“Well, I
don't think there's any point going any further,” Robert says to
himself, looking at the pile of rubble that was once a cottage.
“Except I can't help but feel like something doesn't want me to.”
Another
strange memory occurs to him. “Chance is your friend,” he says,
pulling a coin from his pocket. “Heads I press on, and tails I
head for the trees.” With that, he flips the coin into the air.
At that
moment the breeze turns into a gust, catching the coin and spinning
it away from him, while the innocent laughter becomes a horrifying
scream. Robert covers both ears with his hands to block out the
noise.
