Michael was sitting in front of the hospital's doors, staring at the snowflakes falling through icy fog. He had no idea what to do anymore, so he waited – waited for Beth to call again. Minutes passed, until an hour passed as well. Then, Michael's phone started ringing. He answered without hesitation.

"Beth?"

"...Mike? Where are you?"

"At the hospital. I couldn't find you, so –"

"No, it's...you are at a hospital? On the...wait, southern side of the lake?"

"...I think so, yeah."

"Well, I'm on the opposite side then. There's an amusement park nearby, and all sorts of...recreational businesses, I suppose."

"Wait there, just wait for me. I'll come to you, okay?"

"…"

"Beth?"

"Yeah, of course. See you soon, love."

Michael smiled – the violent chaos around him didn't matter, as he had only one goal now. Michael inspected the map, and found a rather straightforward route to the northern shore: he would follow Nathan Avenue until reaching Sandford Street. It seemed like a long walk, yet luckily Michael had nothing but time. He stood up, loaded the gun and started moving.

Michael passed the gas station once again. On the other side of the street, there was a bowling alley – Pete's Bowl-O-Rama. Michael had never enjoyed bowling, while Beth had some kind of natural talent for it. After the bowling alley, buildings mostly disappeared – only trees, bushes and billboards surrounded the road. Some of the billboards were covered by white, worn tarpaulins – there were smooth cuts on them, which Michael regarded as vandalism.

Michael walked by a rather ugly, greenish building with heavily decorated door. Some vehicles were parked in the area, so maybe this was another little shop. Soon a bridge appeared, just like map had predicted. Two bikes were left leaning against the railing, yet there was nothing else of interest. Michael could hear extremely faint noises of water rubbing against the river benches, but otherwise his surroundings were quiet.

Michael reached a crossroads and took right – he started following Sandford Street, and passed a couple of snow-covered (and naturally abandoned) buildings. Other than that, he was surrounded by a forest and the steep lakeshore – at least the sights were impressive, as Michael felt like walking on the edge of a massive void. Eventually, a large shape appeared on his right, taking gradually more and more precise appearance. It was a three-storey building – or rather a snow-covered husk of one: windows were missing, outer walls were blackened and roof was partially collapsed. Michael assumed that the damage was caused by fire – it was a shame, since the architecture and the elegant front yard were really impressive. According to the map, the building used to be a hotel – quite logical, since this explained its size.

Some ornamental trees appeared on Michael's left, accompanied by distant brick walls. Colourful pavement led to a wide steel gate – by the looks of things, this had to be the amusement park. Some benches were placed on both sides of the pavement; a blurry character was sitting on one of them. Michael felt unfamiliar excitement, which didn't last long – turned out the Barber was resting on the bench, rubbing his hands together and looking around nervously.

"You fell in the pit..." Michael started. He wasn't pleased, as Barber was the last person he could trust. Barber stared at him, recognizing him immediately (which was a bit surprising).

"I did...but I got out. It wasn't that deep, Michael. It was..."

Barber's voice was tense; his eyes were reddish.

"What happened to you?" Michael asked. Barber took a quick glance at him.

"I saw him...and he saw me. Very soon he comes back."

"You saw...what exactly? Some kind of...monster?"

"Yes; a monster...he can fly. But he hates light."

Michael realized that he still couldn't take Barber's speech seriously – not even after his own experiences. He decided to open up:

"I was at the hospital. I saw...these creatures too; even killed some of them. And still all this feels like a bad dream."

Barber rubbed his hair.

"Maybe you will see it, once night falls" Barber said. Michael thought about this for a moment: by the insane logic of his situation, something bad would happen after a quiet period. At least this time he got a warning beforehand.

"I met this woman at the hospital...Jess. She had been in an accident, so she was dependent on medication. I think...I think I saw what she felt. This town did it...whatever that really means. I saw her pain."

"Jess..." Barber repeated.

"You know her?"

Barber shook his head with puzzled expression on his face.

"I don't know much about her. She just asked my help, but..."

