Caleb walked slowly, the crunch of gravel beneath his boots oddly loud in the hush of the forest. The lodge should’ve been just ahead, and the smell of cedar and smoke in the air confirmed it. Still, his pace was hesitant, like waking from a dream and not yet sure what was real.
He glanced at his watch again. Still not ticking. But as he emerged from the trees and stepped onto the wide lawn outside the lodge, something made him stop cold.
The bell above the porch door rang.
It was the same bell Sam had rung that morning to signal breakfast.
He furrowed his brow.
No way. That had to be wrong.
The sun sat at nearly the same place in the sky as when he’d left hours ago, if it had been hours ago. He half-expected to see the shadows longer, lunch already underway. But the same light filtered across the deck. The same crispness hung in the air.
People were only just now stirring toward the main house.
His heart thudded.
Had no time passed?
That trail. That field. The figure. The cave. That glow.
All of it had felt like a journey, a whole arc of emotion, fear, and revelation. But here, now, it was as if none of it had happened. Like he had walked through another layer of the world and returned through a door only he could see.
Caleb shook his head, rubbed his face, and muttered, “You’re losing it, man.”
But even as he tried to shrug it off, his body betrayed him. His shirt was still damp with sweat. His hands trembled faintly. He felt what had happened. The adrenaline, the slumped sleep, the symbols on the cave wall, they hadn’t been imagined. And yet, every instinct in him wanted to dismiss it. Explain it away. Call it exhaustion. Call it stress.
He couldn’t process it. So part of him simply wouldn’t.
He took a few steadying breaths and walked toward the steps. The front door creaked open just as he reached the porch.
Nic stood there, leaning against the frame with a mug in hand. His posture was casual, but his eyes were locked in.
“There you are,” Nic said. “Was about to come find you.”
Caleb nodded, trying not to seem rattled. “I’m… here.”
“You alright?”
Caleb opened his mouth to respond but paused.
What could he say? I saw a vision of myself in a field, ran from a shadow, found an ancient glowing cave, lost an hour that didn’t exist, and remembered the exact moment my faith cracked open like a dropped glass?
He gave a half-shrug. “Yeah… I think I just got turned around out there.”
Nic tilted his head, studying him. “Funny thing is, you weren’t gone long.”
Caleb froze. “What do you mean?”
“I saw you walk down by the creek maybe fifteen minutes ago. Figured you were just clearing your head.”
Fifteen minutes?
He felt the world tilt slightly, like the floor of his mind wasn’t quite level.
“I guess time moves different out here,” Caleb said, trying to keep it light.
Nic didn’t laugh. He just sipped his coffee. “Yeah. Maybe it does.”
They stood in silence for a beat before Nic nodded toward the dining room behind him. “Lunch is about to be served. You coming?”
Caleb nodded slowly. “Yeah. I’ll be there in a second.”
Nic gave him a long, thoughtful look. “Alright,” he said quietly, then stepped back inside.
Caleb stayed on the porch, gripping the railing, his knuckles white.
He looked back over his shoulder toward the woods.
The field was gone from view. No sign of the path. No mist. No glow.
Just a regular tree line, swaying in the early afternoon breeze.
And yet, nothing felt regular.
He whispered, almost to himself, “What the hell is happening to me?”
Then he turned, squared his shoulders, and walked inside.
The dining room hit him like a wall of warmth. Hardwood floors glowed in the afternoon light. The windows were thrown open to the breeze. The unmistakable smell of something rich, smoky, and slow-cooked drifted through the air.
Caleb had barely taken two steps inside when Sam appeared from the kitchen, his presence as grounded and calm as ever, like a man carved from earth and pine.
“There he is,” Sam said with a slight grin. “Was wondering when you’d wander back.”
Caleb gave a nod, instinctively scanning the room for somewhere to sit, somewhere to hide. “Yeah… just took a walk. Had a moment out there.”
Sam’s expression shifted. Still warm, but fully focused now. “How was the first session with Rook?”
There was a long pause. Caleb opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again. He wasn’t sure what to say without sounding unhinged.
“It was… different,” Caleb finally said. “Good, I think. But a lot.”
Sam nodded like he understood more than Caleb said. “Horses’ll do that. They have a way of pulling out what you didn’t even know was in you. Sometimes, they show you something before you’re ready to see it.” Then he clapped a hand on Caleb’s shoulder. “Don’t try to name it too fast. Just let it sit for a while.”
Before Caleb could respond, Sam straightened and raised his voice a touch. “Alright folks, lunch is ready! Y’all go ahead and grab a plate.”
The room shifted instantly. Wooden chairs scraped back. Silverware clinked. Conversation lifted in volume. Caleb drifted with the others toward the long farmhouse-style table near the center of the room, where two women and an older man were unveiling dishes like they were opening treasure chests.
Four massive trays of smoked ribs rested beneath silver heat lamps, each rack glistening with a lacquer of thick, peppery sauce. The meat was dark and tender, edges crisped to just the right snap. Bones protruded slightly, an invitation to fall-apart flavor. As steam rose from the trays, the scent was almost overwhelming: hickory smoke, charred bark, and just a hint of brown sugar.
Next came two deep pans of baked beans, nearly overflowing. The beans were thick with molasses and bacon fat, flecked with caramelized onions and smoky bits of brisket, more like stew than side dish. They had been slow-cooked to the point where the spoon stood up on its own.
There were three oversized bowls of potato salad, each slightly different. One with mustard and relish, another with dill and sour cream, the third a classic egg-and-mayo mix. Chopped celery, paprika, chunks of red potatoes with the skin still on. It was the kind of food that made you forget calories existed.
Stacks of cornbread and buttered rolls rose in two baskets at the far end, each still warm from the oven, the tops glazed in honey and flecked with sea salt. Soft pats of whipped butter waited in cracked ceramic dishes beside them, already softening in the ambient heat.
And then Caleb actually stopped and blinked. Four full-sized pies, each in pairs.
Two banana cream pies, meringue toasted just shy of golden-brown, were piled high in perfect peaks. The filling was dense and glossy, studded with slices of fresh banana that had been dipped in lemon to stay bright.
And beside them, two chocolate silk pies, smooth, dark, almost sinful-looking, topped with cocoa powder and delicate shavings of bittersweet chocolate. The crusts were flaky and crimped, dusted with flour as if to remind everyone they were handmade that very morning.
Pitchers of sweet tea, lemon water, and black coffee were lined along a separate table, alongside a crate of mismatched mugs, tin cups, and mason jars.
Caleb stood there for a moment, stunned by the scale of it all. This wasn’t just lunch. It was a celebration. Or maybe a test. Or maybe both.
Caleb swallowed hard and laughed under his breath.
I’m gonna gain ten pounds easy by Monday.
When he sat down, the chair groaned slightly beneath him. Not from his weight, but from the sheer comfort of being still again.
The noise of lunch buzzed around him. Forks clinked against enamel. Someone told a story about a fishing trip gone wrong. Sam chuckled low from the far end of the table. It should’ve felt like any other camp-style lunch. But it didn’t.
There was something grounding in it. Something almost sacred.
As Caleb took his first bite of the ribs, the sweetness of the sauce giving way to heat and smoke, he let his eyes close for a second.
He wasn’t thinking about the cave. Or the shadow. Or the figure that had stared back at him in the field.
He was just here.
Eating ribs.
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