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“Do any of us exist, after all, unless or until we're called to do so? Are we really alive if someone isn't dreaming us into existence? We're all of us one dimension removed, one silent plane away from someone else's reality, waiting to be conjured up. Who sends prayers your way? Who calls you in? Who's remembering you exist? Is it down to just you? How do you reach them, remind them to think of you even as you pull apart, fade and twist under the blackness of space, drifting beyond sound? Past the void's silence, the in-between's pieces of quiet, when no one will listen to you scream.”
― Theodore C. Van Alst Jr., Never Whistle at Night: An Indigenous Dark Fiction Anthology