Bower Street wasn't paved. Hell, white rock and gravel would be an upgrade. Erin's car bounced through the deep ruts in the road. She winced every time the bottom of the car dragged against the rock and dirt, sure she was leaving behind valuable engine parts with every crunch.

She spotted two mailboxes, both leaning and rusted, sitting beside overgrown neglected driveways. No signs of life, not even a single hand-written sign begging for a chance to buy her house. The road terminated at a fence, with the wire that wrapped the fence posts consumed by trees that grew through the fencing. She could see a small house, little more than a shack, with windows that glowed orange.

Someone was home.

"You going or staying, Westy Donahue the Third?"

The dog followed her out of the car, trotting along the grassy lawn. He didn't hesitate or growl, giving Erin a bit of relief. No monsters here, perhaps. The sun was setting fast, and she could see people standing in the lawn near the house. They didn't move, not an inch.

They were scarecrows, sacks with faces on them atop clothes stuffed with grass and hay. There had to be over a dozen, all around the house.

"What the fuck?" Erin asked.

The door to the house squeaked open. The old woman, still wrapped in the same shawl, was hunched in the doorway.

"Don't mind them, scarecrows keep the devils away."

She thought of the masks people wore at the games. "The lion?"

"The lion, yes. But that's not really a concern. A lion is just an animal, it hunts and eats to survive. What I'm talking about, and you know very well what I am talking about, is much, much meaner."

"They're bigfoot, right? Sasquatch?" Erin asked. She walked closer to the house, West Donaghy ran ahead, hopping around the old woman. She looked even older than Erin remembered, the breeze moving the wisps of hair on her head, her cloudy eyes focused on Erin. The woman opened her mouth and closed it, like she was trying to work up the ability to speak.

"Erin, right?" She asked. "My name is Pamilia."

"How do you know my name?" Erin asked.

"Small town."

Erin ascended the three steps to the front porch, the creaking wood straining. "Bullshit."

"You have a familiar face. Come in, we have to be quick. Ry is not safe."

Pamilia stepped aside and ushered Erin in. When Erin entered the home, Pamilia shut the door. Rattles erupted and Erin jumped back, her leg had grazed a small metal cage wrapped in chicken wire, multiple rattlesnakes within.

"My doorbell," Pamilia said. "And another security system."

"I found some papers from Jackson Meriwether, they said you knew about the monsters."

"Time, honey. We don't have much. Okay. These woods," Pamilia said, backing up and settling into a worn armchair with a sigh. "These woods are odd, don't you think? There's a door there."

"A door?" Erin asked. She glanced around for a chair. West Donaghy hopped into the old woman's lap. She scratched his ears.

"A door. Something that opens every thirty years to the same point in time. Things come out of there. First, the birds, always two, always big and mean."

"Then let me guess, the lion and the bigfoots?"

"Every thirty years. I saw you that day in the school. I know you, Erin. I know Ry too! Just... not yet."

"What do you mean not yet?"

"We're all different people at different times in our lives. I know a warrior." She winked.

"So, this is a time thing? You know a future me? How?"

"I don't know. It keeps me up some nights. I've been here a long time, longer than you could believe. I've met some interesting people in these woods. You gotta be careful. There's more than animals out there. There's people you haven't me yet, but like me, have met you. Many times."

"How do I help Ry?"

"I'm gonna give you something to mask your scent. It's gonna smell awful and you'll never get used to it, honey. But you'll find some clean water to wash it away with."

"What about a gun? Several guns? I'll settle for a sword!"

Pamilia stood up and shuffled to a table, pushing aside bundles of sage and tried plants hanging from the ceiling. The house felt small, smaller every moment Erin stood there. Pamilia rifled through the piles of bottles and bones until she found one and handed it to Erin with a shaking hand.

Erin took it, and glanced around the small house. Every surface was piled with books and bags. Old clothes and bottles. Even the floor was merely a series of small pathways through it all.

"You accumulate so much in this life, even before you know it. I have a hard time letting go," Pamilia said. "You go to your place, Erin. Take that path. When you reach where a bridge should've been, you douse yourself in that. You go to Jackson's house. Ry is there. He's waiting."

"Okay. Come on, Westy," Erin said.

"You can't."

"Why?"

"They'll kill him. Not quick, either."

"Can you watch him?"

"Are you kidding? I love this little guy."

"Of course you do."

Erin hugged West Donaghy's neck and breathed in his scent. He needed a bath badly, and she assumed he wasn't getting one anytime soon.

"Be good, Westy."