...but it was there, in his head, complete and self-contained and so right.

As he walked forward, toward the glow, the man walked next to him, still holding his hand. Out of the corner of his eye, Henry tried to make out his face, but the light was far too dim; all he could tell was that the man was slightly taller and heavier than him. He was all in black, and his hair hung to his shoulders, long and dark. He seemed part of the blackness.

Who is this man...

Henry could feel the answer just below the surface of his consciousness, but try as he might, he couldn't grasp it. It floated just out of reach. Alien, but familiar. Who...

His neck itched. His hand instinctively reached up to scratch, but stopped as his fingertips touched the skin. He'd gotten cut somehow...scratching would hurt. Multiple cuts, deep ones, but he didn't feel a thing from them. Odd. He squinted at his hand in the dark. There was blood glistening on his fingers.

They stopped at the edge of a pool of liquid. Henry saw movement in the dim light... it was the machine that he'd heard before. Something was spinning, circles in circles, in the pool. He heard the heavy splashing and swishing of the liquid. The man's hand tightened around his.

"My brother. Now, truly, we will be bound together here in Mother. You have everything you need. We are ready for the final step."

Henry shook his head in confusion. "I still don't understand."

"Yes, you do."

"No...I mean, what I need..."

Whatever it is...I can't grasp it, not just yet...almost, so close...

"You need this too. If you did not, this would not be possible."

The hand gave a mighty pull forward, and Henry felt himself falling into the pool. He hit it with a splash. A jerk on his hand and a second splash told him that his companion had followed him in. Then, the hand pulled him under the surface. He was sinking fast, and his lungs couldn't hold out for long...not in this thick wet blackness...

Henry spluttered, and tasted

blood BLOOD everywhere oh GOD...

oh yes.

And it was all right.

This is how it should be. This is what I need.

He understood now. Completely. He thought he had before, but he hadn't thought about the implications until this moment. What it meant to him. Now, he knew. He was a part of all of this, and he needed it as much as it needed him. He had been waiting for this for all of his life.

Red surrounded him, soaked through his shirt and jeans, filled his boots, flowed through his hair. He breathed it in, and drew sustenance from it. It tasted thick and rich and metallic. He could live forever here. He would live forever here. He pulled on the hand, and wrapped his arm around the other man's body as they were sucked under. They clung together in the blood like twins in the womb. The man felt strangely insubstantial, and after a moment Henry realized that he was too...

Coming home. I'm coming home.

When the blades ripped into him, he felt no pain, and lamented that final numbness.

I'll never feel that again. Pain, pleasure, joy, sorrow. I'll miss it forever.

His eyes snapped open. Above him, his ceiling fan spun silently, as it did every night. He didn't need a clock to know what time it was. It took him several seconds to get his arms to move. His hands moved around, checking to make sure that all of his body parts were in their usual places.

Nothing missing. I'm in one piece.

He stared at the motion of the fan as a single question filled his mind.

What…just…happened?

His fingertips touched his neck and found only stubbly yet intact skin.

This time was different. It was me, not something or somebody else. Me…and him. That had to be him. I was so close to knowing who he was…so close...

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed again, and put his head in his hands. He was at a loss. The images and feelings and sounds hadn't disappeared with the dream, but were still swirling around in his head, growing fainter and fuzzier by the minute. He wanted to forget, but something seemed vitally important about it all.

I have to remember, I know that. As much as I can. But…it's slipping away…

…and several seconds later, it was gone. All that remained were vague memories and images. If the dream had been bad, losing it was many times worse. He took a few minutes to give in to the despair.

Henry stood up after a while and made his way to the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face and head, and let it run down into his undershirt as he stared at himself in the mirror.

What the hell is happening to you?

His reflection stared back at him silently. No comfort there. Was it just a trick of the light, or had something changed in that familiar arrangement of flesh and bone? He ran a hand over his face, and the man in the mirror did the same.

Good.

What did you expect? It's a mirror. He does what you do. That's how it works, just like before.

Maybe. It's getting harder and harder to tell what's real. And the distinction seems less and less important.

So, what now?

Henry shook his head, and kept staring. He tried to remember...

What was it that I understood, just then, just before...it's important. The most important thing. It was the key to everything! I have to remember, dammit.

It hovered just out of his reach, like the brass ring on a carousel. The harder he tried to remember, the farther away it drifted. After a while, his hands released their grip on the sink, and he stood up and reached for the ceiling, feeling things pop and loosen.

The bed was still warm, despite the chill of the dead of night. Henry sat back against the pillow, looking around the room as if he'd never seen it before. Something occurred to him.

At least I haven't had that nightmare about the ghost tonight. First night without it. I wonder if that means something. I'm not sure I want to find out.

He felt his eyes closing, and fought hard to keep them open, but it was no use. He was being pulled under...

As he slid into unconsciousness, a last thought passed through his conscious mind.

I can't go on like this. Something's got to happen, soon...