He had to go back; Lyle knew that with a surety that was Hulk-ish in its strength. It wasn’t a feeling that was fueled by the idea that the dream-ghost of his dead mother had been dancing in the gore of the hanging man’s innards, either. It really had been just a dream, and Lyle’d had more than one dream in his life that could have been woven into a horror movie. It was that damn sensation that he’d felt the first and the second time it had pulled at him, and now that something had been seeded in his head—what, he wasn’t quite sure (come farther, save me! Wake up, Lyle…)—it was growing like Jack’s beanstalk. Lyle was pretty sure it was not only going to take over his mind, but that it would eventually start sprouting out his ears.
And that pissed him off more than anything. If it was a te