"Is...she dead?" Barber asked. Hesitantly, Michael answered:

"Yes. She took an overdose."

"How old was she?"

"I don't...maybe 20 years."

"...I'm sorry."

Michael got confused – Barber's tone was hard to analyze. He teared up and started talking through the sorrowful tension:

"I'm sorry Michael. I can...I can talk to you, right? You know how...no matter where you go, there's nothing else. No matter what you do, nothing but the pressure. Outside, in TV, in...magazines, everywhere. Don't you agree? But...you can't touch! They don't..."

Michael stared at the mentally collapsing man, wondering if he had understood the speech. Barber became quiet; he stared at the ground while Michael considered a quiet departure from the situation. Suddenly, Barber twitched and looked upwards – towards the fog and snow.

"What is it?" Michael asked.

"It's there. Somewhere above us. I have to keep moving."

Barber stood up and walked at the gate – turned out it wasn't locked, as he disappeared on the other side. Michael was left alone, wondering what he should do – he hadn't heard nor seen anything. Barber's talk still confused him, yet he had no more time for other people's problems. As it seemed Beth wouldn't be around the amusement park, Michael continued along the Sandford Street.

Michael passed a road leading north – Hawthorne Road. Despite the interesting name, it seemed like the wrong way: tall pine trees surrounded it, so maybe the road led out of town. It didn't matter anymore, as Michael's priorities had changed. He kept walking along to the shoreline, following a thick railing. A large white building appeared on his right – turned out it was a parking hall, and the area was likely aimed for tourists and other people interested in the lake view: there were some fast food stands standing equally far away from each other; some ornamental plants were placed between them.

One part of the area was elongated further on the lake; it was a wide pier. Because of the snow and fog, Michael couldn't tell where it led to – it just disappeared in emptiness. He took couple of steps along it, staring at the still water below the railings. He did get a bit interested, so he kept walking – calm wind blew snowflakes from the white void. Eventually the pier took a sharp turn left, and led to a tall cylindrical building – a lighthouse. The building wasn't too pretty, as its white paint was peeling and crackling. A set of steel-made stairs led to a wooden door, right above some overgrown bushes. Michael looked around for a while and checked his phone. A bit hesitantly, he walked to the door and turned it open.

The interior did fit together with the worn looks: walls and the floor were dirty, some empty metal barrels were left next to the door. Cosmetic shortcomings aside, the building seemed to be not even functional anymore: there were no stairs inside – nothing but an empty vertical shaft (there wasn't even a lamp at the top). However, as Michael lowered his gaze, he realized that the staircase was reversed: there was a smooth, cylindrical tunnel in the floor, and rusty stairs followed it downwards. Michael couldn't see the bottom of the tunnel – in general, he got the impression of extreme depth.

Michael stepped on the stairs and tried to think: was he supposed to go down? He did have another option: continuing along the streets, yet the more he thought about it, the more he realized there was only one way to proceed. For whatever reason he was still being guided, so he had to follow. Michael descended one step at a time – soon he realized, that the tunnel was horrifyingly narrow: nothing but brown concrete and darkness surrounded him, and caused mild strikes of panic. Michael forced himself to concentrate on walking and counting the steps: 51, 52, 53, and so on. Progress was made, until he reached number 160, and exited the staircase.

Michael arrived in some kind of basement – it was only a bit wider than the tunnel itself. There was a wooden door with some empty steel barrels left next to it; walls and the floor were dirty, plus a disturbing stench made breathing difficult. In addition to dirt, there were two large holes in the walls – they were circular, with a diameter of an arm's length. Michael inspected one of them with flashlight, yet he had trouble comprehending what he saw: the holes were mouths of smooth tunnels, and they were filled with something. Large, moist masses were hanging partially outside the holes; they were wet, dripping some drops of water – piles of hair. The tunnels were filled with wet hair, which did explain the smell. Michael had no idea what to make out of it, yet it seemed he would have to go further: turned out the wooden door wasn't locked.

Michael opened it and stepped out of the room.