#4 Following the man's hand, you step over the threshold and into a large sitting room, all arranged around two comfortable-looking, well-padded armchairs facing a roaring fireplace.  Almost immediately, the feeling of being surrounded by beings out of nightmare disappears, to be replaced with an almost unearthly calm  Part of it can certainly be explained by the homely flickering of the fire on the stone walls around you, enlivening the paintings and portraits hanging there, an organic light so welcome after the darkness of the outer world; but there is an extra element to this calm, a sense of homecoming and belonging which you cannot explain, but which nonetheless soothes your tormented soul.  You look back at your host, who is even now closing the door on the night and walking towards you, friendly smile still on his face. "Please, sit down," he says, gesturing towards the chairs by the fire.  "We have much to discuss."  His voice is cultured, with a timbre that hints at British origins, and resonant. Indeed we do, you think, not forgetting in your newfound calm the strangeness of his greeting.  But will any of it have to do with getting back to town?  You cannot summon up the suspicion you might have felt outside, though, and you easily take his offer of a chair next to the warmth of the fire.  The stranger takes the other chair and fixes you with a gaze which seems both eager and satisfied at once, and with a hint of longing as well.  Needless to say, you are more than perplexed by this familiarity -- in fact, you're starting to feel just a little bit scared again, and are rather surprised that you don't feel more so -- but you can't think of anything to say, so you remain silent, waiting for him to make the first move.  Eventually, he speaks. "There were times," he begins, wistfully, "that I thought never to see your face again."  Again? you think, completely unable to recall when you might have seen him a first time.  "I am pleased to see you favor me, at your age.  You really can't tell such things, not at three days of age."  He paused, then continued with the air of a man who does not expect to be believed.  "Your mother, rest her soul, was my sister." "That's impossible," you reply, out of reflex.  "I've met all my uncles, and I've never seen you before in my life.  And my mother's not dead."  You don't know what to think -- is this man crazy, or just a liar.  And in either case, why am I not out of the door by now? "My sister was unmarried," the man sadly states, "and young, and so she gave you up; it was really the best thing for both of you.  But from the moment I saw you in the hospital, I loved you, and I could not bear the thought of never seeing my own sister's child again.  So I gave you a gift, something rare and powerful, knowing that it would eventually bring you back to me again."  He pauses, and just looks at you with that piercing, all-knowing regard, and suddenly you understand.  The image of your friend's fall fills your mind again, only now what happened no longer seems so mysterious, or at least, you understand the source of the mystery. "What did you do to me?" you ask in a whisper, no longer doubting his story, but stricken to the bone by it. "I have made you my successor," he replies, "I have laid upon you both a gift and a burden, and you have possibly come into it just in time to save us all.   Our reality, our plane of existence, is only part of the total reality.  Beyond our visible world, there exist beings of great power, both beings who revere life and beings who seek to destroy it, locked in eternal struggle, upon which the fate of our world hangs.  At the dawn of mankind, the beings who seek to save our existence -- creatures known to us as faerie, elves, or a hundred other names -- chose men to aid them, men to act for them in our world, where their powers are limited, and they gave these men powers of mind and of spirit to aid them in their service.  They were also given the power to choose others for this fight, and have done so throughout history, and even as I was chosen, so I have chosen you.  I have given you the gift that was given to me, because I knew that when it finally manifested itself, you would be driven to seek me out, and I could see you again, the kin who was taken from me so many years ago.  And it is well that I did so, for you are our last hope against the darkness which now stands poised to consume us all." "I . . . I don't understand," you say, now totally bewildered, frightened, but not without a hint of exhilaration. "I know," he said, ruefully shaking his head.  "It is a difficult thing to hear, and I have not done a good job of explaining it.  But you will understand, if you will come with me now."  He rises, and holds out his hand to you.  "Please, take my hand, and we will go to a place where all will become clear."