Time becomes warped and discordant with each step towards the shack. A single candle flame flickers in one window, sending a dancing glow into the darkness that surrounds it, acting as a beacon for you to follow. What you had anticipated would take a matter of minutes, soon stretches out into hours and perhaps days. You do not care. Each step feels like a step closer to The Screaming Zahir.

Eventually, you find yourself close enough to see that the hut is positioned against a backdrop of mountains and trees, previously obscured in the darkness. Whilst the walls are crumbling and patchwork, the roof is in excellent condition.

“To stop the crows,” a wheezing voice says from within. “The roof is to stop the crows.”

You find yourself unable to respond. You feel as though you are being watched but aside from the flickering candle, the darkness inside the hut is impenetrable. The door is scratched and marked with thousands of tiny marks.