Some months later, I browsed in a poster store and happened across old posters for the Stanton Theater. There it was in bold colors: "Tonight! The White Warlock's World Renown Vanishing Act!" The dramatic look portrayed in the magician's face was as exaggerated as his reputation, but there was still no doubt in my mind. I recognized the White Warlock. He was the same tall man that had been in my living room.

I didn't spend much time dwelling on what might as well have been an hallucination. But two nights ago I was busy working on a complex design I picked out in my book of crop circles and no, I'm not a UFO freak, I just like the patterns. I actually fell asleep at my desk, engraving knife in hand, and was having a good dream about being in a beer commercial until a strange sensation tingled my whole body awake. I looked up and looked at the clock. There wasn't any. In fact, I didn't know where I was. Everything was different. Old. Looking for a way out, I realized where I was. The wooden planks. The iron peephole. The front door was the door to my house. But everything had changed, old bookshelves, old lanterns, old furniture. And an old grandfather clock in the hallway, it read 4:25. There was a knock at the door and I immediately remembered that exactly a year had passed since that strange knife came at me. Fearing for my life, I crawled to the floor and dragged myself to the back wall.

The door was kicked open. A young man wearing boots and holding that hunter's knife charged in. His head turned left and right searching for someone, perhaps anyone. I suppose I could've spent those brief moments making some kind of plan. I suppose I could've realized I was still holding my engraving knife in my hands and positioned myself to my advantage. I suppose I could've done all that but at that moment, I only prayed he wouldn't see me. He did. He fell towards me with his knife at my neck.