The first thing I noticed when I got to Kramer Hill was that the wormhole was there. It wasn't supposed to be there. According to my watch, it wasn't supposed to open for another two minutes.

And when I got closer, there was something different about the wormhole's appearance as well. It looked like it was glowing—but in the daylight, I couldn't really be sure. How long had it been open like this?

Then suddenly, the wormhole seemed to shift. I stiffened, sure I had imagined it—but no, the sphere was actually distorting, twisting into more oval-like shapes. I whipped out my phone, training the camera on the wormhole, which appeared to be growing in size. Within a matter of seconds, it had to be about five feet tall, now a slender ovoid shape instead of a sphere.

As I watched, the ovoid flexed and darkened, as though reflecting something on the other side. The shape within the wormhole became more prominent, molding itself into what seemed to be a humanoid. I stepped back.

It all happened so fast. There was a flash of light—then the wormhole was back to its original shape and a person was standing before me. I dropped my phone and jumped away, but lost my footing and fell into a bush. Quickly, I scrambled up again, grabbing my phone and brushing off the leaves. Then I fixed my eyes upon the figure who had emerged out of the wormhole.

She was a woman, about my age, dressed in a plain black t-shirt and pants. Her hair was a muted orange-brown color, falling down past her shoulders. Her skin was tan but not as dark as mine, and she had a couple freckles dotting her face. She was smiling.

"Who are you?" was the first thing she asked. Her voice was low in pitch, but very smooth.

I swallowed nervously. "Um. Hi. I'm Mel. Or Melissa. Take your pick. You?"

"Paloma." She extended her hand, but I didn't take it. Hand-shaking was not one of my favorite activities.

"You came out of a wormhole," I said. The statement was fairly obvious, but what else could I say?

"I did." Paloma's sustained eye contact was somehow more uncomfortable than usual. I focused my gaze upon her freckles instead.

"Where—where does the wormhole lead?"

"Why do you want to know?" was her cryptic reply.

I took another step backwards, fingering the hem of my shirt. I didn't know how to reply. What would I say? How would I explain my obsession with this wormhole? Paloma stayed absolutely still, face still twisted into that serene smile that I couldn't read.

"I like wormholes," I finally said. A massive understatement.

"How did you know it was a wormhole?"

"It... looks like a wormhole. I know what wormholes look like."

"Have you ever seen one before?"

"Um—well. In science fiction movies. And science documentaries." I didn't mention the enormous amount of research I'd conducted to make sure it really was a wormhole.

"I—I see." Paloma's face fell suddenly. At first I assumed it was a reaction to my words, but then she doubled over, almost as if in pain. "I'm sorry. I need to... need to...."

And just like that, like a marionette with its strings clipped, she collapsed. I rushed forward, crouching down and pressing two fingers to her neck. Her skin was very cold. Fortunately, I could feel the steady pulse of a heartbeat.

I closed my eyes, trying to still my own wildly beating heart. Here was a woman who had walked out of a wormhole, then suddenly, inexplicably, fainted. What was I supposed to do??

I heard the rustle of leaves behind me, easily identifiable as footsteps to my hyper-attentive ear. I whipped around. The man, to whom the footsteps had belonged, froze. He had a mass of neat, thick, blonde hair, very pale skin, and was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. His eyes flickered from me, to Paloma on the ground, to the wormhole.

"What the hell happened here??" he finally cried.