Autumn was a spectacular sight in the small town of Reminiscence. The leaves on the maples, oaks, sycamores, and poplars were a riot of warm colors: gold, orange, red, pink, some edged in tan or brown. Some of the leaves were already falling, though not enough that the rakes had come out of the garages and storage sheds, yet. Days were shorter than one would expect, the mountains and the broad space that was the town upon the river forming a cup that encouraged early nights and false dawns that faded back into the chill dark of morning. This particular day was fading fast, slipping to dusk and bringing with it a beautiful starscape diluted by the few streetlights in decent repair. Many denizens of the town found themselves retiring early, drawn to bed by an irresistible urge to sleep, a feeling that something important was coming, something they needed to be well rested for. In the middle of the night, those who’d felt the pull to Reminiscence would experience it intensifying a hundredfold. The quiet of a small town at one a.m. would normally have been pierced by the sound of owls and crickets, cicadas and frogs. Tonight, silence reigned. Each of them would be drawn from their beds, would feel the almost irresistible urge to make their way to the old theatre on Main Street. The street itself was the closest thing to flat in the town, though it wove its way through, following the path of the river and the train tracks. The theatre was situated across from most of the town’s important buildings. The coal mining museum, post office, and town hall were there, along with a small park and an even smaller second hand store. But those were not important on this night. Only the theatre. And each of them would make their way there, bathed in a cloak of night and a mantle of flickering streetlamps. Alexander felt like going for a walk. No, it was more than that. He didn’t just want to go, he needed to. He dressed quickly, hesitating but a moment to grab keys, wallet, and phone. It was almost like moving through a dream. At one point, he wondered if he’d left his front door open, but the concern was unimportant. Only getting to the theatre mattered. He wondered if something might be wrong. His family was funding the renovation, and this might be some imminent disaster calling out to him. But why? As much as he hated to admit he had them, his talents did not include premonitions or feelings such as this. So what was drawing him? Could he be feeling the emotions of another who was feeling a pull? Was someone in danger? Ander increased his pace, jogging down the road and briefly wishing he’d taken his car. But it hadn’t seemed important. Besides, the distance from his house to the theatre was less than two miles. He’d be there soon enough, and perhaps the jog would clear his head. But that didn’t seem to be the case. The closer he got, the stronger the pull. Something was very wrong, but he couldn’t turn back. He had to know.