It began as a family backpacking expedition, trekking on one of the most obscure hiking trails in the country. Little did we know about the endurance of the Groffins...the Perth, and the haunting particulars of how our insignificant walkabout would close. As fate would have it, an entity in a vast world, trapped in an indifferent time, thrust a mysterious dimension directly into our path, causing us to stumble through its' normally elusive gateway. Humans, dwelling in what is widely known by the Groffins as our far-back-world, often see evidence of this dimension. It resides between every second place you can see. Yet our choice to not comprehend, that which we are seeing as having value, blinds us.

Find yourself rowing through the infested swamp to Mister Brunars' hovel. Scramble about the sewers of the destitute metropolis, while invading the privacy of the inquisitive rodents. During your maddening quest for mere survival, you less than half, expect to make it. Your pact with death is sealed.

Excerpt: Jayda the Vendor

With breakfast behind the Groffins, you could see them stirring in the streets and tramping aimlessly through the unfamiliar fields. The crisp sounds of clanking shovels and rakes broke the quiet, as the newbies eagerly learned from their mentors. Plows quietly shushed the nurtured soil to each side, with a whinny or two now and then. Off to the right the wandering vendor, name of Jayda, was tramping along with the speed of an hour hand. Pushing with a crouch, his oversized workshop cart mercilessly aged him. Furrows tanned deeply into his weathered face, was the witness of the hardships endured plying his wares-yet he was always singing the same verse:

"Fresh veggies, fresh fruits;

Like-a shine, bring yer boots;

Sharp yer knife, sharp yer saw;

Soreness tooth, bring yer jaw."

This was his calling card. Over and over-dawn to dusk-day after day-year after crippling year,

Excerpt: Moving - tree symphony

Jeff closed his eyes so tightly that his brows nearly touched. He held the look for but a few moments and the mighty branches slowly started to move as a conductors' baton. They swayed with the delicate clashing of the cymbals, as the trunk twisted and the leaves shivered as though the killing frost starved them; withering their radiant skin. The violent motion mimicked the flowing cords on a classical piece, then suddenly burst into a graceful ballet that exploded in its' intensity. It became furious. Magically the symphony raged on and on, as a plethora of violin bows struck the cat-strings, screeching so pleasantly-soothing and caressing our temples. It was all that we could hear as the branches viscously swept the dusty ground, soon pounding as the kettle drum, thundering into each other. The possessed branch crackled like the snapping of a heavy bone. Was the monolith to survive? Ten trumpets bleating forth, common cords, higher-no higher-higher yet. Could it take the bashing? Slowly the crash of the cymbals tinkled away, as the brushes lazily skittered across their brazen faces. The notes slid deeply into the tranquilizing, abysmal moves of the cello-again gracefully swaying to the left-the conductor-then to the right. The calm had returned from the storm, but a thousand fewer leaves which had scattered away during the mayhem gained their freedom-escaped unnoticed from the ranks of millions. You could hear a pin drop-then imagine the roar of the crowd.

The tree? Well, the tree was fine but had moved to the west double the trunks' breadth, exposing the black hole in the dense forest wall...