Roger groaned as he woke up in a barn after a long day of what his paystub referred to as ‘groundskeeping.’ He blinked and saw a raven nearby, simply watching him. As soon as he stretched, the bird cawed and flew off through the large opening where the barn doors used to be and into the morning sky. His head had been laid on a rough bale of hay so he had to rub his neck to - in a bit of futility - soothe some of his new neck pain.
Feeling an alien bit of soft cloth, he could tell something was different: his shirt and overalls had been replaced by silk pajamas and a smoking jacket. He got to his feet and looked around: his work clothes were nowhere to be seen. Roger took out his notebook - an old, leather bound diary that simply had the words “THE VICAR” emblazoned on the front - and wrot
