There’s a butcher’s shop up in stadium that is something of an institution in Calgary. The store sells all kinds of meat, cheese, frozen goods. Even pizzas and ice cream. And they sell pies. The pies are not good. The crust is too thick and greasy. The meat is too tough. The gravy is thick and slimy. But despite this, they can still be of use. Buy four of them and leave the shop, then walk around in back. There, you will find what appears to be a homeless man. Offer him one of the pies. He will smile, showing his filed teeth, and begin to eat.
The homeless man was one of Them, or he was once. He doesn’t look like Them. His hair is long, curled and ratty. His skin is a pale olive. His clothing is patchwork and piecemeal and he stinks like the grave. After finishing the pie, ask him where they came from. His reply will be “Across the sea of dreams.” Offer him the second pie and ask where is it they’re going. He will say “To the house on the hill.” Pause here. Take a deep breath. Relax. Offer him the third pie and ask him whose house it is. And then he will tell you.
The last pie is for you. Do not eat it. Instead, crack it open. In amongst the gravy, you will find a strip of paper. On it will be printed an address. The address will be an old house which contains the ark they rode to get here. Do not enter it, for you may never return.