In the future, a woman has cancer. A man has ants.

Closing his eyes, ignoring the sting of his armpits, he could just discern the sound of the ants, those still alive, tiny legs scampering against the foul cardboard. He reached forward and took three of the cards from the disheveled collection. He gazed at them intently for a long time. Trander followed the indications on the cards like a somnambulist under the siren-song of sleep. Halfway through re-filling the artificial food pockets he noticed there weren’t enough bags left. Very well. Tonight would be different.

Just follow the billboards for a journey into mind-crushing old-school terror.

As he stepped inside, the afternoon seemed to grow darker, as if an approaching thunderstorm had suddenly obscured the face of the sun. Instinctively he looked up, but the blindingly blue sky was cloudless. It must be the height of the corn, he thought; indeed, the stalks towered over him. The fat man who had gone ahead of them had stopped in the middle of the path to vigorously wipe his brow. “It’s plenty warm in here, isn’t it?” he asked plaintively.

“Hotter’n hell.”

Jeff’s plan to move his family into an abandoned mansion for 24-hour video surveillance and psychological experimentation has absolutely awful consequences.

Jeff glanced at the spines of a few books. The titles seemed to have been chosen for aesthetics rather than reading enjoyment. The bindings all matched, filled with Olde English-style titles, some of which were incomprehensible. Back in the other living area, Jeff swung open the doors of a wall-to-wall armoire that revealed a television. Good. So Joey wouldn’t completely go crazy, and neither would Jeff. In the cabinet below was a DVD player and a selection of recent, popular titles. Lisa was at Jeff’s side, though he hadn’t heard her approach across the thick rug that dominated the room.

“Have you seen a phone?” she asked.