The Gate Beyond the Hills

Somewhere between Paso de Luce and Faraday's Crossing—landmarks you're better off not knowing—there's a place where reality frays at the edges. The locals won't talk about it. Ask around and the only answer you'll get is stay away. Most people who go looking come back sunburnt and disappointed, having found nothing but dirt and shrubs. They lose a little faith in the strange. Those are the lucky ones.

The narrator of this story knows the place intimately. He lives nearby, on an isolated porch where he's watched countless young adventurers drive past in search of the boundary. He's stopped trying to turn them away. But one group—two young men and three women, led by a tattooed woman with close-cropped red hair who called herself Ember—pulled up asking for directions. They were hunting UFOs, hoping to camp out and capture footage of a mother ship they believed was hiding in plain sight.

He tried to warn them. Told them about the people who'd gone missing. Suggested a safer camping spot past a stand of cactus, near a dry arroyo with the prettiest stars you'll ever see. They weren't interested. "See you on the way back," Ember called out as they drove off.

He did see her on the way back. Only her. She came speeding toward his porch, swerved into a ditch, and stumbled out weeping.

What Ember Saw